Love in the Time of Fridges

by Tim Scott

  chapter

  TWENTY-SIX

  I hadn’t seen Gabe for eight years. I hadn’t written. I hadn’t called. Now I was ringing the buzzer of his second-floor apartment at 5 a.m. with a lot of fridges in tow.

  I felt pretty bad about it.

  But some friends—the ones that really matter—are friends for life, whether you spend time with them or not. And Gabe and Marcy were firmly in that category. I was astonishingly lucky to have met them.

  Eventually a light came on and spilled from under the door.

  “Give me a chance, here,” I heard Gabe’s voice mumble as he unbolted and swung it open, his eyes full of sleep.

  “Gabe,” I said. “It’s me. It’s Huck.”

  “Huck? Huck! Goddamn it!” He put his arms around my shoulders and hugged me. “Look at you! Huck!”

  “It’s good to see you, Gabe. Better than good. I would have been here years ago, but…my life had other ideas.”

  “You’re here now,” he said.

  “I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’ve come with company,” I said, looking into that familiar, worn, open face. “Quite a bit.”

  “No problem. Who?”

  “Five refrigerators.”

  “Hey!” called a voice from down in the lobby.

  “Oh, yeah, one is actually a tumble dryer.”

  Gabe looked at me quizzically. “It’s complicated,” I said. “And a bit bizarre. And slightly dangerous.”

  “I would have expected nothing less from you. And I’m glad you came here. Bring them in,” he said. He had saved my ass more times than I probably knew when we had been out on the streets together as cops, and now he was doing it again without a second thought.

  Just like old times. The man was pure gold.

  We helped them through into his tiny apartment and closed the door.

  “Marcy okay?” I said.

  “Yeah, she’s terrific. She’ll be back in two days. They send her all over the place with her job now.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

  “She’d love to see you. She talks about you all the time. Huck, I’m guessing there’s a reason you’re turning up at 5 a.m. with four refrigerators and a spin dryer. Or is this some kind of fashion statement that everyone is making in L.A. these days?”

  “Yeah, there’s a story.”

  “Good. I’ll put on some coffee. Okay?”

  “That’s more than okay. The way I feel, it’s pretty much essential.”

  He walked to the kitchen and flicked the switch. He still had a limp. He had taken a slug to the leg one time when we had been out on the East Side, and that was how he had been retired, four months before I had left.

  “You should be mad as hell with me,” I said.

  “Huck, I’ve spent eight years wondering where the hell you were,” he called from the kitchen, then poked his head around the door. “I’m not going to waste time being mad. How was Mending Things with Fire?” he added.

  “Gabe?” I walked over and leaned on the kitchen door frame.

  “You turned up at 5 a.m. with a load of fridges. I know you must have spent the night drinking someplace. And where else would you go?”

  “It hasn’t changed. They still make half-decent mojitos.”

  “You still drink mojitos, huh?”

  “Yeah. There are some things that aren’t meant to change,” I said, and the words hung in the air for longer than they might have, and the image of Abigail came at me again so vividly I could touch it. Gabe broke the moment, sensing there was something wrong.

  “You also smell of fish,” he said, looking at me. “You never used to smell of fish. The fridges, the blond hair, and the smell of fish, those are new things about you. Everything else is the Huck I’ve been missing.”

  “It’s the coat that smells of fish. Not my best purchase ever.” I took it off and jammed it in the garbage.

  He was older and yet the same. There were more lines on his face, and his heavy frame gave greater hints as to what he would look like in twenty years.

  But it was the same Gabe.

  The years had done nothing to tarnish his gentleness.

  He made coffee with a little half-and-half and we sat down among the fridges. Even at the worst of times, coffee resets my mind to an easy calm and clears away the hassle for a while. And now it simply added to the sense that the world was a sane place, after all. The apartment had hardly changed, still with the same books, the same chairs, and the same picture of the two of us on our police graduation day.

  “You ever find out who left us in that building?” I said.

  “No. And even if I knew, what good would it do?”

  “I guess.”

  “Now, what the hell happened to you?”

  As we drank coffee, I told him what had happened in the last twelve hours, from entering the city in a dongle, to meeting Nena and the aborted head hack, to my escape from the motel, and finally how I had sprung the fridges and dryer. He nodded and raised his eyebrows a couple of times, but there was nothing that could surprise Gabe. His feet were planted too firmly on the ground.

  The fridges sat humming quietly with their doors all slightly open, but with hardly enough energy to put on their lights. They were recharging themselves.

  “You’ve been busy then,” he said, finally. “And slightly insane.”

  “Any clothes you need drying?” said the tumble dryer. “I feel a spin coming on.”

  “Later, little fellow,” I said.

  “Oh. Well, how about if I just warm up some clothes that are already dry? Sometimes it’s fun to get an acrylic sweater and heat it up until the static is strong enough to stick it to the wall.”

  “Just take it easy. I have some things to talk about with my friend Gabe.”

  “Are we still going to Mexico?” said the Ice Jumper.

  “Tequila!” sang the Frost Fox. And they all took this as the cue to start singing.

  “La! La! La! La-la! La-la! La-la-la! La! La-la! La-la! La! Tequila!”

  “Just keep it down, all right?”

  “Okay, okay, I do have a pizza,” said the Cold Moose, opening its door. “Here, see? And a carrot so bendy you could tie a knot in it. You have it. It’s yours.”

  “That’s okay, we’re not after your pizza. You hang onto it,” I said.

  “Gee. Great!” it said, and then sneezed. “Sorry. Got a bit of a tickle. Had it ever since a peppered steak went bad on the top shelf.”

  “I know some information,” said the Frost Fox as it waddled forward.

  “Do you?” I said. “And what would that be?”

  “I know the date of the Klondike gold rush.”

  “Okay. Any of you know where I can find Nena other than the Halcyon?”

  They all shuffled in silence.

  “Someone did once tell me how to tell the difference between a weasel and a stoat, though,” said the Frost Fox.

  “Yeah, well, I’ll let you know if that ever becomes an issue we need to resolve. Now I suggest you all get some more rest, in case we have to move again.”

  “Sure. But I’m feeling a lot more energetic now. I feel like I could keep a yogurt edible for a year.”

  “Just take a rest,” I said, but there was no stopping it.

  “Where’s she gone—here’s a bit of trivia,” it sang. “It’s got the highest lake. That’s right—it’s Bolivia!”

  The other fridges all joined in with their harmonies.

  “We refined it in the Cold Compound, put in some extra harmonies. What do you think?”

  “It’s excellent,” I said. “But rest now, all right?”

  And thankfully, the fridges and the spin dryer finally settled down on their feet, closed their doors, and hummed gently. Gabe poured me more coffee.

  “Why did you help this girl? You could have run,” he said as he handed it to me.

  “She knows me. She can see through me.”

  “That’s an illusion, Huck. The best criminal
s have always been able to do that. It helps them stay alive.”

  “She’s different, and she’s not the sort of criminal we used to deal with. She could tell my past was running like a loop in my head just from my eyes.”

  “And is it?”

  “Yeah. All the time.” I drank more coffee.

  “I’m sorry. But I still say forget her. She’s only going to lead you into more trouble. At the moment it’s fixable. All you’ll get is probably a fine.”

  “I want to find her, Gabe. I know it’s irrational and stupid, but if anyone knows how to fix my life, it’s her.”

  “All right. Why not sleep on it? Things may seem different in the morning. It’s close to six now and we both could probably sleep for a week. You get this couch. I’ll get you some blankets.”

  “Gabe…” I said.

  “You’re always welcome here, Huck, you know that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Get some rest.”

  And I thought, the older we get, the more we need the friends we made when we were young.

  I made myself comfortable, but even though I was exhausted, my mind was running too fast to sleep. So I lay awake listening to the hum of the fridges, and the rumble and sigh of the city, wondering how I was going to find Nena.

  And I realized the city had changed. I remembered it being alive to the touch, ebbing and flowing by day and dreaming by night. But I didn’t sense it dreaming anymore.

  It was keeping one eye open, wary.

  chapter

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  A flitting shamble of ragged dreams and brackish images hung in a no-man’s-land in between my consciousness and the dark.

  Then a clear image.

  A wooden door. It opened and I walked down some steps. The air was cool. Two flights and another door and then I stepped out onto the street.

  It was empty. There were no people, and no drongles. The sky was a wild mix of colors—blue and green clouds.

  Now I could hear a voice. Someone was with me. And then he was running away. The noise of his steps seemed to waft and glide among the buildings.

  I tried to run too, but my legs ached, and…

  Darkness.

  Just the sound of the breeze.

  For a moment, I felt the sudden, unexpected peace of this place.

  And then I was swept up into my own consciousness by the sound of wild hammering on the door.

  I forced my eyes open.

  “Health and Safety,” cried a voice. “Open up.”

  chapter

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  My head was thick with the residue of too many mojitos and hardly any sleep—and that wasn’t just from the previous night but from pretty much the whole of the last decade.

  During the evenings that were filled with mojitos, I had always felt an element of ambiguity about my state of health, as though I might have cheated nature, but the cold morning light brutally extinguished that hope every time.

  “Health and Safety,” called the voice again as Gabe came through, buttoning a shirt. “Routine check for hazards. Open up.” I tried to shake the sleep from my head.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s okay. Just be polite.”

  Gabe hustled the fridges back out of sight into the bedroom. As they shuffled through, the Frost Fox tried to tell me the date of the Klondike gold rush again, but after some coaxing Gabe managed to get him to be quiet. Then he shut them in and opened the door.

  “Just a routine call. Health and Safety,” said the man, stepping in. “How are you today? Feeling healthy? Feeling safe?” He was wearing a yellow hard hat and a yellow reflective vest.

  “Feeling safe?” echoed a taller man, hovering at his shoulder and rubbing his hands.

  “This leaflet explains the latest guidelines on opening doors safely,” said the shorter, fatter one, looking at me.

  “Feeling safe?” echoed the tall, thin one.

  “Ignore the bit on osprey housing on the reverse. That’s a printing error,” said the shorter guy. He offered me the piece of paper.

  “Printing errorrrrrrrr!” said the other one.

  “Thanks,” I said, trying to seize the moment, but I couldn’t help feeling I’d left sizeable parts of it behind. Some of it as far away as Wisconsin.

  “People miss the most obvious dangers, and that’s why we go house to house.” He smiled to reveal a set of badly brushed teeth. “You got any tigers in here?”

  “Tigers?” I said. “No.”

  “Good. We don’t like tigers. Very dangerous things.” He nodded.

  “No, no tigers,” said the tall man. “No fucking tigers. We hate fucking tigers with their big teeth. Feeling safe, are we?”

  “What about this? Have you stubbed your toe on this at all?” The fat man kicked a table leg near him gently with his boot.

  “No.”

  “What, not even in the dark? Not even once in the dark?”

  The tall man laughed in a high-pitched squeal. “Not ever stubbed his toe on this?” They both laughed, and then the short guy suddenly grabbed my lapels and pulled me close.

  “Do you think we’re stupid? Do you think we don’t know our job?”

  “No,” I said, catching sight of his dark pupils. “I’m sure you do.”

  “Feeling safe, are we?” whined the man over my shoulder.

  “Any fool can see that you must have stubbed your toe on this in the dark at some time, you get me?”

  “Yeah, I get you. You’re making it very clear.”

  “Good! Now give him a toe-stubbing leaflet.”

  “Toe-stubbing leaflet! Toe-stubbing leaflet,” crowed the other man, presenting me with a piece of paper.

  “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” said the first one. “We’re having a big crackdown on sharp edges at the moment.”

  “Feeling safe, are we?” The tall man rubbed his hands.

  “Maybe you’ve seen our exhibition?”

  “No, can’t say I have,” I said.

  “Oh, well, we’ve got a really nice collection of sharp and smooth corners. Not too many sharp ones, but not too many smooth ones, either. Right. Well, our roster has us due upstairs, so I need you to sign here to say you have accepted the aforementioned leaflets.” He handed it to me. “And fingerprint and kiss it for me as well. There and there. These are your copies. And that one’s a copy to confirm you have your copy. And that copy is a spare of the confirmation copy, but it’s in larger print.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thank you. And here’s a leaflet on the safe housing of industrial machinery. Stay safe. We all owe it to Mother New Seattle.”

  “Feeling safe, are we?” said the tall, thin man and then they were gone, their footsteps clomping away up the stairs.

  I looked at Gabe and opened my mouth to say something, but the sentence that tried to form in my head had the word fuck in it so many times it didn’t mean anything. So I just closed it again.

  Gabe said simply, “I’ll get some strong coffee.”

  chapter

  TWENTY-NINE

  The only lead we had was the Halcyon motel.

  So I made a decision to go back and pump the staff for information. I didn’t relish the thought of facing down the guy I had met there the previous night, but I didn’t see any other option.

  Gabe was adamant about coming along and I didn’t like it. I’d tried to argue with him, but I knew my voice lacked conviction.

  “I was a cop for seven years and I still know how to smash my way into a motel and scare the hell out of the people. They taught us that on day one.”

  “Huck, you’re my friend. That’s why I’m coming with you, okay?” he said. This time with such finality that I agreed.

  But this was my senseless chase after a girl, not his.

  All the same, a part of me was relieved. I had not lived life near the edge for years and his help might see me through. In fact, I had been so far from the edge, I had probably been closer to the middle
where even signs for the edge were few and far between.

  I settled down and had enough coffee to wipe away most of the effects of the mojitos while we talked about Marcy, and Mending Things with Fire, and the scrapes we had gotten into when we were young. And it reminded me there had been plenty of good times, too, and that came as a surprise.

  Eventually I took a shower.

  And after, I shaved my blond hair down to a stubble to avoid the attention of the cops. But it felt cold. And strange. Gabe loaned me a suit, and when I put it on and looked in the bathroom mirror it was hard to recognize myself.

  I picked out the thick wad of head hack photos from my old clothes and walked back to the living room, feeling detached from myself.

  “Nice suit,” said Gabe. “Now you look the part.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I feel like a diplomat. I still have my head hack photos. Shall we have a look? Maybe there’s a picture of Nena in there.”

  “Sure.”

  Many of the pictures were still welded together, but after some careful work we pried them all apart. The majority were ruined. Others were out of focus and hazy, but a few had survived. Some were from my stop in Portland on the way up, but there were also a couple of Nena in the drongle with me, and one of her taking out the doctor in the head hack room while I had been hooked up to the machine. It must have gone into my mind and then been pulled straight out again and printed. “That’s her,” I said, placing the photo on the table. “Nena.”

  “Brown eyes.”

  “Like Abigail? Is that what you were about to say?”

  “No. You still want to find her?”

  “She can see what’s going on behind my eyes, and right now that seems important.”

  “Then I’ll help you find her.”

  There were also a few pictures from the long-term hack. Most of them of Abigail and New Seattle at that time. They seemed foreign and almost meaningless, but I slipped them all into my inside pocket. They were a link back to a time when my life had meant something.

  “You want me to alter your feed profile?” said Gabe.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s change everything about me. Why not?”