pay.”
She scrounged around in her bag, found her cell phone, pecked on it, her nails clicking on the case. She held the display out to him and he saw the rear end of a car:
Henry stood in the kitchen holding a bag of fresh bread under his arm. His windbreaker was wet and smelled of rain. They had slept in bed with their clothes on, she had dreamed about
“What do you want from me? You want me to be your cheap little whore the rest of your life? Is that what you want?” she screamed. “You want me to be your little hole?”
“No. Adina-”
“And all that shit about Australia… and Gary Cooper… and… and… it’s all just a bunch of lies and bullshit!”
She screamed and shouted. But then he grabbed her. Grabbed hard. His arms closed tight around her, clenched her. A brutal look came over his face, a coldness she hadn’t seen before. She was surprised at how strong he was; she pulled and pushed and scratched and bit. He hummed,
The owner of XZ 98754, Audi 4, Gregers Ege, walked alongside the impressive instrument with its hoses and buttons, talking about it. Marek had spelled his way through the English version of the questionnaire out in the reception area, and he believed he had checked “yes” to a
“Adina, are you okay?”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know what got into me, I…”
“Henry?”
“Yes.”
“When I’m all alone at night, all my customers run together… They turn into hundreds of mouths that moan, snort, scream, slobber, spit in my face. But with you, there was something… a tenderness, I don’t know… And then it ends like this anyway.”
“Adina. Come over here.”
“No. It’s best I leave. We can’t change our lives.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No.”
Pause. “We’re doing it.”
“What?”
“We’re going to Australia. Perth. I’ll empty my account. We’ll leave tonight. Will you go?”
Marek sat in the back room of the Hawaii Bio, wishing he was somewhere else, far away. Yvonne smiled with a cigarette between her lips; one of her eyelids drooped a bit. She held his hand in hers. The knuckles on his right hand were bruised and bloody, his fingers tingled. He couldn’t remember what he had done to his hand. Had he beaten up Gregers Ege, or was it Ludmilla when she’d started screaming and wanted to go home? Why hadn’t he delivered her? He didn’t know why. She had taken some of his Rohypnols and was totally out of it when he’d left her. Just as well. Yvonne brushed the palm of his hand with iodine from a green bottle. Suddenly he felt a tenderness for her. Did she have a life outside of this, did she have a grandkid who would get the ugly little stocking cap with the purple border?
Why was he thinking about that now? He always saw his mother’s face when he thought about that psalm.
He pulled his hand away, raised his fist to the corner of his eye. There was a tiny wet streak on the back of his hand.
He reconstructed Adina’s route. Mysundegade yesterday around noon, Dybbolsbro at two-thirty, Sj?lor Station two-forty-five, Enghavevej three-fifteen. Then: gone. At the most she had a few thousand and a red-hot Rolex. She was still in town.
“Yvonne?”
“Yes, Marek.”
“Did Adina have any regular customers?”
“What do you mean… regular?”
“I mean… did somebody treat her nice? Have you heard of anyone who was nice to her?”
“Nice, I don’t know… Hey. There is this one guy, comes every Friday at four o’clock. Wait a minute… he didn’t come today.”
Henry had left again. Adina lit up her last cigarette with the next-to-last; she didn’t know what to do with herself. She trudged back and forth between the sofa and the window and ran her fingers through her short hair. Henry had cut it. It felt all wrong.
Kofi was gone. Another African was dealing down on the street, someone she didn’t know.