2 A.M. in Little America by Ken Kalfus

Author:Ken Kalfus [Kalfus, Ken]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Milkweed Editions

* * *

Even with the SUVs gone, even with me returning to my living space in the factory, even with me performing my regular rounds in the enclave, even with me not going back to the empty lot, I became aware that I was being observed with new interest, or at least that I had gained a certain notability or significance. This seemed to have happened immediately, starting the evening we came back and the considerably reduced dog and I passed the defunct web-offset machines on the way to our space, her nail-clicks echoing off the cement floor. The other residents stopped for a moment and watched. They hadn’t watched before. I saw looks in the street and when I entered buildings to inspect equipment. Sometimes I thought the looks were suspicious or slightly antagonistic, sometimes they were warm, and once I received a furtive glance that suggested fear. Despite having plenty of room to pass, a car followed me on my bike for half a minute, before zooming off.

After all these years abroad I thought I knew how to be unremarkable, how to be anonymous. Speak softly. Be indifferent to public rudeness. Wear off-brand jeans, off-brand shoes, and wrinkle-resistant button-downs. Hold yourself small. Cross at the light, unless, as was the case in a few cities in which I had lived, no one did. Literally keep your head down. I had begun to relax my guard in this country’s American district—and the venture into the empty lot broke every personal rule—but now I resumed the manners that had kept me safe. I became accustomed to the extra attention, which in the next few weeks I thought had diminished.

This turned out not to be the case.

I was in a small back room in the garage of a former vehicle depot, fiddling with a circuit board that tested normally outside the unit but sent error messages when it was reinstalled. Now I was checking the contacts. The garage was cool and dimly lit and the air tasted of machines, a pleasing odor that suggested power and utility. I was deeply immersed in my task, so the sound of an unlocked door opening behind me didn’t register. People were always moving about these buildings anyway. I rarely took notice. Shortly, though, I was aware that someone had joined me.

I thought it was the detective, at last. I hadn’t seen him since the morning I had given him the only useful information I ever had.

“All right,” I said lightly. “One minute.”

A man said, “How ya doin’?”

I turned from the panel. The man was a stranger, but obviously an American.

“Good,” I said. “But this unit could be shot. I may have to replace it. Just going to run a few more tests.”

“Cool.”

Two other men entered the cramped alcove. They sported similar haircuts and wore leather jackets in the same style, possibly coincidentally or possibly not. They were relaxed and open-faced. I did notice, however, that they more or less occupied the space between me and the door to the room.

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