The pain was insane.
Closed his eyes. Waited. Heard the Yugos leave. Crackling in the woods. Their sounds faded out. He waited. Listened.
Alone.
Beaten to bits. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t feel his legs; they were numb. His arms were totally gone, too. His back, he could feel. Passed out.
Snapped back. Heard a car drive by on the road. Heard the beat of his own heart. Tried to move his arm. Hurt too much.
Vomited.
Just lay still.
Clear flow of thoughts: Jorgelito in the fairy-tale woods. Crushed. Dumped. Disgraced. Thought he’d been the king. Really, the most naive bitch. They’d been after Paola. God, please don’t let them’ve hurt her. Not humiliated her. He’d call her when he was done here. When he could get up. Paola, the world’s best sister.
He descended into darkness.
She’d accepted baby Jorge’s attitude. When he was fourteen years old, he’d come home with a letter from school.
I hereby wish to inform you that Jorge Salinas Barrio will be suspended from the Tureberg School for six weeks starting March 1 of this year. The reason for this measure is that he has serious problems cooperating with others and has a negative impact on the other students and the general schoolwork. I have on several occasions spoken with you about Jorge’s problems and we have also spoken with the school counselor, Inga-Britt Lindblom, about opportunities for Jorge to reach an understanding regarding his behavior. Unfortunately, his destructive behavior has only increased during this semester, which I also discussed with him and you on February 3 of this year. The school sees no other option but to suspend Jorge during the above-mentioned time. Sollentuna will offer homeschooling. Do not hesitate to be in touch with me if you have any questions.
— Jan Lind, Principal
Mama’d cried. Rodriguez’d whooped him. Jorge’d thought, If my real dad’d been here, he would’ve taken me back to Chile. But Paola wasn’t angry, not apathetic. Hadn’t made excuses. Just been nice. The only one who really talked to Jorgelito. Even though he was a hard-knock, it still felt good to talk. She explained, “You’re Mama’s and my prince. Never forget that. No matter what you do. You’re our prince.”
Someone in the forest was calling Jorge’s name. He couldn’t lay any quieter or stiller than he already was. Were the Yugos back?
No one showed up.
The puke stank.
He was finished. Caput. The Yugos were smarter than he’d thought. He should’ve been even more cautious. Must’ve been the hangover. How long’d Mrado and the other guy been following him? They weren’t on the bus. They hadn’t been on his subway car. Hadn’t seen them at the bus stop at KTH. Hadn’t seen any one single car following the bus. Had they trailed him all the way from Sollis? How’d they known he was at Vadim’s? Suspicions: The Russian fucker must’ve leaked. Or someone at the bar the night before. Had people recognized him? Cunts.
He tried to move a smaller body part-an index finger. Couldn’t feel it at first. Three seconds later, his entire arm was pounding with pain. Too much pain. He screamed aloud. Didn’t give a fuck if the Yugos were still around.
Someone yelled his name again.
He vomited.
Prayers on his lips: La madre que te pario. Thoughts in his head: Who can I trust now? Sergio? Eddie? Ashur? Can I get in touch with Mama? Do I dare call my sister? His flight from the big cage’d been smooth, slick. Speedy. Best one yet. But life after-Jorgelito’d thought too short-term. Thought it’d be easy. Same mistake as all the others-been weak, partied. Needed social interaction.
He tried to open his eyes.
Fir trees all around. The light peeking through the branches painted the ground a spotty pattern. Brown, bumpy, bare. No birdsong.
What would happen now? It was one thing to risk your own life to get at Radovan’s cash. But to risk your sister’s?
He thought about his two tattoos. On his left shoulder was a smiling devil. All in black. On his back, a crucifix with the text: The Man, in Gothic lettering. He’d thought he was the man with the master plan, when really, he was just a loser. Fucked over.
Down for the count.
26
A deluxe guy on a walk in the enchanted forest. JW was looking for Jorge. Two alternatives: Either the Chilean was lying wounded somewhere in the woods or the Yugos’d taken him with them.
He started on the right-hand side. Walked in a zigzag pattern. First about ten yards forward, then crossed down to the left, then ten yards forward again.
Thought about Spaceballs. “Comb the desert!” the Darth Vader caricature orders. In the next scene, his helpers are pulling huge combs over the sand. Mel Brooks-so lame and yet so witty.
JW combed the forest.
Didn’t find Jorge among the trees.
An hour and twenty minutes earlier, JW’d reached Malmvagen just in time to see someone who looked like Jorge leave the building. Detective JW took a few steps back, behind the corner of the house-which proved to be the right move. He peered out. Saw an enormous man step out of a car that was way too slick and follow the Chilean. Something wasn’t right. The man never walked up to Jorge. Kept a few yards back. It was obvious after a while: The giant was following the Chilean.
The man fulfilled all the criteria of the classic Yugo gangster look: mid-length leather jacket, scarf, black jeans, leather shoes. A neck that put the Hulk to shame. His arms hung out along his sides at an angle, looked like he was constantly carrying a TV. Short, dirty-blond hair, straight-cut bangs. His jaws revealed a hard-core testosterone diet.
Why the hell had Abdulkarim put him in this situation? JW felt like a failed police investigator. Didn’t dare approach Jorge, even though he was right on his tail. The biggest question was who the huge Yugo was. Did the Serbian Mafia want to put Jorge’s coke know to use, too?
He kept trailing them. Up to the commuter rail station. JW remained standing at the bottom of the escalators and heard the train pull into the station. He ran up and jumped into a car. He could see the Yugo through the glass doors leading to the next car. Thank God.
Total tension. JW completely forgot about the Camilla thing.
The huge Yugo got off at T-Centralen. He couldn’t see Jorge, but JW assumed the Yugo was on it. Followed him down.
Got off at KTH. Created a distance between himself and the Yugo. Saw Jorge hanging around a bus stop. JW walked with deliberate steps toward the same bus stop. It had to look like his one and only goal in life was to get to bus 620. He passed the huge Yugo on his way there. Two yards between them. JW couldn’t decide if it was suspicious that he was going to the same bus stop as Jorge, but he felt the Yugo’s presence as fiercely as though they’d been standing eye-to-eye in a cramped elevator. The man exuded authority.
A couple of people got on after Jorge, but the Yugo wasn’t on the bus. Had he given up? Jorge was squeezed in next to a middle-aged lady with a bag on her lap. The woman’s two kids sat in the seats in front of them, eating ice-cream cones. One of the seats behind him was free; the other was occupied by an old man in a baseball hat. This wasn’t the time to chat up the Chilean; it’d have to wait until he got off. JW took a seat in the way back.
He’d gotten off at the same stop as the Chilean. Followed a couple hundred yards behind him. After a while, a Yugo came running. Understood: They were here. Thirty seconds later, he heard screaming. Panicked. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He ran into the woods. Stood still, listened. Waited. That’s where he was now. Was going to look for Jorge. But he couldn’t see him. After he’d crisscrossed over a few hundred yards, JW switched sides. It was worth spending another hour searching.
He heard a scream. Not as loud as the previous ones, but still-painful.
He tried to walk in the direction of the sound. Looked around. Saw dark trees, pine needle-covered paths. In some places, the branches of the fir trees dragged on the ground, hiding what might be found underneath. JW stepped up, lifted the branches, looked under them. Scratched himself on needles. The forest wasn’t exactly his scene. And anyway, he was about to shit a brick, he was so scared.