"No, connect me with room 439!" yelled Zero, irritated by the ineptitude of the operator at the clinic.
"Who's calling, please?"
"What?"
"Who's calling?"
He hesitated for a moment and then gave his name and added that he was the husband of his son's mother. He thought it was odd that the operator covered the receiver and said something unintelligible to somebody. And then, as if she were following instructions:
"Where are you calling from, sir?"
"Why do you care?"
The hesitation that followed gave him a very bad feeling. The operator, in a poker voice: "Please hold. The Director is going to take your call."
He didn't hang up because it was impossible for them to trace the call in Paris. But he could smell that something was rotten. He couldn't smell that, behind him, One was opening the door of the phone booth, bringing the silencer up to his ear, and poc! making the family complete and forcing his resignation with characteristic professionalism. From the dangling receiver One could hear the cries of the Director, who was saying Allo, allo, monsieur? unaware that monsieur was now ex-monsieur. One let the body slide to the ground, took a look at the secret combination and showed with a quick manipulation that it wasn't so secret. In the inside compartment, nine hundred fifty thousand francs in a packet and a stamped envelope ready to be sent to the Prefecture of Paris. He put these things in his pocket and closed the briefcase carefully. Only twenty-eight seconds had passed since the action began, and the Director was still saying allo, allo into the ears of a cadaver. From that moment on, Zero was zero, and One left, without looking around, following instructions, to go back to the crummy hostel he'd been assigned, to wait for somebody to knock on the door, come in, kill him, and take the two envelopes. In fact, at that moment, somebody had put the address of the hostel and the number of One's room in the slot with Two's key.
VI (2)
There were two soft taps, and One said Entrez! in French without thinking. He was curious to know who his contact was, and he was especially eager to get the francs that made up his generous salary. He got off the bed and had time to see that whoever it was couldn't get in because the door was locked. He went to open it and had time to see that Two, who he didn't know was Two, was smiling and gesturing to be let in.
"I'm Charles Beaudelaire," he said
One took off the chain and Two, after coming in and shutting the door, stood there waiting. One understood, went over to his suitcase and took out the two envelopes.
"Do you have a cigarette?" he asked.
Two said, Yeah, sure, took out a half-empty pack and offered his victim a cigarette. He even lit it for him. While One was enjoying the last few puffs of his life, Two ripped the two envelopes open, which One didn't think was right, and looked at what was in them. He made a face that meant Yes, that's fine, put his hand in his pocket, took out the pistol and made it go poc! even cleaner than the way One had done it. What a waste of a cigarette.
VII (3)
He was getting to the end. While he was handing over the new packet with the money and the secrets and the new address, also in Paris, to the hotel mail service, he made a quick assessment of the desk clerk, who was older than the ones at the main desk. He whispered his request into his ear and the man nodded his head: taken care of, he meant. Just wait in your room. Two felt a prickling of desire as he went up to wait, and he stretched out on the bed, as One had done while waiting for someone to kill him. To fill the time, he felt around in his shirt pocket. The last cigarette. He wondered if he should run out and buy some or… No. And he lit it and told himself he'd better enjoy it because he didn't know when he was going to be able to go out and buy more. He heard the knock, and to tempt fate a little he said, Entrez! because the door wasn't locked. Damn. What a drag. It was the maid, who showed her gold tooth and pointed to the minibar:
"1 have to check the drinks. I thought nobody was here."
"Entrez, entrez," he said, resigned. And he pointed to the little bottles of whisky and held up three fingers, even though he was Two.
The maid didn't protest, strangely enough, put three little bottles on the table, filled the minibar with other drinks, showed her nice solid ass and left right away with one last golden smile for Two. It was only a few seconds later when there was another knock at the door.
It was a tall woman with black hair and… He'd seen her and couldn't remember where. Oh, yeah.
"Come on in."
Now he remembered. He'd seen her last night in the dining room. So basically she worked this hotel. She was really very pretty.
He sat up in bed, put out the cigarrette and helped her out of the tiny jacket she was wearing. Without asking her if she wanted a drink, he made two whiskies on the rocks and thought of her nude. He smiled happily.
"What's your name?"
"Katty."
"Here."
She took the glass obediently, took a sip for his benefit and smiled. She obviously wanted to get down to work. But he wasn't in any hurry. So, he pointed to her purse:
"Hey, do you have any cigarettes?"
"I don't smoke."
"Well, it doesn't matter."
Two was very sure of himself with a pistol in his hand. But other times he was all thumbs. He had a good time anyway, didn't want to know how it was for her, and afterwards they lay there for a while, nude, quiet, remembering and dreaming. Then Two couldn't stand it any more and said, Wait, I'll be right back.
"Now where are you going?"
"For cigarettes. It'll just take a minute. 1 saw a machine right out…"
But he was already out of the room, barefoot, wearing only his pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, with a handful of change. Katty, from the bed, made a face to show how she felt about people who just had to smoke. Two didn't see it because he was at the other end of the hall fumbling with the coins, because he never knew which was which. Okay, how about some of these light American ones, since they don't have anything else that… That's cutting it close. Hard to believe that the change he'd grabbed was exactly enough. When he'd put in the last coin, and before he pressed the button to make the pack drop, something threw him against the machine. A few seconds later he heard a deafening noise. He looked over his shoulder, afraid, but could see only smoke, though he understood exactly what had happened. Two ran away, down the stairs, and when he realized what he was doing, he was already out on the street in a city he didn't know, wearing pajama bottoms, barefoot, and with no cigarrettes. The explosion that had destroyed his future, the refrigerator, the room and Katty, hadn't gone poc but boom.
The Trace
If man is five, then, the devil is six, and if the devil is six, then, God is seven. This monkey is gone to heaven.
'd never felt so desolate as at that very important moment in my life when the subway train had racketed down the tunnel and the passengers had made for the exit like nervous ants, and 1 was alone on the platform in Majorstuen station with nobody around me, and 1 started to hear somebody whistling. At first 1 didn't catch it, but pretty soon 1 recognized one of the themes from Finlandia, by Sibelius. Sibelius in the subway? Whistled? 1 took the first exit, the ant one. Nothing, completely empty. Just those white tiles, like in a bathroom, in a pointlessly lighted tunnel. Where was the music coming from? I took a few steps, completely forgetting that I had an appointment in ten minutes for the interview that was supposed to get my life on track, if that was possible. Three years ago 1'd run away from home when 1 realized that if 1 didn't do something about it, in a week 1 was going to marry a woman who didn't give a shit about me. 1 got on a train, holding my breath, without looking back, without even thinking about my mother, and when 1 let out my breath I was in Copenhagen feeling envious of how organized those people were and learning first-hand all about the high cost of living. Maybe that's why 1 took the ferry to Norway, 1 don't know. 1 had to get away, friends, far away from complaints and curses from the family and from Sonia. Norway. The first taste was Oslo. 1 got off the ferry, found a very expensive and crummy hostel in the center of town, and have stayed there ever since. It's not easy to arrive in Oslo without knowing a word of Norwegian, or Danish, or Swedish, or English. You feel like retreating into your shell. In other words, 1 had to live off charming smiles and a kind of Latin-lover thing that a lot of women seem to like. And a lot of men. Two months washing dishes in a Pizza Hut and then three months as a cook's helper in a sort of Italian restaurant. I didn't do it for the money. I did it to keep from retreating into my shell. After those jobs I spoke really bad Norwegian, which made the natives like me even more.