Chapter 42
Job done.
He would like to have stayed longer in Palm Springs, but that’s the way it goes. That’s the job.
There are two queues through security, both short. ‘Jakob Eriksson’ and his deep-burgundy Swedish passport join the ‘Trusted Traveller’ queue. It’s a scheme that speeds you through airports all over the world. ‘Trusted Traveller’ always makes him laugh. If only they knew, eh?
The US Customs and Border Protection officer asks Jakob to look into the camera, and the camera is happy with what it sees. ‘Thank you, Mr Eriksson.’
Trundling his little bag once again, he heads to the First Class lounge. This case has been around the world with him. He looks at the travel stickers plastered over it: Helsinki, Bratislava, Minsk. The things he’s seen. What memories.
It was weird without Korbin. Not that they ever spoke, but it was nice knowing he was there. A layer of protection.
What next? That’s the big question. Hopefully he can spend a bit of time at home now, get on with a few projects.
Entering the lounge, he looks around. There are seven or eight people already seated. A woman on a laptop, two men in baseball caps looking at their phones. An older couple trying to figure out the coffee machine.
He wonders what everyone here does. To afford to be in here.
What sort of business do you have to be in to be rich and yet still wear a baseball cap, for example?
Tech or entertainment, he supposes. Or actual baseball, of course.
He would like to ask, but knows he won’t.
There are times he needs to draw attention to himself and times he mustn’t.
What must they think he does? This Jakob Eriksson? This tall, bald man in beige slacks and a tan jacket? What must he look like to them? The lady in the older couple smiles at him as he walks past her, and Jakob Eriksson bows his head to her.
He finds a seat. On the far wall of the lounge a large man is having a conversation on speakerphone.
Perhaps the man is hard of hearing and doesn’t realize the whole lounge can hear his asinine conversation about whether Terry had included Dan on the email chain, or whether Susan was lying about the whole thing?
Hearing what other people think is important at any given time is a very good lesson in perspective.
The older couple take the table next to him.
They’re American, he can hear that. Even quiet Americans have a way of making themselves known.
They are talking about their daughter. They don’t see her enough, that’s the husband’s view.
But she has a life of her own, and she has to be allowed to live it, that’s the wife talking.
‘Where ya travelling?’
It would be nice to share his travels with someone else every now and again. And not Korbin, that didn’t count.
‘Buddy, where ya travelling?’
He realizes that the man at the next table is talking to him.
‘Oh, LA,’ he says. His voice seems very high, and he realizes that he hasn’t had a single proper conversation in three days. What has there been to talk about? Who has there been to talk to? ‘LA and then back home.’
‘I’m Cliff,’ says the man.
‘Jakob,’ he replies. ‘Jakob Eriksson.’
‘Hell of an accent you got there,’ says Cliff. ‘What are you? Australian?’
‘Swedish,’ says Jakob Eriksson.
‘Funny kind of Swedish,’ says Cliff. ‘But your business.’
‘We’re flying to Canada,’ says the wife. ‘Calgary, our son lives there.’
‘It’s cold,’ says Cliff. ‘Always cold. What line of work are you in, Jakob?’
This is one of the reasons that he loves Americans. He can sit there and wonder and wonder as to what people do for a living, an American just asks.
For that reason, and others, he is tempted to tell this man, Cliff, the truth. What harm could it do? A stranger in an airport lounge thousands of miles from home. It can be lonely never having anyone to tell the truth to.
‘I’m a gardener,’ he says. Cliff is right, he has never quite nailed the accent, he can hear it himself.
The man looks around the First Class lounge. ‘Pretty rich gardener, if you don’t mind me saying.’
He just shrugs. What else is there to say?
‘I’ll bet you do something pretty interesting,’ says the man. ‘I’ll bet you’re a man with side projects.’
‘Stop being nosy, Cliff,’ says the wife.
The man tips his head towards the large man talking on his phone.
‘You believe that?’ Cliff asks. ‘Why do people do that?’
He shrugs again and tries to be a bit more Swedish. ‘Perhapsh he ish hard of hearing?’
‘Bullcrap,’ says Cliff. ‘Pardon my Italian. He’s a selfish jerk. I think if you’re on speakerphone, you should get a bullet through the noggin. That’d put a stop to it.’
‘Cliff,’ says his wife, ‘not everyone needs to hear your opinions.’
Cliff nods towards him. ‘Our friend Jakob doesn’t mind, do you, bud?’
‘Not at all,’ says Jakob.
‘Don’t suppose that’s one of your side projects, is it, Mr Eriksson?’ Cliff asks. ‘You the sort of man who could pull the trigger? You sure look the type. The face you see when you die.’
‘Jesus, Cliff,’ says the wife. ‘I’m sorry about my husband.’
‘Well, he does,’ says Cliff. ‘Look at the guy. Thought Swedes were supposed to be blond, Jakey Boy, not bald.’
Jakey Boy smiles. It is nice to have a conversation, but, stranger or no stranger, he knows he can’t tell the whole truth.
‘I’m just a gardener.’
‘Sure you are,’ says Cliff, looking Jakob Eriksson up and down one more time. ‘And I’m the King of China.’