Bubble(42)

 
 

 

They seemed to be aiming straight for them.

Suddenly he realized how filthy his hooded top was. Dirty stains all over it and brown scorch marks along one sleeve. Nora was in a similar state. It was hardly surprising that the cops seemed interested, they looked like a couple of down-and-outs.

Nora squeezed his hand and he found himself squeezing back. The stairs were still ten metres away, and the cops were much closer than that.

They werent going to make it. Unless they ran for it  …

He tensed his body, tried to free his hand and get ready to sprint.

But she wouldnt let go.

Just as the cops caught up with them she pulled him to her, pressed her lips to his and started kissing him hard.

The kiss took him completely by surprise, but after a couple of seconds he got used to the idea and started kissing her back. Her lips and tongue were just as soft as he had imagined, even if the faint but not unpleasant taste of tobacco surprised him.

He put one arm round her lower back and pulled her towards him.

A gust of wind from the tunnel caught her hair, and it tickled him on the cheek.

But he hardly noticed.

Get a room  …  the female cop smirked as they walked past.

A few seconds later a train thundered into the station.

People came running down the stairs, forcing their way past them even though the carriage doors hadnt opened yet.

Nora pulled back and let go of his neck and hand.

Here, she said, fishing a crumpled envelope out of her trouser pocket.

Take the train out to the Woodland Cemetery, Kents sorted out a flat there. The key and address are in the envelope. Well be in touch in a couple of days.

Er, okay, he mumbled, not sure what he was expected to say, or do, for that matter.

This is your train, she said with a smile, pointing towards the carriage a metre or so away.

Er, okay.

Same words again. He really did have the gift of the gab today. A real ladies man.

The Woodland Cemetery, of all places. Almost back on home territory. The little basement where the Fenster ran his stolen goods racket, where HP had financed pretty much the whole of his adult life.

He stepped into the carriage and turned round.

For a few moments they stood there looking at each other.

Fires, she said just as the doors began to bleep.

What?

You asked what I did for the Game.

Right  …

The doors slowly started to close.

I started fires  …





20





A Friend




A scarf round her head, big black sunglasses, gloves, and a blue raincoat. Like something out of a fifties magazine, and definitely not her. But, on the other hand, that was the whole point of this little masquerade.

She said hello to the guard in reception and held out her passcard. It was a different man to last time, or at least she thought it was.

You can go through, he said once hed drawn her card through the reader.

Thanks.

She carried on to the airlock. The large beach-bag she was carrying over her shoulder was chafing slightly, but she gritted her teeth. She used her card again and tried to stop herself from glancing up at the little round camera in the ceiling.

The plan was simple: open the new locker, put the green metal box in the bag and disappear out of the door, never to return.

There was no time to lose. Sooner or later Stigsson and his henchmen would get hold of the passcard register and join the dots. She couldnt let them find the revolver, because theyd link it to events at the Grand and use it as incontrovertible evidence that Henke really had meant to kill Black. The simplest solution would be to hand the gun over to Uncle Tage, just as she had more or less promised. But right now that thought didnt feel quite so appealing as it had during their conversation in the car. Oh well, she could decide later, once shed managed to get the revolver out of the bank.

The door at the other end of the airlock opened and she stepped inside the vault.

It looked exactly the same as last time, but just to be sure she stood still beside the door, listening for any sound of other visitors.

Everything was silent, and after a few seconds she headed off down the central passageway.

She walked slowly at first, then speeded up, as if she was afraid she wasnt going to make it in time. The sound of her heels bounced off the walls and created odd echoes in the rooms off to each side of the main path.

As she passed the gate leading to the room containing the old box she couldnt help looking over at it. The hole in the brass door where the lock had once been was clearly visible.

She fought a sudden urge to stop and take a closer look. Instead she carried on, past two more gates until she reached the one with its green lamp illuminated. Her heart started to beat faster and she paused for a couple of seconds to look round. One of the dark, spherical cameras was almost immediately above her head, and she had to make a real effort not to look up.

As soon as she got inside the little room and found the door to her own safe deposit box, she felt much calmer. Everything was okay, the lock was intact and there was no sign that anyone had tried to force it open.

She put the key in the lock, then looked over her shoulder one last time just to be sure. Then she turned the key.

It took several seconds for her to register what she found.

The tin box was gone, and the locker was all but empty. Empty except for the little round object in the middle of it. A small glass sphere, maybe five centimetres in diameter.

She carefully took it out, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. Her right hand suddenly began to shake and for a moment she was worried she was going to drop it.

She quickly switched hands, then held the sphere up to the light and examined it carefully as she tried to get her head round the situation. Everything suddenly felt very unreal, almost dreamlike. She could see right through the sphere as she carefully rolled it between her thumb and forefinger.

At its centre floated a small bubble.

The flat couldnt have been more than twenty-five square metres in size.

A tiny kitchen that reeked of frying, and another room with a spongy cork-matting floor, fitted out with a folding bed from Ikea and a roll of wank paper. Not exactly the Hilton. And it was also hot as hell.

The morning sun was blazing down on the windows, and the roll-blinds seemed to be absorbing the heat rather than deflecting it.

He held up the transparent little pill bottle in front of him and shook it. Five big pills bounced around inside. For what must be the tenth time in the past five minutes, he popped the lid open and pulled one of them out.

Obviously he really ought to clamber out of bed, pour himself a glass of lukewarm water from the wonky tap in the kitchen, and swallow the bastard.

Long overdue too, for that matter, seeing as hed spent almost twenty-four hours asleep in there, so he was behind on his medication. His head was aching in a rather disturbing way, and in spite of the heat he had found himself shivering a few times.

Yet still he hesitated.

She must have put the bottle of pills in his pocket while they were kissing. That was the only realistic explanation he could think of.

He put the pill back in the bottle, fished out the box of Marlboros he had picked up on the way from the station, and lit one.

I started fires  …

Nice girl  …

Really nice  …

There were a number of fires to choose from. Ermans cottage. Mangas shop. Not to mention his own flat  …  Take your pick, basically  …

The first time he took one of those horse pills he got ill. Hed had food-poisoning before, but this had felt different, he realized now in hindsight. And his involuntary stomach pump out in the water of Pålsundet had made him feel better almost immediately, which definitely wasnt what usually happened after an overdose of kebabylococcus.
 
 

 

If he hadnt suddenly fallen ill, hed be a long way away by now. Hed have taken off to the countryside and hidden himself away in a hole deep enough to make Saddam Hussein jealous. But instead he had ended up wandering round Långholmen, feeling like shit until he came up with the bright idea of having a nap on a boat.

And then all they had to do was reel him in, basically.

And now he was here in their flat. Exactly where they wanted him.

And all thanks to Manga.

Fucking bloody Manga, who had obviously shafted him royally. No, imperially! But now he was expected to just forget everything that had happened, and swallow the story that he had been doing the Games bidding the whole time.

FUCK!!

He threw the bottle of pills at the ceiling, where it made a dent in one of the plasterboard tiles before bouncing over towards the front door.

If only he had a computer, he could do a bit of googling and check out some of the details of the shit soup Manga was trying to feed him.

But no, here he was with no broadband, telephone or even a sodding television.

Like a suburban variation of Erman the Hermit.

Ah yes, Erman  …

The Game Masters little buddy, who was clearly one of the people who used that underground office when he needed to. An outcast who had come in from the cold, and had managed to carve out a place for himself right next to the stove.

If he had ever really been frozen out, of course.

It was through Manga that he had hooked up with Erman in the first place. Manga, who he thought he knew inside out. The same Manga whose first Commodore 64 HP had procured from the Fenster in exchange for three stolen car stereos.

Manga, who always helped out no matter how much you took the piss  …

Ohforfuckssake  … !

He flew up from the bed, trying desperately to find something to take his frustration out on, but ended up just pacing up and down the worn floor. His headache got worse with every step.