Part 25 (2/2)

He looked ruefully at his handiwork and scowled at the livid cut across his face. Pain was one thing pain could be managed but this was going to make him unmistakable. It was as bad as having an orange flas.h.i.+ng light on top of his head, he thought furiously.

Deep in a cupboard he found an old hoodie that had belonged to Maria's son, a young man who had long flown the nest but had neglected to take many of his discarded belongings with him. It wasn't something that Maria had mentioned, but Baddo knew the boy was in prison after being caught at Keflavik airport with a bag of pills, a steady job in a bakery abandoned in the quest for a quick payday, Baddo guessed. He wondered if he'd be joining his nephew inside if he couldn't turn things around quickly. With the hood of the sweater shrouding his head and his chin tucked deep in a scarf, the cut could almost be hidden, and in this dark winter weather a man wrapped up warmly would be nothing remarkable.

Baddo scribbled a note for Maria and left it on the kitchen table. He made a quick sandwich and ate it in a few rapid mouthfuls, anxious to be away before his sister came home and started asking awkward questions. Worse still, the police could be on their way to pay him a visit as that ham-fisted thug he'd cut with the broken wine bottle would probably have spilled his guts by now.

He switched on his phone as he closed the door behind him, clicking it quietly shut. Money and transport were the main things on his mind as he slipped down the stairs and out into the street. Hinrik's mobile rang a dozen times before he gave up and stabbed the red b.u.t.ton. He cursed under his breath and punched in another number from memory, marching along the street, hunched inside his coat to keep the bitter cold off his aching face.

'h.e.l.lo,' a pleasant voice answered.

'Hae, Ebba, it's me. You all right?'

'I was expecting to see you yesterday,' she answered, her voice cool.

'I'm sorry about yesterday. I had some trouble and I was in casualty until the early hours.'

'Casualty? You're hurt?'

He was pleased to hear some alarm in her voice. 'I had an accident and it needed some st.i.tches. So I'm not a pretty sight right now.'

'What sort of accident?'

'Someone decided he didn't like the colour of my eyes, I guess.'

'But you're all right, though, aren't you?'

Baddo wondered what to say; he was far from Ebba's conception of all right.

'Listen, Ebba. I really need to get away for a few days.' He paused, stifling an unexpected pang. 'I'll be back in a week or so. OK?'

He heard Ebba sigh. 'If you say so, Baddo. It was nice knowing you. But if you've better things to do, then just say so straight out.'

'Really. Genuinely, Ebba. I've had a problem. Someone wants to cut my throat and last night he almost managed it. I'm not a teenager who has to make up excuses,' he started harshly and immediately thought better of it. 'I keep my word. I said I'd be back in a week or two and I will. But first I need to make myself scarce.'

'Fair enough. Give me a call when you're back in town, won't you?' she said, and Baddo tried to figure out if she meant it or if she was telling him to get lost.

Hinrik rolled himself an early-morning joint from the little bag of gra.s.s that he kept in the coffee jar. He puffed and rolled his eyes as a tapping at the unbroken pane of gla.s.s in the front door echoed through the apartment. He put the spliff down, tied the towel securely around his waist and went to the door, picking up a baseball bat on the way and holding it behind his back.

'Who's there?' he called to the indistinct figure outside.

'It's me. Joel Ingi.'

Relieved, Hinrik propped the bat in the corner behind the door and opened it a crack. 'What the f.u.c.k are you doing here?'

'I need to talk to you. Let me in.'

Hinrik scowled. He found it hard to see Joel Ingi as anything but a tiresome youngster with soft hands. Anyone who parted with money so easily had to be simple, he reckoned.

'Look, I'm not even dressed yet. What's the hurry?'

Joel Ingi's agitation was infectious and Hinrik found himself suddenly on edge.

'Let me in, will you? This is important.'

'Come on, man. It's the middle of the night.'

'It's almost noon, for f.u.c.k's sake! Open the b.a.s.t.a.r.d door, will you? I can't hang around outside here.'

Unwillingly, and against his better judgement, Hinrik eased the door open and padded down the corridor. He pointed towards the kitchen. 'Go in there. I'm going to get some clothes.'

Joel Ingi sat on a chair and crossed his legs, then uncrossed them and stood up. The flat was quiet apart from a rumbling snore that came from somewhere close by. Unable to stay still, Joel Ingi sat down again and took a deep breath, trying to recall the relaxation cla.s.ses Agnes had dragged him to when she'd been into yoga, but which he had spent ogling the teacher's hourgla.s.s figure rather than listening to what she had to say.

Hinrik appeared, sour-faced, wearing black jeans and b.u.t.toning a black s.h.i.+rt. 'What's your problem, then?'

'Results? You've had plenty of time.'

'This stuff doesn't happen overnight, y'know.'

Hinrik lit the joint that had gone out in the ashtray and hauled the fragrant smoke deep into his lungs before letting it go with a series of regretful coughs that set his narrow shoulders shaking.

'I've paid you a stack of money and you haven't come up with anything.'

'So? Sue me,' Hinrik offered with a lopsided smile. 'Go to the police and see what they say.'

'You don't understand-'

'I reckon I do understand. You get rolled by some tart and you want it sorted out discreetly. But you didn't tell me you liked rough stuff, did you?'

Hinrik grinned, but his triumph faded at the sight of the fury etched on Joel Ingi's face.

'You really don't understand, do you? You have no idea how deep this goes, you stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' he snarled.

'Hey, look. It's nothing to do with me, man. You asked me to do a job and I've done what I can.'

Joel Ingi's palm smacked the table with a crack and his lip trembled. Hinrik stopped with the joint halfway to his mouth in surprise. 'You idiot,' he whispered. 'You don't understand. If you don't come up with the name and address you were paid to find, then I'm going to be in the s.h.i.+t up to my neck, and anyone who had anything to do with that computer is going to be right there with me.'

'Ah,' Hinrik said with a slow smile. 'So what's this computer you're talking about now?'

Joel Ingi's stomach lurched as he realized he'd said too much in the heat of the moment. 'You fool. You f.u.c.king idiot. Forget that stupid laptop. I've been tailed and watched for the last month, and do you imagine for a second that you haven't been as well? This is poisonous, you stupid thug. Anyone who's had anything to do with me is going to get hauled in and you can take it from me that none of us will get a slap on the wrist and few months in an open prison.'

'Get away, will you? Don't try and sell me this kind of c.r.a.p. This is Iceland, not some f.u.c.king stupid mafia country.'

Joel Ingi's hand, still on the table where it had landed, began to tremble. 'You think so? I'm telling you. This goes way beyond anything you might think, and there are people with reputations and influence to protect who aren't going to let anything stand in their way, least of all a deadbeat pusher who thinks he's some kind of big shot.' He sneered. 'When you wind up dead in a ditch, d'you really think anyone's going to shed a tear, or even look too hard for whoever did it?'

'Wha? What's going on?'

A heavy-faced woman appeared at the kitchen door, her eyes puffy and her hair tousled. Joel Ingi eyed her with alarm as she shuffled into the kitchen and let water gush from the tap into a grubby gla.s.s. As she drank he saw with alarm a lurid home-made tattoo across her shoulder, emerging from the gaping arm hole of the vast sleeveless s.h.i.+rt that was obviously the only thing she was wearing.

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