Richard House - The Kills

At the carousel a different certainty struck him. He watched bags tumble down the baggage claim and realized he’d gone too far.

* * *

On the first night Cathy went early to bed, took a mug of hot water with her, her glasses, a book, a thriller she’d bought for this specific night, switched the TV on, quiet and low, as if this was normal, or better: as if this was something long anticipated, a treat she was determined to enjoy. She settled naturally on her side of the bed, rested her glasses and the book on her stomach and wondered what she should do next. She wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted, and looked about the room and wondered how it had come to be furnished in this way, not through any one decision, but through a gradual accumulation: a dresser from her mother, the built-in wardrobe Rem had salvaged and fronted with mirror. The TV, large, flat-screen, paid on credit they hadn’t yet settled. She watched her reflection. The light from the TV picked out the rounded shapes of her feet, her knees, her stomach and breasts, all softened by the quilt, her face shone a little greasy, and she was alarmed at how surprised she looked, as if it wasn’t Rem that was missing, but part of her body.

He wouldn’t call, she guessed, so she sent an SMS, typed a hug and a kiss at the end of the message, and thought this hypocritical but necessary, then turned to her side so she wouldn’t have to watch herself. He’d come back, she didn’t doubt, he didn’t like Austin in any case. He’d be back in two days, four, tops.

She decided to sound perky. Practical. She’d call, if he didn’t answer she’d leave a message.

When the home phone rang she looked at it in surprise.

‘Hello? Rem?’

‘My cell’s flat. I’m calling from the dormitory, plugged-in. They’ve given us rooms. You know those movies where the parents take their daughter to college? It looks nothing like that. What are you doing?’

‘I’m in bed.’

‘I woke you?’

‘No. It’s early. I thought I might read.’

‘The people I’m with…’

‘I was going to ask.’

‘… are from the Philippines. No one speaks English too well. We haven’t been fed. They brought us from the airport, told us we couldn’t leave. They’ll pick us up at seven tomorrow. I’m not sure what they’re going to do with us. There’s one row of showers, two toilets — don’t ask — and a snack machine. There’s a rumour that we don’t get paid until we’re actually in Iraq.’

She thought to tell him not to do this, to walk out, face whatever trouble came their way because of it, but to come right back. They could pay the company back for the flight, somehow make everything right with Geezler, move on and forget this. She didn’t know how, but they would figure this out.

‘What are you reading?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t started.’

‘I’ll leave you to it.’

Cathy kept the phone to her ear long after Rem had hung up. The only decision she wanted to make was whether she would take Western or Lake Shore Drive to work the next morning.

She read the last chapter of her book because she didn’t want to start something that would end badly.

* * *

Immediately after speaking with Cathy, Rem called Geezler, to let him know about the arrival, the chaos of the place, and sound off a little about the squalid lodgings.

Mid-ring he changed his mind. Intuition told him that this wouldn’t be the worst of it. Geezler didn’t need to hear every detail. He should concentrate on what mattered, essentials, not make reports day by day, but digest the experience first.

His phone rang before he could pocket it. Geezler on an unlisted number.

‘You wanted to speak?’

‘I thought better of it.’ In truth Rem had lost the mood.

Geezler said he’d take anything Rem had to offer. ‘The whole point is to hear your take. You understand? That’s why you’re going. I want your perspective.’

Rem started again on his day. ‘I’m in a room with nine men from Fiji and the Philippines, who think they’re heading to Dubai. Their contracts say Balad. They don’t know where they’re going. They don’t have their passports. This can’t be legal.’

Once again Geezler listened and was ready with questions, and on occasion, an explanation.

‘These people are in transit. Technically, they aren’t in the country. We’ve had trouble before. If they have their passports they disappear.’

Rem wouldn’t drop the subject. ‘Benigno. Beni. He’s thirty-seven, he looks like he’s fifty. He has a fourteen-page contract busy with small print. Only four out of nine in my room can read English, and everyone is going to Iraq and they don’t know it. How can they not know?’

Geezler promised to look into Beni’s case, and asked Rem to find the names of the other men. Although, he said, his arena was Europe, which limited him in certain regards. It wasn’t if he could do anything, but when.

‘I don’t want to play my hand too early. I’m operating in someone else’s territory. There might be a more apposite time for me to be involved.’ To be honest, he said, he hadn’t anticipated so many issues, certainly none as serious as this. He asked Rem to keep an eye on Beni. ‘Let me know when he receives his deployment date. I can intervene at that point without making undue trouble. Make sure you have his full name.’

Rem accepted the situation. Geezler at least was listening, he paid attention. Rem understood the constraint under which he worked. Geezler had set up the whole operation, had sent Rem into the field to discover these problems. While Geezler hadn’t said as much, he guessed that he’d put his job on the line. If discovered Rem would lose nothing. Geezler stood to lose plenty.

He took another quick look at the facilities before turning in, and what he saw depressed him. It wasn’t so much the lack of cleanliness as the smell and disarray of too many men in too small a space. Everyone was to be woken at five, a schedule laid out the order for showers and breakfast.

Unused to sharing a room with men, Rem slept uneasily.

* * *

The first four days in Austin passed quickly, on each day the information changed, the briefings became longer, repetitive. First they were heading to Iraq via Dubai, then Bahrain, possibly Düsseldorf, then definitely Bahrain. Once in Bahrain they would be held in a hotel close to the airport while they were processed, which could take anything up to a week because the parent company, HOSCO, needed to figure out exactly where they were needed.

Geezler called on the sixth day to notify Rem that a placement had been confirmed and transit was organized for the next morning. Geezler wished him luck, and Rem said that he was ready. Rem called Cathy with the news.

‘You don’t have to do this. If you don’t go you won’t be letting anyone down.’

‘It’s six weeks.’

‘You don’t have to go.’

‘Six weeks. We’ll owe nothing. Tell me what you want.’

‘And what difference would it make, Rem?’

The fact, unspoken, lay clear before them, if she asked him not to go, he would not go.

* * *

On his last afternoon in Chicago, Rem visited Mike in his house on Ravenswood.

Mike’s wife opened the door, looked less than pleased to see him. ‘When are you taking that dog back?’

Rem said it wouldn’t be with them much longer.

‘It’s cruel,’ she said, blame in her voice, ‘it’s not right keeping something in a cage like that. And I don’t like lying to Cathy.’

‘I’ll deal with it.’

As she walked away she muttered, Make sure you do, then told him that Mike was waiting in the back.

The houses on Ravenswood lay close to the tracks. Trees sheltered the yards and darkened the stoops and porches, and while he used to enjoy this — shade in the summer for beer and end-of-day business — it struck him now as oppressive.