Katrine leaned back in her chair and cursed silently. “I don’t know, what do you think?”
“Bearing in mind future cooperation,” Mona said, “I think this conversation never happened.”
“Thanks.”
They hung up, and Katrine leaned her head on the cool desktop. It was too much. The responsibility. The headlines. The impatience of the people on the top floor. The baby. Bjørn. The uncertainty. The certainty. Certainty about so much, about knowing she was at work because she didn’t want to be at home, withthem. And it was too little. She could read as many reports as she liked, her own and those from Winter and Kripos, but it didn’t help. Because Mona Daa was right: they were treading water.
—
Harry stopped abruptly in the middle of Stensparken. He had taken a slight detour to give himself time to think, but had forgotten it was Sunday. Angry barking competed with the excited cries of children, which in turn competed with the shouted commands of the owners of the dogs and children. Yet all this hadn’t managed to drown out the alarm that wouldn’t stop ringing. Until he suddenly remembered. Because hedidremember. Remembered where he had seen a left hand holding a glass of water.
—
“What do you think about the fact that you can get sent to prison for ordering a sex doll in the shape of a child?” Øystein Eikeland asked as he leafed through the newspaper on the counter in the Jealousy Bar. “I mean, it’s disgusting, but thoughts ought to be free, surely?”
“There have to be boundaries for disgusting things,” Ringdal said, then licked a finger and went on counting the notes from the till. “We had a good night last night, Eikeland.”
“It says here that experts disagree about whether messing about with child sex dolls increases the likelihood of assaults on children.”
“But we’re not getting enough babes. Maybe we should advertise cheaper drinks for ladies under thirty-five.”
“If that’s the case, why don’t parents get sent to prison for buying toy guns for their kids and teaching them to carry out school massacres?”
Ringdal put a glass under the tap. “Are you a pedophile, Eikeland?”
Øystein Eikeland stared out into space. “I’ve considered it, naturally. Just out of curiosity, you know? But no, no tingling anywhere. What about you?”
Ringdal filled the glass. “I can assure you that I’m an extremely normal man, Eikeland.”
“What does that mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“Extremelynormal. It sounds kind of creepy.”
“Extremely normal means I like babes above legal age. Just like our male clientele.” Ringdal raised his glass. “And that’s why I’ve employed a new bartender.”
Øystein’s mouth fell open.
“She’ll be in addition to the two of us,” Ringdal said. “So we can have a bit more time off. Rotate the team, so to speak. Mourinho-style.” He drank.
“Firstly, it was Sir Alex who introduced the rotation system. Secondly, JoséMoronhois a pompous jerk who may have won a few titles with the most expensive players in the world, but like most people he’s been deceived by the comments of so-called experts into believing that his own unique gifts were the cause. Even if all research shows that it’s a myth that the coach has anything to do with a football team’s results. The team with the highest-paid players wins, it’s as easy as that. So if you want the Jealousy to come top of the bar league in Grünerløkka, all you have to do is increase my wages, Ringdal. Simple as that.”
“You’re entertaining, I’ll give you that, Eikeland. That must be why the customers seem to like you. But I don’t think it would do any harm to mix things up a bit.”
Øystein flashed his brown stumps of teeth in a grin. “Mix bad teeth with big tits? She’s got big tits, hasn’t she?”
“Well…”
“You’re an idiot, Ringdal.”
“Careful now, Eikeland. Your position here isn’tthatsecure.”
“You need to decide what sort of bar this is going to be. A place with integrity and self-respect, or Hooters?”
“If that’s the choice, I’d—”
“Don’t answer until you’ve added this to your tactical considerations, Moronho. According to statistics from the porn website Pornhub, the customers of the future—aged between eighteen and twenty-four—are almost 20 percent less likely to search for tits than any other group. While those who are closest to dying, the ones between fifty-five and sixty-four, are most likely to search for your big-titted ladies. Tits are on the way out, Ringdal.”
