Bad Intentions (21 page)

"How are you doing, Kim?"

Kim slumped across the hood. He started to hiccup.

"You're not going to throw up, are you?"

Axel looked inside his car again. He made a decision.

"No way am I letting a drunk Chinese guy into my car," he said. "He's going to be sick all over the place. He'll ruin the seats. We'll put him in the trunk."

Reilly shook his head in disbelief. "The trunk, are you serious? No, you have got to be joking."

"Come here," Axel said. "Give me a hand."

"Surely that's not wise?" Jon said.

"I'm not very wise this late at night," Axel said.

Kim protested a little when they picked him up and put him in the trunk, but then he seemed content once more. He curled up and closed his eyes. Perhaps he hadn't even noticed the lid slamming shut. It began to snow. Small, dry flakes that danced in the headlights. Reilly closed his eyes. After the uproar at Irene's, the silence was welcome. The only sound was the constant spinning of the engine. Axel was driving, Jon dozed on the back seat. Reilly looked forward to being back in his own bed. The many hours of loud music had made him feel dizzy. They were approaching the town. At a roundabout they debated which exit to take.

"I wonder why they come here," Axel said.

Reilly gave him a quizzical look. "Who?"

"All the foreigners."

"It's obvious why they want to come here," Reilly said. "Norway's a much better country. Is that so hard to understand?"

"But it's so cold here," Axel said. "Look."

He pointed to the display on the dashboard. "It's minus seventeen."

"I don't suppose they worry about the cold," Reilly said. "They want food and a job. They want the freedom that we have. They want to be able to walk in the street without having to show ID papers and all that. They want to say what they want and write what they want. It's not like that everywhere, as you well know. Of course people want to come here."

"That guy in the trunk," Axel said. "Why do you think he came here?"

"I guess he came with his parents," Reilly suggested. "And they probably came here to get a job. And a house. The kind of things people normally want." He turned and checked the back seat. "Are you asleep, Jon?"

When they reached Nattmal, Axel pulled up by the letterboxes. He stepped out into the snow, which squeaked underneath his shoes, and some tiny snowflakes landed in his brown hair. Jon woke up and rubbed his eyes.

Icy air poured into the car.

Axel opened the trunk.

"We're here," he called out. "Out you come!"

Reilly came to help. He slipped a couple of times, and had to hold on to the car for support.

"Look at his eyes," Axel said. "Something's wrong with them."

Reilly leaned over to have a look. "He's lying on his back," he said. "That's not good."

"Surely it makes no damn difference which way he's lying," Axel barked. "Let's get him out."

He bent over Kim Van Chau to get a better look at him.

"Hey, Kim. Wake up, damn you!"

Nothing happened in the trunk. They started prodding him. Axel slapped him gently across the face, but to no effect. He was still. Reilly started pacing up and down in the snow. His long coat flapped around his legs.

"Do you think he's passed out?"

Axel snarled at him. "Of course he has. He's not responding."

"Do you know any first aid?" Reilly asked. "Like CPR?"

"Why do we need to do CPR?" Axel said. "He's just had a few too many beers. No one's ever died from that. We need to get him out of the car. Out into the fresh air. Then he'll come round. Right, come on."

They got hold of Kim. His body was limp like a rag doll, only much heavier.

Jon came around to help.

"What's going on?" he asked. "Can't he walk on his own? Will we have to carry him?"

Axel got Kim out on to the snow. His legs refused to support him and he collapsed on the ground.

"Kim!" Axel shouted. "Listen to me. You need to stand up."

Kim Van Chau stayed where he was.

"We've had enough," Axel continued. "This isn't a game. Your mom's expecting you."

"We've done it this time," Reilly groaned.

"We haven't done shit," Axel raged.

Jon moaned and slumped to his knees. "We need to call someone," he gasped. "We need someone to help us!"

Axel looked hard at both of them. "We need to talk about this. Now calm down."

"We'll carry him up to the houses," Reilly suggested. "He's
bound to have a key in his pocket. We'll let him in and leave him in the hall."

"We don't even know where he lives," Axel protested. "We don't know which house number. Jon, go and read the names on the letterboxes over there. Quickly!"

Jon rushed over, but it was dark and he found it difficult to read most of the names.

"Look out for anyone Vietnamese," Reilly shouted.

"But they're all foreign," Jon replied. "There's a single one with a Norwegian name. Shall I run up and read the names by the doorbells?"

"Stay here," Axel thundered. "We need to stick together."

"He's not breathing," Reilly whispered. "Look at his lips. They've gone blue."

"That's because it's so cold," Axel declared. He started walking. He stopped after a few meters, turned abruptly and came back.

"Help me!" he said. "We need to talk."

Together they managed to lift Kim into the trunk. Axel slammed it shut. He ordered them back inside the car. A few minutes later he started driving.

"We can't stay here," he explained. "People can see us. We need time."

Jon stared out of the rear window. He watched the letterboxes vanish in the darkness.

"But where are we going?" he asked. "What are we going to do?"

Axel did not have a plan. He drove aimlessly. As long as they kept on moving, a solution would appear, he thought, or the person in the trunk would come back to life and start banging on the metal. Time itself would come to their rescue. Nature was playing a nasty trick on them, that was all, so he carried on driving. They passed no one. A Shell gas station tempted them with
hot food and drinks behind lit-up windows. Jon begged Axel to stop.

"People will see us and remember us," he argued. "We're not stopping anywhere, not yet."

"Then when will we be stopping?" Jon persevered. "Are we going to drive until morning?"

"You're low on gas," Reilly remarked. He pointed to the gas gauge.

Axel Frimann sat hunched over the wheel as though he was steering a ship through a storm. They were moving, but they were not going home. They were in no man's land.

"We might have been mistaken," Reilly tried. "Shouldn't we stop to see how he is? If he's come round?"

Axel pulled over at a bus stop.

He opened the door and got out. Reilly staggered after him.

"He's starting to grow cold," Reilly said. "It's not necessarily our fault. Perhaps he had a bad heart."

"Do you know something?" Axel said. "That's not a risk I'm willing to take."

They continued to drive through the darkness. At first in huge circles around the town, later along the main road. It was still snowing.

"We need to call," Jon stuttered.

"It's too late," Reilly said. "He's dead."

"But how?" Jon asked.

"Perhaps he threw up," Reilly said.

"People don't die from that," Axel argued.

"Yes. He threw up and inhaled his own vomit. You can drown that way, it does happen."

Jon curled up on the back seat. He listened to the two men in the front. A few words reached him through the darkness of the car, such as "it's no good, we can't drive back and leave him at the side of the road, you know that."

"But he's in the trunk now and it's not like he's going to go away."

"We need to find another solution."

"It's not our fault."

"Yes," Reilly said. "It is our fault. You and your seats."

"So it's my fault now, is it? Is that what you're saying? That he drank too much and decided to die in my car? Is that my fault?"

Axel's strong, argumentative voice. Reilly's weak protests.

"It'll only get worse," Reilly said.

"It can't get any worse," Axel said.

Twenty minutes later Axel parked the car by the shore of Glitter Lake.

"Why are we stopping?" Jon asked.

"The gas light has come on," Axel replied.

The headlights formed two pale blue cones across the ice. After some time they got out of the car and wandered up and down along the shore.

"We can't drive back," Axel said. "And we can't take him home with us. This much I assume we do agree on."

He looked across the ice. To the right of the beach lay a hill with some bushes growing around it.

"There," Axel said. "Under the bushes. We'll hide him there, and when the ice melts he'll go through."

"You're not serious?" Reilly said.

Axel opened the trunk.

Jon protested. "We don't need to say that we put him in the trunk," he said. "Can't we just keep quiet about that bit?"

"They'll find out eventually," Axel said. "We'll be convicted of manslaughter. We'll go to prison for several years."

Jon carried on crying.

"You need to think of those closest to you now," Axel said. "Not strangers from a foreign country who decide to die on your
doorstep. What do you think your mom will say if you go to jail?"

"But we won't go to jail, will we?" Jon protested.

"Yes, we will, and I'm not going to let that happen to me. We need to agree on a story."

Jon was still sobbing. He started kicking the tires of the car. "Reilly," he howled. "Say something!"

Reilly took a few steps through the snow, still keeping his back to him.

Axel pulled out his cell phone from his pocket.

"Here you are, Jon, go on, make the call. After all, you're so much better than us. Do the right thing and ruin the rest of your life."

I
NGERID MORENO
spotted the taxi from her window.

She pulled on her boots and had just got outside when Yoo Van Chau's foot appeared below the door of the taxi. Yoo was carrying a big shoulder bag. It was heavy, and it upset her balance. The street had been gritted, but there were still icy patches on the flagstone path leading up to the house.

"Let me help you," Ingerid said.

Yoo hooked her arm through Ingerid's and together they staggered up the slippery flagstones like two old ladies. They could not help but laugh at themselves, and their laughter reminded them of the old life which they had lost.

"Please sit down," Ingerid said, once they got inside.

She had cleaned the house. She had bought flowers and lit candles. She had cooked dinner and set the table, and she had opened a bottle of wine.

Yoo sat down on the sofa and Ingerid let herself fall into a
chair. There were things that needed saying. They both summoned their courage.

"I'm not making excuses for Jon," Ingerid began. "He should have held his ground even though Axel and Reilly were older and stronger than him. But I was young myself once. We went to parties every Saturday and we used to get quite drunk. Some mornings I would wake up unable to recall the night before. It would just be a blur."

Yoo listened with the shoulder bag on her lap.

"There's so much we don't know about ourselves," Ingerid said. "Perhaps we ought to thank fate for the trials we never have to face."

"Kim shouldn't have drunk as much as he did," Yoo said. "He wasn't used to it. I feel sorry for both of them. And I feel sorry for us."

She looked at the flowers on the table. She recognized them as caramel roses. Ingerid had food in the oven too. She could hear hot fat spitting.

"Every day I light a candle on his grave," she said. "I go there whatever the weather, come rain or come shine. Then I wait for the bus, in the freezing cold. I'm so tired of it. Then I make up my mind not to go the next day, but I think I can hear him calling out for me, so I have to go anyway even if it's cold. I have to, otherwise I can't sleep."

"He's controlling you," Ingerid said. "Did he control you when he was alive as well?"

"Of course not."

"So why do you allow him to do so now?" She went to the window and looked outside. "The snow will come soon," she said. "Think about that."

Yoo thought about the snow. It would cover the graves like a duvet.

Ingerid went to the bookcase, pulled out a photo album with a black cover and placed it on the table. "You first," she said.

Yoo opened her shoulder bag. Her photo album was pale blue and bore the following title:
My little baby.

She opened the first page and pointed to the photo of a newborn baby swaddled in a blanket.

"Kim," she whispered. "On the day he was born."

R
EILLY'S CELL MEASURED
eight square meters. It had a simple bed and a desk, and he had his own toilet. He also had a shelf with a handful of books, and on the wall above his bed he had fixed an old photo of himself, Axel and Jon when they were boys. Axel's father had taken the picture. It was before the stroke destroyed him. Axel was wearing a white shirt and jeans; Jon was in shorts and on his head he wore the dark blue cap from Toten Transport. Reilly himself was wearing an old tracksuit with red and blue trim.

Reilly studied the picture every day. He was convinced that he would eventually spot signs of everything that had happened since then. A shadow, perhaps, or a certain light. But he found no such thing. They were just little kids with skinny legs and pointy knees.

The window of his cell faced the river, and a herd of cows was grazing on its bank. There were fifty, maybe sixty animals there, and he enjoyed watching them. The animals were sturdy and
shaggy, some were as pale as cream, others black or red, and they always moved as one. Whenever it began to rain, they would huddle together under a cluster of trees in a compact slumbering mass.

"Herefordshire," Hermansen said.

Hermansen was the prison guard whom Reilly liked the most. He was the oldest one on the section and would retire shortly. Sometimes you could sense that he was already winding down. He had lost some of his flexibility, and his dealings with the inmates were characterized by a brutal honesty.