‘But two hundred thousand dollars ought to be more than—’
‘Sorry, it’s the amount I said or nothing at all, Krohn.’
Krohn sighed. ‘It’s an insane sum, Harry, but all right, I’ll call my client. I’ll get back to you.’
‘Five minutes,’ came the hoarse reply. Krohn heard another voice say something in the background.
‘Four and a half,’ Harry said.
‘I’ll do my best to get hold of him,’ Krohn said.
Harry put the phone on the kitchen table and looked up at the man with the shotgun, which was still pointed at him. The other man was speaking Spanish into another mobile.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ whispered Lucille, sitting next to Harry.
Harry patted her hand. ‘That’s my line.’
‘No, it’s mine,’ she said. ‘I’m the one who got you mixed up in this. And anyway, it’s not true, is it? It won’t be all right.’
‘Define all right,’ Harry said.
Lucille smiled faintly. ‘Well, at least I had a wonderful final evening yesterday, that’s something. You know, everybody at Dan Tana’s was convinced we were a couple.’
‘You think?’
‘Oh, I saw it in their faces when you walked in with me on your arm. There’s Lucille Owens with a tall, blond and much younger man, they thought. And wished they were movie stars themselves. And then you took my coat and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Thank you, Harry.’
Harry was about to point out that he had only done as he had been instructed beforehand, including removing his wedding ring, but refrained.
‘Dos minutos,’ the man with the phone said, and Harry felt Lucille’s hand squeeze harder on his.
‘What’s el jefe in the car saying?’ Harry asked.
The man with the shotgun didn’t answer.
‘Has he killed as many people as you?’
The man gave a brief laugh. ‘No one knows how many he’s killed. All I know is that if you don’t pay you’ll be the next two on his list. He likes to take care of things personally. And I mean likes.’
Harry nodded. ‘He the one who gave her the loan or did he just buy the debt?’
‘We don’t loan money, we just collect it. And he’s the best. He can spot the losers, the ones in debt.’ He hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward a little and lowered his voice: ‘He says it’s in their eyes and in the way they carry themselves, but mostly in their body odour. You can see it when you get onto a bus — the ones weighed down by debt are the ones with a seat free next to them. He said you’re in debt too, el rubio.’
‘Me?’
‘He was in that bar looking for the lady one day and saw you sitting there.’
‘He’s wrong, I’m not in debt.’
‘He’s never wrong. You owe somebody something. That was how he found my father.’
‘Your father?’
The man nodded. Harry looked at him. Swallowed. Tried to picture the man in the car. Harry’s phone had been lying on the kitchen table on speaker while Harry had put forward his proposal, but the man on the other end had not uttered a single word.
‘Un minuto.’ The man with the mobile released the safety catch on the pistol.
‘Our Father,’ Lucille mumbled, ‘who art in heaven...’
‘How could you spend so much money on a movie that never materialised?’ Harry asked.
Lucille looked at him in surprise at first. Before perhaps realising that he was offering her some distraction prior to their stepping over the threshold.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘that’s the most frequently asked question in this town.’
‘Cinco segundos.’
Harry stared at his phone. ‘And the most frequent answer given?’
‘Bad luck and lousy scripts.’
‘Mm. Sounds like my life.’
The display lit up. Krohn’s number. Harry pressed Accept.
‘Talk to me. Quickly, and just the conclusion.’
‘Røed says yes.’
‘You’re going to get the email address.’ Harry handed the phone to the guy who was talking to el jefe. The guy stuck the pistol in the shoulder holster inside his bomber jacket and put the two phones against one another. Harry heard the low buzz of voices. When it went quiet, he gave the phone back to Harry. Krohn had hung up. The guy put his own phone to his ear and listened. Lowered it.
‘You’re lucky, el rubio. You have ten days. From now.’ He pointed to his watch. ‘After that, we shoot her.’ He pointed to Lucille. ‘And then we come for you. She’s coming with us now, and you’re not to try to contact her. If you tell anyone about this, you die, along with whoever you talked to. That’s the way we do things here, how we do things in Mexico and how we’ll do things where you’re going. Don’t think you’re beyond our reach.’
‘OK,’ Harry said, and swallowed. ‘Anything else I should know?’
The guy rubbed his scorpion tattoo and smiled. ‘That we won’t shoot you. We’ll strip the skin from your back and leave you lying in the sun. It’ll only take a few hours before you’re parched and die of thirst. Believe me, you’ll be grateful it doesn’t take longer.’
Harry felt like saying something about Norway and the sun in September but held back. The clock was already ticking. Not just on the ten days, but on the flight he had a ticket for. He checked his watch. One and a half hours. It was Saturday and not many kilometres from here to LAX, but this was Los Angeles. He was already behind schedule. Hopelessly behind.
He looked one last time at Lucille. Yes, that was how she would have looked, his own mother, had she lived longer.
Harry Hole leaned over, kissed Lucille on the forehead, stood up and strode towards the door.
7
Sunday
Harry was sitting in the passenger seat of a 1970 Volvo Amazon. Bjørn was next to him and they were singing along to a Hank Williams song playing at an irregular speed on Bjørn’s cassette player. Every time they stopped singing, a soft whimpering could be heard from a child in the back seat. The car began to shake. Odd, seeing as they were parked.
Harry opened his eyes and looked up at the flight attendant who was shaking him gently on his shoulder.
‘We’ll be landing soon, sir,’ she said from behind the face mask. ‘Please fasten your seat belt.’
She removed the empty glass from in front of him, manoeuvred the table to the side and down into the armrest. Business class. He had, at the last moment, decided to put on his suit and leave everything else, not even taking hand luggage along. Harry yawned and looked out the window. Forest passed below. Lakes. And then: city. More city. Oslo. Then forest again. He thought about the quick phone call he had made before they took off from LAX. To Ståle Aune, the psychologist who had been his regular collaborator on murder cases. Thought about his voice, which had sounded so different. About him telling Harry he had tried to reach him several times over the past few months. Harry’s answer, that he’d had the phone switched off. Ståle saying it wasn’t that important, he had only wanted to tell him that he was ill. Pancreatic cancer.
The flight from LA should, according to the schedule, take thirteen hours. Harry looked at his watch. Converted it into Norwegian time. Sunday 08.55. Sunday was a day of abstinence, but if he defined himself as still being on LA time, it was Saturday for another five minutes. He looked up at the ceiling for the call button before remembering that in business class it was on the remote control. He located it wedged into the console. He pressed, and a sonar ping sounded at the same time as a light came on above him.
She was there in under ten seconds. ‘Yes, sir?’
But within those ten seconds Harry had sufficient time to count the number of drinks he’d had in the course of his LA Saturday. Full quota. Shit.