“What’s going on?”
“I dunno,” said Dennis. “Thought you would know. You said there was some kind of ‘development.’ A few hours later these guys turn up, spend half an hour slapping me around and pouring water up my nose before they say anything.”
“What did they want?”
“Same thing you want.”
“Did you give it to them?”
“Sure I did! They were going to find it whether I was alive or dead. I gave it up quick when they asked, when they finished having their fun, and here I am.”
“Why tie me up?”
“You sent them.”
“Why would I arrange to meet with you and send them?”
“To make sure I was here. Get the heavies to do your work. Turn up later and fuck with me. Have fun, right? Maybe it’s what you like, eh? You like to be in charge, don’t you?”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
“What do you mean?”
Dennis turned. “I mean, a few minutes of having water poured up your nose will help me work out if you’re lying.”
“No need for that,” said William. “You already know money’s being made somehow. Now you know that I am not alone in this. I have a partner.”
“Who is it?”
The irritation cleared William’s head. “Do you want them to come back and introduce themselves? The less you know and the less contact you have with them, the better. They’re not like us. They don’t have families and jobs and make a little extra on the side. This is all they do. It’s what they are. You’ve seen how they work. For Christ’s sake, untie me!”
William waited and watched Dennis, scanning his face for a flicker of falsehood. He pushed his chair from the table, stood and approached William, turning him roughly to get at his hands. The smell of whisky hung on his breath.
William felt the wet trousers flap against his skin as Dennis helped him up. “You’re a fucking idiot,” said Dennis, “to get mixed up with guys like that. I thought it was just you and a little scam.”
“And I thought it was a quick way of sticking it to the taxman. It seems we both got it wrong.”
Dennis sat again at the table and lifted the whisky to his lips. “I guess so. What do we do now?” he said, and then drained the glass.
William pulled a chair upright and sat across the table from Dennis. His wet trousers stuck to his legs. “Do nothing. Behave like nothing has happened. You’ll get a bonus next month to help pay for this.”
“No need for that,” said Dennis. “It’s just water. I don’t think any damage has been done.” He poured from the bottle and shifted his weight back in the chair. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking. I better look for another job. I’ll put my notice in on Monday. I don’t live with my children anymore, but they rely on me. Anyway, I should try again with their mother. I can’t get mixed up in this kind of thing. If it all comes down, I don’t wanna be there.”
William acknowledged the pragmatism with a nod. It would be good all round if he left. “What will you say to Cathy?”
Dennis shifted in his chair. “It’s not serious with her. There’s not much for her to get over.”
“Well, you’d better tell her soon. Maybe you can tell her you’ve been offered a new job and have to go without notice, and I’ll say the same.”
“She knows it’s coming.”
“I’ll give you three months’ pay and a reference if you need it, but the deal is you talk to no one about this.” Dennis nodded. “One more thing. I have to ask this: Are there any more copies of the manifest?”
Dennis shook his head. “No, there was only one.”
“You wouldn’t keep one for insurance?” Dennis was already shaking his head again. “That would put us all at risk.”
“No. They took the only one.”
“Okay. I’d better get going.”
Both men stood. William felt himself trembling with cold.
“I’ll come in next week and sort things out in the warehouse,” said Dennis. The swagger had gone.
“Thanks, that would be helpful. See you Monday.” William headed for the front door.
Outside, sitting in the Tesla, William concluded Uri was satisfied with what his associates found in the house. Otherwise, the outcome would have been very different. He moved uncomfortably to prevent the wet trousers from making fresh contact with his skin and remembered he still had to retrieve the sprocket on the way home.
4:30 p.m.
It was warm in the Tesla and the soaked trousers had, for the most part, reached body temperature. He was not looking forward to stepping out. Large, damp flakes of snow fell, blanketing all that did not move. The dumpster was still where it was when he dropped the sprocket into it a few days before. William hoped it had not been emptied. He stepped out into the falling snow; in a few seconds his trousers became cold, and each step found a new patch sticking to his leg.
Inside the dumpster the sheen of black plastic bags could be seen forming a mound, pushing the lid ajar. He would have to dig to the bottom to get the sprocket, and there was nothing to be done but get in and toss the bags aside. The hinge squealed as the lid rotated open. William reached for the lip with both hands, stepped on a metal edge and hoisted himself into the dumpster. His bad shoulder took the strain without much discomfort, and he was in. The smell was tolerable and it seemed dry inside. Bending over the bags, he began pulling them away from the corner where he had dropped the sprocket and shredded papers.
“What the fuck are you doin’?” An angry voice emerged from the black bags behind him just as a foot made contact with his rear end.
The dumpster erupted as William overbalanced, falling out headfirst. He caught the edge and swung his legs enough to break his fall.
“Fuck off! It’s my dumpster.”
From the pavement William saw the head and shoulders of a wild-eyed man enraged and staring down at him. “Fuck off!” Snowflakes drifted past the wild man. He had seen faces like that: angry, pale, cheeks hollowed out by drugs.
“I didn’t know you were there,” William said.
“Just fuck off. I don’t care.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want your dumpster.”
“It’s mine. Want do you want?”
William struggled to his feet. “I threw something away. It’s at the bottom of your dumpster.”
“If you threw it away, it’s mine now.”
“I didn’t mean to throw it away and I need to get it,” said William. “It’s worth nothing to you.”
“If it’s worth something to you, it’s worth something to me.”
“I’ll buy it from you.” William reached for his wallet. “I’ll give you fifty dollars.”
“A hundred.” The wild-eyed man sat in the dumpster. Snowflakes adorned his head now. The street light made him glow like a Russian icon.
“Okay.” William pulled all the bills he had from his wallet, held them under a street light and began counting. I’ve only got seventy dollars.”
“Then fuck off. It’s mine. Come back when you’ve got a hundred.”
“Just take the seventy dollars. Please.”
“A hundred,” said the wild-eyed man.
William stepped forward, hand outstretched with the money. “Just take it.”
“The deal’s a hundred.”
Anger surged. “Have it!” William threw the money at the wild-eyed man and lifted himself on the lip of the dumpster. The man scrambled to prevent William from getting in, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him back. The dumpster leaned with the weight of two men on the edge and began falling. William stepped off and rolled backwards as the dumpster crashed on the laneway road. The snow-dampened quiet of the dark winter afternoon stifled the sound.
William sat up. Plastic bags littered the lanew
ay. There was no movement from the open dumpster. The wild-eyed man lay face down and still. Both the man’s arms were tucked under his body as if he had held the edge of the dumpster until impact, bringing his face to the road with terrible force. William approached on hands and knees.
The face could not be seen. Snow absorbed blood leaking from the ears along the line of the cheekbone. William rolled the head aside to offer some chance of air getting into the man’s lungs and recoiled from what he saw. The upper jaw was crushed and had released the teeth, some broken, some whole. His breath was hoarse and blood spluttered from him. The wild eyes no longer aligned. Using his finger, William brushed bits of flesh and teeth away from the mouth to prevent them from being inhaled. It was all he could do for now. He had to get the sprocket.
William stood, pulled bags from the overturned dumpster and quickly got to the bottom corner. The smell in the bottom was of something sweet, dog foul and rotting fish. He rummaged in the dark, grabbing wet, slimy, freezing objects, some soft, others angular. There was no time for retching. After a few moments he had the sprocket in his hand and lunged out of the dumpster, gasping for clean air.
The wild-eyed man had not moved. There was more dark-cherry blood on the snow and rasping breaths came from his broken mouth. William knew he had to get away even though life was leaving this man. Even calling an ambulance would draw attention to him and the dumpster, and put others at risk. But could he let a man die for ten ounces of gold or the thirty dollars he did not have in his wallet? The cold seemed not to matter now. A thought arrived with the vivid clarity of blood on snow: Would Kelly ever know what had happened? Understanding would be unlikely. Would there be forgiveness for what he had already done? It had never before entered his mind. There had always been justification, a reason to rail against convention, ignore the expectations authorities imposed. He had always had faith in the righteousness of his entitlement to disregard them, to do as he wanted, to pay them back for betraying his people and crushing his father’s spirit, but now, he felt his daughter watching and could not leave this man to die.
“Hey!” A voice from down the laneway caught his attention. “What are you doing?”
William turned, checking himself enough to avoid being seen in the cold light, and shouted, “There’s a man hurt! Get an ambulance.”
The voice left the laneway. An ambulance would be coming, bringing the fire brigade and police as was standard in Vancouver. At least Kelly would not be disappointed in him for leaving the wild-eyed man to die if she ever found out about it. It was hard to imagine how she would find out, but somehow, for the first time he feared she might.
William tucked the sprocket in his coat. Someone was getting help for the wild-eyed man, so, he reasoned, he was not really leaving him to die. William began walking toward the car, having not yet convinced himself this was true.
5:15 p.m.
The garage door closed behind him and brought a relief that he could not remember feeling before. The house had not been a sanctuary. It was a place to start, to store things, to plan, a base from which he could go and do what he wanted, but not a place to simply be, until today. He could fall asleep in the driver’s seat if not for being wet and reeking of garbage. The truth of the day would have to be hidden somehow, if only he had the energy to create a story of how he came to be in this state. It occurred to him that he often seemed to be disguising his reasons for leaving the house or returning ruffled. The house door from the garage opened and Julie entered as William lifted himself from the Tesla. He had dreaded seeing her, but this too was a relief.
“We’ve been worried about you! Where have you been?” Her face narrowed with something between irritation and concern, and then she saw him. Dirty knees, bloodied shirt, trousers wet, and then the smell of the dumpster found her. “My God, what’s that smell?”
“It’s my hands.” William raced to find a story to tell. “I’ve been in a dumpster.”
“Whatever for? Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“There’s blood on your shirt. Are you hurt?”
“Don’t worry, it’s not mine,” said William. “There was an accident.” A story was emerging as he spoke. “I saw a dumpster tip over as I drove by. There was someone in it, and he was hurt when it went over.”
“You stopped to help?”
“There was nobody else there.”
“Was he badly hurt?”
“I think so. He came down hard on his face. Completely unconscious and didn’t move.”
“Oh my God, was he all right?”
“I don’t know. The ambulance was on its way when I left. It didn’t look good.”
“Let’s get these clothes off you.”
Julie reached for his lapels and pushed his coat over his shoulders. It brought her close enough for him to feel her warmth. He let the coat fall down his arms. She moved quickly to get his wet things off his body, yanking his shirt over his head. He tucked his chin in and allowed his body to bend to the pressure of her pushing and tugging.
“You’re freezing,” she said. “Get your pants off and get in the shower.”
He moved slowly to help her, stepping on his heels and kicking off his shoes, undoing his belt. She dragged the trousers down and he lifted one knee and then the other to be free of them.
“You smell terrible!” The moment was gone. “Just leave everything and get in the shower.”
“Where’s Kelly?” he asked.
“In her room. She had a good day on the mountain.”
“I wish I’d gone with her.”
“She’d have liked that.”
“Thanks for dealing with my clothes.” He reached to put his hand on her shoulder. She pulled away.
“Sorry,” she said. “Your hands.” They both turned their noses up at the smear of blood, the filth and the stench.
“Not very appealing, are they?”
“Dirty hands never are.” Julie smiled at him.
“I’ll get in the shower.” William left Julie in the garage to sort out his clothes. There was something going on between them that had been lost for such a long time.
The shower ran hot. William scrubbed at his hands to remove the smell, as persistent as the spray of skunk. Whatever he did, a hint of it lingered. He anticipated sleep being interrupted by his hand falling on his cheek, filling his nostrils with recollections of the wild-eyed man face down in the snow. He speculated that he had probably survived. It seemed unlikely there would be a Julie to drag off his clothing and bundle him into a hot shower. Julie opened the door of the bathroom and came in.
“William, what’s this cog doing in your coat pocket?” she asked, holding the sprocket up to the shower screen. “It weighs a ton.”
He cleared mist from the inside of the shower to delay responding while his mind raced. “Just leave it in the car. I keep meaning to leave it at work.”
“All right. It stinks. I’ll give it a rinse first. Are you hungry?”
“Oh yes. Starving.”
“I’ll get your clothes in the washer and make something for you. Your coat and trousers will have to stay in the garage.”
Through the shower glass William watched her contemplate the sprocket. She was holding it under running water and scratching at the surface. It was more curiosity than the object merited. He suspected she was thinking what he was thinking. It was odd for the sprocket to be in his coat pocket. It was filthy with clinging grit and stank of dumpster. How could it have got like that when it had been protected in his coat pocket? She would know it did not make sense. He resisted offering an explanation and relied on the riddle falling in between the layers of their relationship where not making sense was tolerated without ever being spoken of. He thought, as he scrubbed his nails again, that so much of what he did happened in that space, where what he did and why he did it was deniable, ignorable
or excusable.
* * *
William reached forward to place the empty bowl of soup on the coffee table, lifted the glass of wine and sat back on the sofa to watch the news on the television. It had been a difficult few days but he had done what Uri had asked within the time that had been allowed. There was still the issue of the visitation on Dennis, but both manifest and sprocket had been retrieved and the risk had been managed.
Kelly came down the stairs.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi. Mum said that you stopped and helped someone who was hurt on the road.” She sat beside him on the sofa. Her closeness surprised him.
He pointed the remote at the television and placed his glass on the coffee table. “Well … he must have pulled a dumpster over on himself, so I just stopped to help.”
“Was he badly hurt?”
“I don’t know. He had a nosebleed and had knocked himself out.” The image of the wild-eyed man’s face swept through him like a current.
“Did the ambulance come?”
“Someone did call the ambulance, so I came home. Nothing more I could do.”
“Mum said you smelled like dog poo and rotten fish.” Kelly smiled broadly.
“I think I did. Maybe I still do.” William brought his hand to his face and sniffed. A trace remained, he was sure. “It’ll take a couple of showers to get me clean again.”
“Let me smell.” She reached with both hands and he offered his. Kelly held the hand gently and very deliberately searched it with her nose. “Yep, dog poo, fish and …” She gripped his hand to prevent him from whipping it away and contemplated earnestly before declaring, “Red wine.”
The Kissing Fence Page 15