The Legend of Kareem by Jim Heskett Page B

service.
    “Are you paying attention?” she said.
    “Sorry.”
    “As I was saying, no phone calls without checking in first. Whatever y’all need to take care of, work it out before you ask to use the phone. You’re free to wander the house or the barn, but the garage is off limits. Understand?”
    I stared at the garage, which was covered in a patchwork of aluminum siding and exposed drywall. “Why?” I said, and the word had just slipped out, almost involuntarily.
    Vanessa dropped the bags, crossed her arms, and got right in my face. “Because I said so, that’s why.”
     
    ***
     
    The house was empty. From the main foyer, an archway led to a kitchen on the right, and there was also a living room with sagging couches and TV trays on the left. Stairs to the second floor straight ahead. Most of the walls were covered with a floral print wallpaper that was faded and peeling in spots. Some sections were exposed drywall, just like the garage outside. I try not to be a judgey kind of person, but this place was a dump. No other way to look at it.
    Omar and I lugged our bags up a set of rickety stairs to find our sleeping quarters. Room at the end of the hall. No lock on the door. Twin beds inside, with creaky mattresses and blankets that smelled as if they’d never been washed.
    I leaned up against the wall, trying to think what our next move should be. We were now carless and needed to push further south, as soon as possible.
    Omar took a sheet of paper from a pad on the dresser, then sat on the bed, hunched over, and I couldn’t see what he was doing. He hummed a song to himself while he worked, his arms moving and swinging. In a minute, he spun, holding something in the palm of his hand. He’d twisted the paper into a shape.
    “What is that?” I said.
    “It is a crane. Can you not tell?”
    I walked forward and accepted the little piece of origami.
    “I had a Japanese friend at university. He taught me.”
    I set the crane on the bed. “We can’t stay here long. I don’t like this place at all.”
    “I understand,” Omar said, spreading the clothes from his suitcase along a dresser. “But Vanessa was very kind to take us in on short notice.”
    Sure, I’d have to remember to send her one of my own Christmas cards next year. “We should talk about our next steps as soon as possible.”
    “Yes,” he said. “But I am drained from all this travel. I need to rest for a day or two.”
    Rest didn’t figure in well with my schedule. But we could talk about that later. “How do you even know that biker chick?”
    “Vanessa and I have been friends for a few years. She may be gruff, but she is also kind, and fair. She is the sister of the man I used to room with in Austin.”
    Ah, the pot-bellied redneck who tried to knock me out in the trailer park before I’d found Omar. “Yeah, I met him. Not a happy-go-lucky kind of guy.”
    He cocked his head. “You met him?”
    “It’s how I found you. He said you’d moved out because there was some kind of incident. Do you know what he was talking about?”
    Omar averted his eyes. “I do not know.”
    “Are you sure? He seemed pretty upset about it still.”
    “Fine. Yes, I do know. He must have referred to when Kareem came to visit me.”
    “Do you want to tell me about it?”
    Omar stared, then grunted a labored sigh. “I will tell you what happened.”
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FIFTEEN
     
     
    Omar Qureshi opened the trailer door to a warm summer morning. By afternoon, the sun would bake the streets and sidewalks into something nearly unbearable, but mornings reminded him of home. Warm, dry, making the skin sting just enough to feel pleasant without bringing a sweat.
    The screen door banged closed behind him, and his roommate cursed the noise. Still sleeping at nine o’clock, quite an American thing to do.
    But Omar didn’t care about his roommate today because he was going to see his older brother, for the first time in nearly