“Don’t even think about it,” he growled. “That way,” he said, pointing to the right. “Into the car park. Kill the engine and switch the lights off.”
Magnús obeyed. The car came to a standstill in a deserted car park large enough for only a dozen cars. A forlorn picnic table squatted on a raised area at the end, lit up by the passing beams of cars speeding along Reykjanesbraut. Rain pattered on the windscreen. Magnús shivered.
“This is where we get out and go for a little walk, young man,” Baddó said with the sigh of a man with an unpleasant job ahead of him.
Jóel Ingi lounged on the sofa, practically sinking into it, fiddling with his phone while Agnes watched a movie. He hardly took in any of the film, while she sat entranced, her hand going to mouth occasionally from the bowl of popcorn he had made and placed on her lap. The credits finally rolled and Agnes looked up.
“Are you all right?” She asked with a sideways look.
“Yeah. Me? I’m fine.”
“Sure? You’ve been sulking all evening.”
“I have not!” Jóel Ingi retorted.
Agnes let a trickle of popcorn slide into her mouth and crunched suggestively. “You are so sulking,” she sniggered. “What’s up with you?”
Jóel Ingi sighed. “Æi. Work shit, that’s all.” He yawned.
Agnes leaned forward to put the bowl, now containing nothing more than a few unpopped kernels and a layer of salt, onto the vast coffee table. She let herself fall sideways and her cheek rested against his shoulder. “What’s the matter, big boy?” She whispered in a tone that normally had him eating out of her hand. “Done something you shouldn’t have?”
Jóel Ingi frowned. For once there were things on his mind that drove his wife’s sure-fire seduction techniques right out of his mind.
“Or not done something you should have?”
“Æi, Agnes, what’s the matter with you tonight?” he snapped as his phone tinkled.
Agnes’s face set like a rock and she sat bolt upright, straightening the cardigan that had begun to come adrift.
“There’s nothing the matter with me,” she said harshly. “I’m not the one who’s grouchy and uptight. I’m not the one who’s waiting for someone to call,” she spat and stood up. Jóel Ingi heard her footsteps on the iron spiral staircase that led down to the flat from their cosy TV attic. Then the bathroom door slammed and he heard the sound of water running as his phone tinkled again. He scanned the message on the screen, frowned and sent a quick reply before sighing to himself and wondering how long it would be before Agnes deigned to speak to him again. Occasionally it was a relief to have her in a foul mood. At least that way Jóel Ingi knew where he stood.
He padded to the top of the stairs and listened. The water running in the bathroom below sounded like a waterfall and a bad temper meant she would be in there for a while. He decided to call after all.
“Hæ. It’s me.”
“So I see.”
Jóel Ingi could hear music in the background that practically drowned out the voice. “Anything yet?” he asked.
“I told you yesterday,” Hinrik drawled, and from the self-satisfied sound of his voice, Jóel Ingi imagined him lying on a leather sofa being administered to by gangster’s molls of every description. “I told you yesterday that my best guy is dealing with this. When there’s something to tell, you’ll be the first to hear it, my friend.”
“All right. Just wanted to be sure. After all …”
“After all, this is costing you a lot of money and you want results. That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?” Hinrik asked, his tone suddenly harsh.
“No. Not at all.” Jóel Ingi said, flustered by the change of direction.
“That’s all right then,” Hinrik said, softly this time. “The job’s being done. Now leave me alone to get on with it, will you?”
Jóel Ingi found himself looking at his phone, the connection having been abruptly terminated. He tossed it onto the sofa and looked out of the small skylight that provided a view of city roofs, as long as you stood on tiptoe.
“I’m going to bed.” He turned and saw Agnes, her pale shoulders bare above the towel wrapped around her and her hair dripping as she looked into the TV attic from halfway up the stairs. “You coming, or are you going to stay up there all night making secret phone calls?”
“Agnes, I’m just …” he fumbled, but she had already gone and this time the bedroom door slammed.
It had been too long, Baddó flexed his shoulders and surveyed the bar from a vantage point at one end that let him see the door and, more importantly, who came through it. The music throbbed and it irritated him, this poppy youngsters’ music that was all computers and drum machines. There was no soul to it, no feeling. A bunch of sweaty guys with guitars in a smoky club, that’s music, he thought, not this factory shit. But hell, the place was busy enough and it was time for a man to iron out the creases after a long time away.
He sipped his beer, determined to make it last. The fucking price of it these days! Not that the price of beer alone had prompted him to leave the country when he did. Baddó reflected that it had been the right thing to do, even though it hadn’t ended well. He could have stayed, he thought, faced them down, and all that unpleasantness would have been ancient history by now.
A couple of likely looking women were positioned here and there, one not too far away. Baddó returned to his thoughts, not that he made a habit of picking over the past, but seeing María again brought so much back.
He looked over at the woman nearest to him; she was a few feet away along the bar, trying to get the barman’s attention. Decent figure, he reckoned, not too tall and no stick insect. Blonde-a natural one as far as he could make out-although maybe a little faded as middle age approached. Nicely dressed but not flashy. A few miles on the clock, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. He sensed that she was about to look his way and averted his eyes, looking back in her direction just as she frowned in irritation as the barman again served someone else.
“Hey, Andri!” Baddó called in a tone that was gruff but carried in spite of the hum of noise. It was a voice that commanded attention and the barman looked up smartly at the hard-looking character he’d seen drinking with Hinrik a few times, a questioning look on his face.
“Lady here needs serving,” Baddó said sharply, and Andri was in front of her in a moment, his original customer angrily bewildered at being abandoned.
“Thanks for that. I feel I owe you a drink,” the woman said.
Don’t be too keen, he told himself. “You’re welcome. I don’t like to see someone without a drink for too long.”
She smiled. Strong teeth, lines at the corners of her mouth, sharp blue eyes. She put out a hand. “I’m Ebba. Pleased to meet you.”
“Baddó.”
“I’ll get you that drink if you’ll make sure the barman gets here.”
This time Baddó didn’t even have to call. Andri was there as Baddó raised a finger. He was pleased to see her ask for two beers, as he had never held with fancy drinks for women. “Cheers,” she said, clinking her glass against his and looking him in the eyes over its rim as she drank.
Saturday
Gunna had intended to make the most of a morning at home, but by the time she had washed and dried clothes and given the kitchen a birthday, she realized that there was precious little left of the morning.
“Laufey! Laufey Oddbjörg Ragnarsdóttir! Rise and shine, young lady,” she called in a thoroughly cheerful but convincing tone into the darkness of Laufey’s bedroom, clicking the light on and off again.
“What? What time is it?” Laufey moaned.