“Varzha Luna?” she asked. “Is she…?”
“She is very well,” Moro answered. “Though not everyone appreciates her methods. Some say she is ruinate bunuri, soiled goods. But you will be happy to know she has fielded a proposal of marriage.”
“So she will wear a wedding gown for real.”
“Yes,” Moro said. “And a Roma marriage festival, well, it goes on for days, in some instances lasting longer than the marriage itself.”
“Gadje not invited.”
“Exceptions can be made,” Moro said magnanimously. “In your case and in that of Krister, should he come back to us.”
“He’s in Stockholm by now, at some sort of a rehabilitation center.”
“You are well informed, though I would not advise a visit.” Moro lifted his arms from the steering wheel. He crossed them and spread the fingers of one hand and formed a circle with the other, making the “five-oh” street gang signal for police.
Throwing a sign looked comical on him. “That’s backwards,” Brand said.
“How does it feel to be on the other side of the law for once?” he asked.
“Uncomfortable.”
“How’d you get here? I didn’t see the famous blue Saab anywhere around. I hope you had enough sense to ditch that thing.”
Brand stayed mute. Moro made a face. “You stole another car!” he exclaimed.
“A truck actually,” Brand said.
Moro’s rolling laugh filled the interior of the Mercedes. This was not the same gruff Romani godfather she had seen on the street corner in front of Åhlens. That man was an ominous presence, unpredictable, dangerous. Here was the flip side of the coin. The man could actually appear personable.
“See any snut along the way?” he asked. “Police always cause trouble.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Brand said gamely. “It takes a fuss to settle a fuss, is what my old partner Willie Urrico used to say.”
“Such a crazy place, your hometown. Too many animals crammed into a too small zoo. I hear the crime rate is skyrocketing without you there to keep things in line.”
Brand smiled. “I have to say that lately I’ve been missing the peace and quiet of New York.”
“Forgive my manners,” Moro said. “I have a Scotch whiskey with me that’s worth invading Europe for.”
“Sure,” Brand said. The speed was fading on her. She wanted sleep more than anything. A drink would send her to dreamland. Moro handed back a flask.
“You want a Coke with it? Coca-Cola always settles the stomach.”
Brand took a pass. Taken straight, the alcohol hit her stomach like a sucker punch.
She leaned forward to pass the flask back to Moro and gestured around the lavish fittings of the luxury vehicle. “All this from street begging, huh?”
Moro cocked his head. “Among other endeavors. I know what it looks like. But I take care of my people. Which is more than I can say about most governments in Europe.”
“Where’s my pistol?” she asked.
“Which pistol is that?”
She stared. “I was afraid you were going to say that. I want my sidearm back. I’m off my game without it.”
“With or without a weapon, you are doubtless very game. Do you still have the charm I gave you?”
Brand pulled the little stone amulet from her pocket. “You know, I’ve always wondered why you saw fit to gift it to me, not Aino, not Krister.”
“You realize it’s a phallus symbol, right?”
Brand colored. Moro again laughed. “A fascinum,” he said. “The Romans used them to ward off the evil eye.”
“I see it now.” Jesus, Brand thought, the little dingus really did vaguely resemble a penis. “Here, you can have it back.”
“Oh, no, no, you still have need of it.”
“My part in this is done.”
“You never know,” Moro said.
“You could just leave it alone, you know,” Brand said, thoughtful. “Bygones be bygones, water under the bridge, let sleeping dogs and every other cliché I can’t think of right now. Let it rest.”
“We understand that Jarl Voss is still alive and well.”
Brand hesitated, uncomfortable with the vision of revenge rolling out endlessly. “I recall Gandhi or somebody, saying an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”
“The great man and I share the same great-great-many-greats-in-the-past grandfather,” Moro said brightly.
She didn’t exactly believe him. But Brand knew that the Romani people had originally migrated out of India at some distant point in pre-history. Setting themselves on the road that they traveled still.
“You know,” Moro continued, “whenever I hear what my cousin the Mahatma said, I think, an eye for an eye? When someone takes an eye from me I take two from him. That leaves me with one and him blind. And you know what they say about the country of the blind.”
As if, Veronika thought, as if the blood spilled on the banks of the Hede River had nothing to do with Moro.
“Well, I know what they always say about revenge. Dig two graves.”
He swiveled his head around, ignoring the roadway in front of him. Just for a moment, Brand caught a dark glint in his eyes, a quick flip from the mammalian to the reptilian. Then it was gone, and he was once again the jolly man concerned about her well-being.
“You look tired, Detective. You look like Santa Claus the day after Christmas. We will have you back in Stockholm, in a safe apartment I know of, very nice, flat screen, Netflix, all yours until we see how this all shakes out.”
“And is it? All going to shake out?”
“Of course. You will see. Hammar will come back and all will be well. Plus you’ll be happy to know I have an invitation for you from Varzha Luna. Her engagement ceremony will take place near to Storkyrkan, the big cathedral in Gamla Stan.”
“Near the church?” Brand asked. “Not inside?” Inwardly she was dismayed that a sixteen-year-old girl on the cusp of adulthood would be married off.
“We Kalderaš Romani aren’t allowed on such occasions. Third of March, keep the day open.”
A shadow stirred in Brand’s mind at the mention of the date, like the reflection of a dark cloud passing over the surface of a pond. But
