Kjell Ola Dahl
The Last Fix
The third book in the Frank Frolich series, 2009
Translation © Don Bartlett, 2009
PART 1: THE GIRL ON THE BRIDGE
Chapter One
Therewas something special about this customer, she was aware of that at once, eventhough he wasn't doing very much – that is to say she noticed the door open,but as the person in question went to the holiday brochure shelf instead ofwalking straight to the counter, Elise continued to do what she was doingwithout an upward glance. She sat absorbed in the image on the screen, tryingto organize a trip to Copenhagen for a family of three while the mother on thetelephone dithered between flying there and back or squeezing their car on toStena Saga and taking the ferry crossing so that they were mobile when theyarrived.
Eliselooked at Katrine and established that she, too, was busy. The headphones withthe mike held Katrine's unruly hair in place, although a blonde lock had fallenover the slender bridge of her nose, and she was concentrating on the computerscreen. Katrine had that characteristic furrow in her forehead, which shealways had when she concentrated. Her eyes shifted from keyboard to screen, herlong dark eyelashes moving slowly up and down. Like an elegant fan, Elisethought, studying Katrine's face as she bent over her work, her profile withthe somewhat pronounced nose above reddened lips, and that top lip of herswhich had such an effect on men because, on one side, it was a little swollen.
Nowand then Elise felt she could have been Katrine's mother. Katrine reminded herof her eldest girl, except that Katrine was much more spontaneous. She wasquicker to laugh than her daughter. Nevertheless every so often Elise felt itwas her daughter sitting there, and Katrine was probably aware of this, shethought. The unnecessary attention might even have annoyed her.
Asthe customer approached the counter a few moments later Elise put down thetelephone, looked up and prepared to greet him. But when the man ignored her,preferring to stand in front of Katrine, Elise returned to what she had beendoing, noticing that Katrine had sent the customer a friendly peek and utteredan automatic 'Hello' long before finishing her on-screen work. Elise also hadtime to think that she would have a word with her about that bad habit. Sheformulated the admonition in her head: Don't say 'Hello' until you have eyecontact with the customer. The customer always feels important. The customerperceives himself as the centre of the universe. If one divides one'sattentions, the customer will become annoyed. This is quite a normal reaction.
Fromthe corner of her eye Elise could see Katrine taking off her headphones andsaying something she didn't quite catch. What happened afterwards is whatstayed in her mind. The customer was a relatively tall man, equipped with whatElise liked to call vulgar 'totem signals'. He was wearing a black leatherwaistcoat over a sunburned bare upper torso. His jeans were worn and had holesin the knees. Even though he must have been over forty his long, grizzled hairwas tied up in a tasteless ponytail; he wore a large gold earring in one earand when he went to grab Katrine Elise saw an enormous scar on the man's lowerarm. In short, this man was a thug.
Thethug launched himself over the counter and made a grab at Katrine, who,panic-stricken, kicked her chair away from the counter, rolled backwards andslammed into the wall. 'Call the police,' Katrine screamed as the chair tippedup and she crashed down on to the floor with her legs in the air. Elise alsohad time to think how ridiculous she seemed – lying on her back in the chairwith all her hair in front of her face and her legs thrashing wildly, like adumb blonde in a 1960s romantic comedy. While she was thinking the wordsridiculous and comedy, Elise jumped off her chair and stared at thethug, an authoritative expression on her face which, afterwards, she could hardlycredit herself with having had the wherewithal to muster in such a situation.She had never been robbed before, and that was the thought that went throughher mind now: My God, we're being robbed. How will we survive thepsychological repercussions?
Atthat moment the brutal man seemed to sense Elise's presence in the room. Heflashed her a quick glance and then re-focused his attention on the blonde onthe floor. He seemed to take a decision, seized the counter as if intending tojump over it. Then Elise broke the silence. In a loud, piercing voice she said:'I beg your pardon, young man!' She was to smile at that line many times later.But however incongruous it sounded at that moment, it worked. The thug staredat her again and hesitated. In the end – it must have been after a few seconds,though it seemed like several minutes – he changed his mind and headed for thedoor with a wild look in his eyes as he shouted to the blonde girl strugglingto her knees and holding her head. 'You do as I say, right? Have you got that?'
Thedoor slammed behind him.
Elisestood gaping at the door. It looked no different from how it had been a fewseconds ago, it was the same door in the same room, yet it was being seenthrough different eyes, judged by a different consciousness. 'What was that?'she managed to exclaim, bewildered, numb and not entirely sure what had in facthappened.
Katrinehad risen from the bizarre position she had been in, swept back her hair, puther hands on her hips, brushed down her skirt and limped around the counter.She had lost a sandal, and staggered over to the door with one sandal and onebare foot. She locked the door and turned to Elise. For a few seconds sheleaned against the door, breathing heavily. She was wide-eyed and her hairdishevelled. A button on her blouse had come loose and she held the two sidestogether with one hand. Standing like that, leaning against the door with ashort skirt and untidy hair, Katrine looked more like a bimbo from a TV soapopera than the daughter about whom Elise liked to daydream. Elise was standingstock still, motionless, petrified. Not a sound could be heard in the room,apart from Katrine's heavy breathing and the telephone that had started to ringbehind the counter.
'Aren'tyou going to answer the phone?' Katrine asked at last.
'Ofcourse not. Are you crazy?'
Atonce Elise saw the comical side of the remark. They exchanged looks and Katrinebegan to laugh. Elise smiled at herself and asked again: 'Who on earth was thatman?'
Katrine,too, lowered her shoulders in the changed atmosphere. 'Oh, crap, I've gone andhurt myself.' She grinned. 'My bum hurts.' She turned and looked out on to thebusy street, pressed down the door handle, opened the door and peered out. 'He'sgone anyway,' she said, closing the door and limping back behind the counter.She slipped on the other sandal and picked up the chair. 'It's stoppedringing,' she confirmed and pulled a face.
Elise,curious: 'Is he someone you knew from before?'
Katrineavoided her gaze. She breathed in, arranged her blouse, sat down and adjustedthe back of the chair. It was obvious she was thinking feverishly, and it wasalso obvious she was struggling to decide what to say.
Elisewaited patiently with a stern look on her face.
Inthe end, Katrine said: 'I think it frightened him when I shouted to you to callthe police – and I don't think he'll be back.' Her face became more impassionedand desperate the clearer it became that the other woman did not buy her story.'Elise,' she drawled. 'It's true. I thought he was just a normal customer.'
Elisedid not answer; she observed Katrine with suspicion, feeling like a scepticalschool teacher.
'Idon't know what else to say.'
'Whatdo you mean by that?'
Katrineturned to her, and it seemed to Elise she could read a kind of genuine despairin her expression. But it was never easy to say with Katrine. At this momentshe reminded her of one of her own children on Sunday mornings when lies weretold about how long they had been out. Slowly Elise rose to her feet and tookplodding steps to the front door. It was her turn to lock up now. Broad andplump, she stood with her back to the door and leaned back hard, her armscrossed in an authoritarian manner.