Cage

by Lilja Sigurdardóttir

  ‘Thanks, but no. I’ll find her,’ Agla said, not inclined to explain again that Elísa was not her daughter. She wasn’t even sure that she would go into the house to search for her. There was no guarantee that Elísa was in there, but if she was and was back on the dope, then she would hardly have much to say to Agla. It wasn’t as if she was her mother. She had no right to barge in and fetch her.

  ‘If she’s not there, then she’ll be up at Iðufell. At that bastard debt collector’s place, fourth floor at the end, next to the shop.’

  Agla nodded. She had little intention of running around town, searching for Elísa.

  The woman fastened the seat belt around her daughter and shut the car door.

  ‘This is the second time one of my daughters has got caught up in this,’ she said, and looked at Agla. She didn’t seem to see her clearly, though, as there was a mist in her eyes. ‘The drugs took the first one. I hope you don’t have to experience finding your child dead from an overdose at one of those lousy men’s parties.’

  Agla swallowed hard. She wanted to say something to the woman but had no words, so she reached out and gently squeezed the woman’s arm. The woman nodded a silent thanks for her helpless sympathy, and turned away. She didn’t look back as she sat in the car and drove off.

  Agla strode straight into the house and pushed her way through a gaggle of people, who were coming or going as if it was the evening, even though it was the middle of the day. They all seemed ready for some kind of nightlife. But after all, she thought, the June daylight did ensure there was hardly a border between day and night.

  It made no difference anymore that she wasn’t Elísa’s mother; and she didn’t care about the giant of a man facing her who demanded what she wanted. She simply slipped past him and glanced around the living room, where a few figures lounged in a cloud of smoke on the sofa. Then she headed up the stairs.

  She found Elísa in the room at the far end, asleep on a sofa bed. Her mascara was smeared over her cheeks and her hair was one big tangle. She was wearing a grubby singlet and the Adidas tracksuit trousers she had worn most of the time at Hólmsheiði. Agla lifted her feet and placed them on the floor, then supporting her back sat her up. She shook her gently and after a while Elísa opened her eyes.

  ‘Agla. Shit, what time is it? I was just about to come and get you.’

  65

  Ingimar’s thoughts were dark as he left The Squirrel’s office. It never ceased to amaze him how sensitive people could be. In fact he was surprised that the weirdo had managed to survive this long without topping himself. It was as if the poor bastard had been waiting for a reason to end his life, and when that appeared in the form of Ingimar Magnússon, it seemed to be a relief. He had been unbuckling his belt as Ingimar left.

  Ingimar had intended to appeal to the man’s greed, as he usually did in these situations, knowing that it generally worked. Greed and the hunger for life went hand-in-hand. He hadn’t spent long talking to Marteinn, however, before he realised that fear was a more potent weapon in this instance. The man had no urge to live; only fear.

  ‘Are you one of them?’ Marteinn had asked, his tone of voice indicating that this was the moment he had waited for and feared, the one he had hoped would never come but had long ago accepted. So instead of asking who ‘they’ might be, Ingimar merely said yes and took a seat on the lop-sided office chair.

  ‘I knew it,’ Marteinn muttered again and again. ‘I knew you would come. It was always just a matter of time.’

  ‘You knew we would come sooner or later,’ Ingimar echoed, watching him root through the piles of paper on the little desk in the corner that had to be his workplace. Next to it stood tottering stacks of paper and books that leaned against the desk as if they were supporting it. The chaos provided an insight into its owner’s inner turmoil.

  ‘Are you going to torture me?’ Marteinn asked, turning to Ingimar, and his mouth trembled.

  Ingimar shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘You have to understand that this is unbearable. Totally unbearable. I can’t describe how hard it is to have an insight that nobody else has. It’s not a burden I would wish on anyone.’

  ‘In that case it’s best that it goes no further,’ Ingimar said, without any idea of what they were talking about. Not that it seemed to matter; whatever he said appeared to confirm some idea that had clearly taken root in Marteinn’s mind long ago.

  ‘So this ends with me?’ Marteinn said.

  Ingimar couldn’t be sure if this was a question or a statement, so he agreed.

  ‘This ends with you, here and now,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Here and now?’ Marteinn asked in surprise. ‘Here in the office?’

  ‘Isn’t that the best way?’ Ingimar asked as Marteinn fell to his knees and burst into tears.

  ‘I had never expected any mercy from you, but I’m grateful. Deeply grateful.’

  Ingimar got to his feet, feeling in his heart a need to touch the man’s head, to lay a hand on it, like a blessing, as if he were a confessor or a saviour, and not the bringer of death. This feeling was the reason why he sometimes got involved himself. He could easily have sent someone to speak to María and Marteinn. But then he would have missed out on seeing the fear in María’s eyes and the delicate tremors that rippled her skin; and he would have missed seeing Marteinn’s brimming eyes as he looked up at him.

  ‘Are you going to do this, or may I deal with it myself?’

  With one finger Ingimar wiped a tear away from the man’s cheek.

  ‘I trust you to do this yourself,’ he said. ‘Not everyone would be given such an opportunity, but you’re special, and that’s why I trust you.’

  ‘It ends here and now,’ Marteinn said, unbuckling his belt. ‘You win. The world is yours.’

  Ingimar left, letting The Squirrel’s door lock behind him.

  He reflected that the efforts of doctors, nurses, counsellors, friends and family over many years had undoubtedly gone into keeping this wretch of a man from taking his own life, but it had taken just one conversation to end his pain. Ingimar would have felt worse about it if it hadn’t been so blindingly obvious that the man wanted to die. And it was as well for it to happen now. He was collateral damage.

  Considering Agla was behind The Squirrel people’s inquisitiveness, it was imperative to put a stop to their investigations right away, before Marteinn could come up with any more crackpot articles about Ingimar’s connections to Meteorite. He acknowledged that if people heard something often enough, then it would start to sound plausible, and then other media would also start to poke around. That was something he wasn’t going to allow.

  66

  Agla set the coffee machine to make a strong brew while Elísa dozed in the bathtub. She found a frozen loaf in the freezer, and the fridge revealed an unopened carton of long-life milk and a tub of butter. She took a couple of the least dried-out slices from the middle of the loaf, slotted them into the toaster and scraped the yellow rind from the butter to reveal the perfectly fine whiteness underneath. There was an unopened jar of marmalade in one of the cupboards that she couldn’t recall having bought, and all put together, this was enough to provide an afternoon snack for Elísa. That was if she could be got out of the bath.

  Elísa wept as she dried her hair.

  ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t come and get you,’ she mumbled again and again, until Agla shushed her, her heart unaccountably full of warmth. Elísa hadn’t given her the cold shoulder or forgotten about her. She had been doped up, not knowing if she was in this world or another. Her obvious misery at her failure to turn up made Agla forget the morning’s disappointment.

  ‘I was just going to have coffee with my friend and she wanted to stop off at a little party,’ Elísa said. ‘Those fucking pills are no good for me. They just knock me right out and I feel like I’m suffocating. I’m a lot happier with speed.’

  She struggled to eat, saying she was feeling nauseous, b
ut Agla encouraged her, heaping praise on her for every mouthful she swallowed and every sip of coffee she drunk. It was almost four o’clock, and they had to be at Vernd before six. There was no way that Elísa could turn up clearly drugged and in filthy clothes. Agla left her swathed in a towel on the sofa and rooted through her wardrobes. Most of her clothes were too big now, and would be far too big for Elísa, who was ten centimetres shorter than her and as thin as a rake. She picked up a shapewear top and a pair of leggings, went back to the living room and handed them to Elísa.

  ‘Put these on,’ she said. ‘We’ll stop off at a shop on the way and get you some clothes.’

  It was a quarter to six when Agla swung into Laugateigur after calling at a clothes shop where she had hurriedly bought jeans, a shirt and a leather jacket, and explained to the stunned staff that Elísa, still half asleep and dazed, would wear them out of the shop.

  A couple of cars marked with various media logos were parked outside the probation hostel. Agla took a deep breath.

  ‘You remember what we’re going to do?’ she asked, and when Elísa didn’t answer, she jabbed her with one elbow. ‘We’re here, Elísa, at Vernd. Here’s the bag. You remember what to do?’

  ‘Yeah, I remember,’ Elísa said. ‘Hold the bag in front of me, say I’ve been throwing up all day, ask if I have to be there for dinner or if I can go upstairs and lie down.’

  She opened the car door and walked up to the house. Agla was relieved to see she was no longer slouching. The photographers snapped a couple of pictures of her, as if for show, and turned to Agla as she got out of the car. The reporters crowded around her, and Agla wrapped herself tightly in the ash-grey overcoat, as if it could protect her from the flood of questions and the clatter of clicking cameras.

  67

  ‘If you want to take tricks and win the game, then it’s best if you call trumps,’ Sonja advised Tómas as he hesitated, concentrating on the cards in his hand. ‘Even if you don’t have great cards, stay high so you keep the lead. If you wait and see, then you’re playing against someone else’s call, and that way you’ll always lose.’

  Alex nodded, as if in agreement with this lesson in whist tactics, while Lucia repeatedly rearranged her cards, the same look of confusion always on her face. Sonja wasn’t sure that she actually understood the rules as occasionally she would play a different suit, but she always welcomed an invitation to join the game. It made a change from the kitchen.

  ‘And what if I have a few good cards in one suit and only bad ones in another?’ Tómas asked. Sonja delighted in hearing how deep and musical his voice had become. He had gone through puberty late and it had taken a long time for his voice to change. But that was all behind him and he now sounded like an adult. He was as tall as a grown man, and still growing.

  ‘Then go for your weaker suit,’ she said.

  She was about to give him more advice when the doorbell rang. Alex was on his feet in an instant and left the room, and she followed to peer over his shoulder at the intercom screen. Húni Thór and another man stood on the steps outside, both of them holding their hands open to demonstrate that they were unarmed. This was strange. It was unusual for him to call without warning.

  ‘Only let Húni Thór in,’ she muttered to Alex. ‘And search him to make sure. I don’t trust him further than I could throw him.’

  ‘I’m not sure you could throw him at all,’ Alex replied.

  ‘Precisely,’ Sonja said and went back to the living room. Tómas and Lucia were sitting with their cards still in their hands, holding a conversation in a weird blend of English and Spanish.

  ‘There’s a man come to see me who I need to talk a little business with, so it would be great if you could help Lucia get supper ready in the kitchen.’

  Tómas stood up, throwing his cards on the table in irritation. Lucia looked questioningly at Sonja, who winked. Lucia nodded once. She struggled to understand the card game’s rules, but she was from Mexico and understood what real life was all about. She would lock the kitchen door and smile as she melted cheese onto the tacos, but she would still be ready with the pistol she kept under her apron if anyone tried to break in.

  Húni Thór extended a hand to shake as he walked into the living room. He was always relaxed and courteous, so while Sonja had no fear of the man himself, it was his plotting that concerned her. He had plotted to place her where she was now. The two most momentous moments of her life had been arranged by Húni Thór. It had to be something big that brought him to her now.

  ‘I need to get to the store,’ he said.

  Sonja stared at him in astonishment.

  ‘The store?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll take the whole lot off your hands now, one big shipment.’

  Sonja went to the bar and poured cognac into two glasses. She didn’t want a drink; quite the opposite, as she needed to keep her wits about her, but she also needed to buy herself a moment. The store was her business; her insurance – it ensured her position in the chain.

  ‘I don’t need anything taken off my hands,’ she said. ‘I maintain a steady flow and I can increase it quickly if that’s what you need. You always get your cut of everything, so if you need money then there are ways to make that happen.’

  Húni Thór smiled and took the glass from her hand.

  ‘Iceland is bouncing back,’ he said. ‘Coke is selling like it did before the crash, and all the other shit – the steroids and speed – is booming as well. There’s a million tourists, and Icelanders are rich again.’

  ‘How much are we talking about?’

  ‘I’ll take the whole store now,’ he said. ‘It’ll be restocked bit by bit and you continue as usual.’

  Sonja felt the sweat breaking out down her back. He was cutting her out, and there was nothing more terrifying in this business than being surplus to requirements.

  ‘And what does Sebastian say—?’ she began before Húni Thór interrupted.

  ‘Sebastian knows about this and is in full agreement. It’s vital to have a secure supply to the market.’

  Sonja forced herself to smile. If there was anything worse than Húni Thór’s plotting, it was he and Sebastian making plans together. It was precisely such a plan that had changed her life permanently, torn away every vestige of innocence and given her endless nightmares, which seemed to get worse with the passing years. They were the ones who had decided between them that she would murder someone.

  She stood up, went to the statue of Thor on the mantelpiece and plucked the key from the niche in its back.

  ‘This is one of the keys,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘Miguel has the other.’ She sat at the coffee table, picked up a pen, tore a page from the crossword book and wrote a number on it. ‘This is Miguel’s number. He’ll tell you where to go and will go with you to the store. I’ll tell him to expect you.’

  Húni Thór took the scrap of paper and stuffed it into his trouser pocket along with the key. There was no point protesting or delaying. The only thing that would work with Húni Thór was to plot a strategy of her own – something realistic. First she had to figure out what transport route he had found. It would have to be something special to empty the store, which was now several dozen kilos. She stood up and went with him to the door.

  Once Alex had closed it behind him, she clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Pack your toothbrush, Alex. We’re going to Iceland.’

  The lesser of two evils was always to be in the driving seat, even on a road leading straight to hell; it was better than drifting without knowing where you would end up. Life was like a game. Even with a handful of bad cards, it’s better to be the one calling trumps.

  68

  ‘What do you mean, this ID number doesn’t exist? It’s my ID number. Do you think I don’t know my own ID?’

  María gaped at the bank cashier, who shook her head apologetically.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘You’re sorry?’ María felt the rage swirl inside h
er. ‘What you’re saying is that something seems to have gone wrong with the bank’s computer system so that my ID number has dropped off the registry, which means I – a customer – can’t withdraw anything from an ATM or over the counter, in spite of waiting for a quarter of an hour and just getting a cup of piss-weak coffee! And you’re sorry?’

  ‘I’ll fetch my supervisor,’ the cashier said, standing up and disappearing into a room behind the tills.

  María waited, drumming her fingers with impatience on the counter. A man at the next till and the cashier serving him looked sideways at her, and she knew she had raised her voice unnecessarily. A glitch in the system obviously wasn’t the unfortunate cashier’s fault, but María’s whole body was as tense as a spring, after two mugs of coffee and the Modafinil she had taken to stop herself wailing over Ingimar Magnússon, and of course she was still feeling the after-effects of her time in that dark dungeon, the trucker in the States who had frightened the life out of her, and everything else she had been through in the last few days. She stiffened as the cashier returned, accompanied by an older woman, who looked questioningly at María.

  ‘What does the problem appear to be?’ she asked in a neutral voice.

  María could feel the anger rushing to her head as she filled her lungs and exhaled slowly, forcing a smile as she did so.

  ‘The problem is,’ she said, placing emphasis on the is. ‘The problem is that my ID appears to have disappeared from your computer system.’

  She held the smile and forced herself to remain calm while the woman took a pair of reading glasses that hung on a chain around her neck, put them on and peered at the screen.

  ‘What’s your number?’ she asked, and María repeated it yet again. The woman shook her head. ‘You’re sure that’s the right number?’ María nodded and maintained her plastic smile so as not to find herself dropping an inappropriate word. ‘Let’s look in the National Registry,’ the woman said and asked María for her full name.