it.
“Sure,” he said. “I have some left over. Bring your friend Anna and we’ll go to Humlegarden.”
They held hands again, pushed through the crowd. Past the golden boys, the silicone babes, the Yugo Mafia dudes, and the corporate schmucks.
The Eurodisco beats kept pumping.
They walked toward the exit. It was packed by the cash registers. Jet Set Carl was there, keeping watch over the cash flow. But his real, more important job was to hug, smile, introduce, make small talk, laugh, flirt. Jet Set Carl had control. Jet Set Carl had style. The money poured in. JW took note: He’s a good contact for the future.
He walked up. Positioned himself with Sophie and her friend Anna on either side and extended his hand. Jet Set Carl raised his eyebrows. “And you are…” JW was prepared. Replied, “Nippe Creutz’s friend, you know.”
JW saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. But maybe it wasn’t genuine recognition. One of Jet Set Carl’s most valuable skills was making people feel welcome and well treated, even though he didn’t remember them or have any idea who they were. Some called it two-faced. JW called it business-minded.
JW pulled some quick, prepared one-liners. Followed by mutual laughter. Carl checked out JW’s entourage: two hot chicks-he’d made the right move. He explained that they were only getting some air but would be coming back in. Carl nodded. JW fired off a couple more jokes. They connected. Good vibes. Jet Set Carl looked happy.
JW to himself: Nice work, JW.
They stepped out. It was 2:00 a.m. The line was gigantic, hysteric, chaotic. He made a deal with a bouncer that they’d be back soon. Humlegarden Park stretched out in front of them, still dark green even though the sky was beginning to brighten. The sounds from the line could be heard en baisse. The girls were ready to go. They sat down on a park bench. Made some lame jokes. The air was cool; the sweat dried on their bodies. JW jabbered on, showered them with compliments, put in the highest charm gear possible. He played confidant, on their side. “Damn, you two look good tonight. Have you seen any sweet guys? Nippe’s pretty hot, isn’t he? I can set you up, Sophie.” And so on, and so on. Sophie was brutally beautiful. He wanted her.
He knew them, but still not really. The girls belonged to the clique from Lundsberg, an elite boarding school. A school with the motto Knowledge, Tradition, Community. They all had the same first names as their parents and their parents before them. JW was used to most things from hanging with the boyz. Knew the jargon and the etiquette. He ought to have a chance.
Anna giggled. “Didn’t you have something for us to taste?”
JW said, “Absolutely. I almost forgot.” He hadn’t wanted to be too pushy. Waited for them to ask.
He brought out an etui with a mirror, the flip kind. The baggie was ready in his jacket pocket. He poured out a pile and cut it with a razor blade-three thin lines. Presented the girls with a polished-steel snort straw. He glanced around, then handed over the straw.
“Help yourselves.”
Fifteen minutes later, the girls went inside. The bouncer remembered them. Girls like Sophie and Anna would’ve gotten in no matter what-they glided through the line like Moses through the Red Sea.
JW stayed in the park, wanted more nose candy by himself.
Everything was going so damn well. The girls seemed pleased. High, bouncy, and filled with spontaneity. It was a good start. JW’s first step into the C world. C as in cash.
It could only get better.
The sky was pale gray.
The glass-covered ramp connecting two sections of the Royal Library in the park seemed to glisten. JW usually studied there when he wasn’t studying at home. He’d seen Sophie there many times. Had learned to recognize the click of her heels on the floor when she walked between different reading rooms, had checked out her girlfriends, seen which guys she said hi to. And after a time, it turned out that he actually already knew some of the people in her group. The circles were smaller than he’d thought.
He brought out the etui and held the straw in his hand.
That’s when he saw it.
The motor sounded like a nuclear power plant as it blew past down Sturegatan, a tear through the Stockholm night.
A yellow Ferrari.
His first thought: The model looks the same as the one in Camilla’s pictures.
His second thought: There can hardly be more than one car like that in all of Stockholm.
The memory of his sister washed over him.
He had to know.
Who owned that car?
DISTRICT COURT OF STOCKHOLM
SENTENCE
PARTIES
PROSECUTION
District Attorney Markus Sjoberg
Stockholm District Attorney’s Office
PLAINTIFFS
1.
Joakim Berggren, 740816-0939
Vapengatan 5
126 52 HAGERSTEN
2.
Daniel Lappalainen, 801205-2175
Lundagatan 55
117 27 STOCKHOLM
DEFENDANTS
1.
Patrik Sjoquist, 760417-0351
Rosenlundsgatan 28
118 53 STOCKHOLM
2.
Mrado Slovovic, 670203-9115
Katarina Bangata 37
116 39 STOCKHOLM
PUBLIC DEFENDER
Martin Thomasson, Esq.
Box 5467
112 31 STOCKHOLM
CRIMES COMMITTED
Aggravated Assault
PARAGRAPH
Subsection 3, Paragraph 6
SENTENCE
Prison, 3 years.
CHARGE ON APPEAL
Count 2 (Mrado Slovovic, regarding assault)
GROUNDS FOR THE DECISION
COUNT 1 (PATRIK SJOQUIST, THIRD-DEGREE ASSAULT)
Evidence
The prosecutor has as written evidence, referred to a medical report regarding injuries incurred by Joakim Berggren. The report is in reference to, among other things, a fracture in the nasal bone, a crushing of the jawbone
