See You Tomorrow (45 page)

Jan Inge sits behind the wheel, dressed in black from head to toe. Hansi’s Transporter, a grey 1998 model, will soon have 300,000 on the dial; it splutters a bit in low gear, and one of the back windows leaks, but it’s not a bad van for an old banger. Tong is in the passenger seat, also all in black, and Rudi and Cecilie sit in the back.

Tong is so pissed off that he can barely keep a lid on it, but he’s told himself that this is something he just needs to get through. Make a bit of cash, because he sorely needs to, and then turn his back and walk the fuck away from this gang. There are better people to work with out there. And if that doesn’t pan out, he can go solo, like Melvin Gausel. Melvin was head of the Kvernevik Gang, did a great job, but suddenly one day chubby chops and his shrill laughter were gone, some people said he’d been snapped up by the crowd around Toska in Oslo, some said he’d been sighted in Gothenburg, others maintained he’d been killed by Mini from Haugesund in a drunken quarrel, but then some genius began to put two and two together after a series of outstanding robberies were carried out in the region, several in the space of a month, all impeccably executed and unsolved: Melvin had gone it alone. Impressive. Lives up in Randaberg now, has an Asian wife, and works for himself. Tong could do that. Do it even better than Fat Melvin. Is there anyone in the district who knows more about security and breaking into places than Tong?

No.

Cecilie deserves a kick in her slut stomach. If it wouldn’t cause such trouble, he’d have beat her until she was lying on the tarmac and then stamped on her until she was dead. Sitting back there holding hands with Rudi. And he doesn’t have a clue, the idiot, but that’s not surprising; trust her? Trust women?

Tong leans his elbow on the door and looks out the side window as Jan Inge changes gear to ascend Ullandhaugbakken.

Those letters. Not easy to get your head around. Shouldn’t Sverre and Ragnhild have let him know about it? He left home – his Norwegian parents’ home – a long time ago. Tong was in and out of Child Welfare institutions from the age of thirteen, and those poor parents in Bømlo couldn’t keep up. Wasn’t their fault. Sverre and Ragnhild did what they could, but sometimes what you can do isn’t good enough.

They told him his Korean parents were dead, but they failed to tell Tong he had a sister out there somewhere. They could have mentioned it. They could have told him she lived less than fifty miles away in Egersund. They could have told him that she had two kids and played in the Stavanger Symphony Orchestra. Must be talented. Sharp-witted. Precise. Tong is too. Must be in their genes. A violinist in a symphony orchestra. Intense, able to concentrate, with an ability to focus. What was it she wrote? ‘We have opened the new concert hall now, it’s absolutely beautiful, we’re going to perform
Electra
. Are you familiar with that opera?’

Tong went to the prison library and asked if they had anything called
Electra
. Greek tragedy, said the librarian, Iselin Vasshus, and gave Tong a strange look. He really wouldn’t mind fucking her, he thought, and nodded. Whatever, he said. Sophocles, Iselin said, gathering her nut-brown hair into a bun in her hand. All right, said Tong, so do you have it? No, said Iselin, and gave a lopsided smile, mostly crime here. Well, can you get it, Tong asked, and pictured himself taking hold of Iselin by the hair, pushing her face down on to the desk and taking her from behind. Yes, I can order it, she said. What’s it about? Tong asked. It’s about revenge, Iselin answered – nearly all the Greek tragedies are about that.

‘Revenge?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Revenge for what?’

‘Electra and her brother, I can’t remember his name, take revenge on their mother, Clytemnestra.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she killed Agamemnon. The father.’

‘So how do they take revenge?’

‘The brother – Orestes, that was his name – murders her, I think.’

Tong clenched his teeth and nodded.

‘With a knife?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But why did the mother kill her husband?’

‘He sacrificed their daughter.’

‘Sacrificed?’

‘Yes, before the war. Iphigenia. On the orders of the gods.’

‘Hm.’

‘That’s how it is in the Greek tragedies.’

‘Hm. Sound good – the Greek tragedies.’

‘Yes, they are. They’re our heritage in many ways. But – why are you so interested in this?’

‘What do you mean by our heritage?’ Tong asked, leaving her question unanswered.

‘Well, our cultural heritage. Many people are of the opinion that everything we do and think is to be found there, in ancient Greek culture.’

‘Hm. So, it’s the daughter, this Electra one, and her brother Orestes who bump off the mother, this Clytemnestra.’

‘Yes, at least that’s how I remember it from lit crit.’

‘Lit crit?’

‘Literary theory and criticism,’ smiled Iselin, and once again Tong pictured holding her hair tight and pressing her cheek down against the tabletop as he took her from behind. ‘I studied it at one stage.’

‘Do you think you know more about life than me because you went to college, is that it?’ Tong cocked his head to the side and looked fixedly at her.

Iselin swallowed, gave another lopsided smile and said: ‘No, I don’t think that, Tong.’

‘I want to borrow that book. Order a copy. I know someone who plays it. In the symphony orchestra.’

The Transporter makes it to the top of Ullandhaugbakken and the view over Hafrsfjord stretches out before them. It’s beautiful.
Tong has had plenty of time in Åna to reflect upon what’s beautiful. He’s received three letters from his sister, Jin Eikeland, as she’s called. Three letters. That too is beautiful. He hasn’t managed to reply. But Jin has continued to write. As though she knows that he reads them. As though she’s used to talking to people who don’t respond.

‘Hey,’ says a voice from the back seat.

That big gob of Rudi’s. Tong would like to pour cement down it. Years ago, Rudi was funny, stupid and entertaining. Then he began to get slightly annoying, then he became really irritating, and soon it grew into hate and during his time in prison it’s become unbearable, even the mere thought of his face, of the way he takes up all the space in a room, the thought of that continuing to be a part of Tong’s life; it makes him want to puke.

‘Hey!’ says the voice again from the back seat.

‘Yes, Rudi, what’s on your mind?’ Jan Inge replies as he takes a right turn and drives alongside Haugtussa, with the tower blocks on the left, only a minute or two from Ernst Askildsens Gate.

‘What is on my mind,’ says Rudi, and Tong can hear how it’s kind of bubbling up in the guy’s throat, ‘is that we need to put down the hatchets here. We can view life as a billy can, yeah? Sometimes it can be a bit much. And I’ve been sitting here thinking. We are such friggin’ old friends, we have gone through so much feckin’ shit together, and then today has been a bit screwed up, and yes, I’m willing to take a share of the blame, I mean, what kind of buffalo am I who can’t accept love when my woman offers it to me on a silver platter? Yeah, I’m—’

‘But Rudi I—’

‘No, don’t interrupt me, Chessi – like I said, I’m a reptile, but I’m talking now, I’m lifting the words over my tongue, and I see all you guys, I see our shared past in my head, and I’m asking you, as we make our way towards our friend Pål Fagerland, a man we have to do over for his own sake: can we air out this foul atmosphere before we get out of the Transporter?’ Rudi takes a short pause and looks around at them. ‘Can we wash our mouths out with Fairy Liquid and remember what advice Solomon gave us, what The Good Book says?
A gentle answer turns away wrath, but
a harsh word stirs up anger.
Hm? Can we try and recall some good times and enjoy a pleasant hour on the job? Eh?’

Tong can see Jan Inge nodding his head. He puts the van into second and turns into Ernst Askildsens Gate. Jan Inge smiles. Everyone sits smiling and it’s revolting, it’s utterly revolting.

‘Rudi,’ Jan Inge says, ‘you’ve got a real gift when it comes to people, you know that?’

Rudi shrugs proudly, ‘Weeell, I don’t know about that…’

Cecilie gives him a rub on the cheek.

‘Okay,’ Jan Inge says, bending his head down a little and looking out the windscreen. ‘There’s the house. We just need to reverse in … Everyone ready? Beanies on, gloves on. The tape, you have the tape, Rudi? We don’t want to leave any traces behind.’

Rudi nods, finds the roll of tape in the bag and takes it out. He picks at the roll with a fingernail to work the end free and then tapes over the gap between his gloves and sleeves, before passing it to Cecilie.

‘Electra,’ Tong says.

‘Hm?’

‘I read a book in prison.’

‘Hey! Tongo! Man of books now, too!’

‘A Greek tragedy,’ he says coldly.

‘Wow! A Greek tragedy! Mr I-Read-A-Lot from Korea!’ Rudi thumps him on the back and lets out a loud laugh.

Tong wants to pulverise Rudi’s face. But he controls himself. ‘There’s a woman,’ he continues while putting on his gloves, ‘in this book, who kills her mother. She’s called Electra. And there’s a line in it where it says: The result excuses any evil.’

Jan Inge shrugs. ‘Well. I have heard better quotations than that, to be honest with you, so if that’s the level of Greek tragedies these days I can’t say I’m overly impressed. Your suffering will be legendary, even in hell, to put it like that.’

‘Heh heh! Brother of quotes! There you go, Mr Reader, you’ll never reach Jani’s level.’

Tong has never killed anyone. No one in the gang has ever killed a person. That has been one of their most important principles.
Life will not be lost due to our work.

Jan Inge has reversed the Transporter into the drive, backed right up to the garage door, which is opening from the inside. ‘Okay,’ he says, and backs into the garage, at the same time as Tong catches sight of the outline of a small man in the rear-view mirror. It looks like he’s trying to hide in there.

‘Let’s get to it,’ Jan Inge says. ‘Everyone all set? Everyone sharp? Hairnets on, everyone?’

You must come visit Egersund sometime, Jin wrote, when you get out of Åna. It would be so nice to see you. Sometimes I feel like I know you, even though we have never met one another. Ofttimes I feel like I would understand more about myself if only I had the opportunity to meet you, my brother. I won’t judge you by the life you have lived, that you should know. Come to Egersund, we have a big guest room with a comfy bed.

Why not?

Why not leave all this behind and go knock on a door in Egersund? The garage door comes back down and shuts, and Rudi rubs his hands together before taking out the small bag of speed he has in his pocket. His eyes are sparkling as he uses his driving licence to set up a few lines on the dashboard. Tong has a ticking sensation in his temples. He ought to keep away from this stuff. But he accepts the speed as it’s offered round, placing a finger over one nostril, sniffing it up the other and feeling it hit.

Rudi is electric. He takes hold of the blue roll of shoe bags Cecilie hands him, pulling a pair over his shoes while he laughs. He opens the side door of the Transporter, that long, bloody body of his tottering out into the garage like Pinocchio on speed, and he calls out: ‘Pål Schmål! Well? Been keeping away from the internet?’

Tong has never killed anyone.

But there’s a first time for everything.

Daniel slows down the Suzuki a little way off from the gym hall. Veronika, riding pillion, shifts uneasily behind him.

‘What do you think you're doing?' she asks. ‘We shouldn't be here, can't we just go back to the practice room and—'

‘Shut up.'

Daniel dismounts. He sets down the kickstand and parks. There's a girl standing over by the gym hall.

‘Daniel, you can't just ride around thinking I'll go with you without having a clue where we're—'

‘I'm squaring things up,' he interjects.

Veronika squints in annoyance. ‘And I'm supposed to like, understand that? That we come here? Were we not going to leave—'

‘We will leave,' he says, cutting her off again. ‘But I have to square things up first.' Daniel throws his hands up in frustration: ‘I've asked you before and I'm asking you again, are you type who needs to know everything?'

‘No, I—'

‘Well shut up, then.'

‘But you said you wouldn't go to her—'

‘I'm not going to her! I'm squaring things! Shut up!'

The girl by the gym hall turns to look at them. It's that Tiril one. PÃ¥l's daughter. She's dressed in an emo get-up, black from head to toe, her eyes are teary and she doesn't look too good.

He starts to walk towards the gym hall and Veronika follows.

‘What the hell are you doing here?' she asks when they reach her, fixing two purple eyes on Daniel. ‘Are you sick in the head? And you,' she points at Veronika, ‘you should be locked up.'

‘Give it a rest,' Daniel says, noticing how easy it is to talk to this girl, ‘how's Sandra doing?'

‘What the hell do you care?' Tiril answers, taking out a stick of gum before beginning to make her way round the other side of the building. ‘Start reading the obituaries if you're that interested.'

Daniel feels a hand close around his heart and squeeze it.

‘Relax,' Veronika says, ‘I know her. She's a drama queen.'

Daniel draws a breath. ‘I need to know if she's alive or not,' he says.

‘Please,' says Veronika. ‘We can't be here. Don't you understand anything? If they see you it's all over.'

Daniel walks towards the heavy doors, opens one and hears the applause grow inside the gym hall. Veronika goes after him. It's packed, not one seat free. Daniel keeps his eyes down and sidles along the wall bars together with Veronika, hoping not to be noticed.

Within a few seconds they've gained the attention of the entire hall. Face after face turns to look in their direction, as though he and Veronika were magnets. One set of eyes after the other stare at them. Whispering, muttering.

A wildly enthusiastic guy with socialist curls and round glasses comes on stage. He says that that was just amazing,
fantastic girls,
and then he spreads his arms wide: ‘And now we're going to enter the world of emotion! Into the darkness! Please give a big welcome to Tiril and Thea, who are going to perform Evanescence's “My Immortal”.'

The attention of the audience has been divided. A lot of eyes are focused on the stage and a lot of eyes are looking directly at Daniel and Veronika. The teachers are talking together in hushed tones.

‘W-e-n-e-e-d-t-o-g-o,' Veronika mouths. ‘N-o-w.'

He doesn't reply.

A girl has taken up position beside Daniel. He turns his head slowly, bringing it around as though on a rail, while keeping his eyes on the stage, where Tiril and Thea emerge from between a gap in the curtain. One black and one white angel. The lights in the hall dim, turning everything red, then green.

Daniel's eyes settle on the girl beside him. It's Malene.

‘Yeah?' he whispers, as if he doesn't know what she wants.

‘What are you doing here?' she whispers harshly. ‘How have
you got the nerve to come here? Have you turned yourself in to the police?'

‘Malene,' he whispers, his forehead lowered, ‘please.'

‘Haven't you two caused enough problems?'

‘Malene,' he whispers, rarely having seen such an angry face. ‘Have you heard anything about Sandra? Tell me what you know, and I'll do what I need to.'

‘She's in a coma,' Malene says. ‘That's all we know.'

He nods. Then he says: ‘Please. Go home.'

Malene is taken aback, a line bisects her eyebrows.

‘Go home,' he whispers, beginning to move towards the exit. ‘Okay? Go home. There's something seriously fucked-up going on with your dad.'

The room is bathed in a dim, dark red light. Thea sits by the piano. She's white as aching snow that makes your eyes smart. She places her fingers on the keys and plays the first notes. Tiril stands in front of her holding a lit match. The flame trembles in front of her, casting a reflection on her skin, making troubled waves on her face. The girl stands with her gaze fixed and face impassive, looking like some black, twisted progeny of Satan, thinks Daniel, and the hate she radiates is not foreign to him; on the contrary, it feels soothing, stimulating and welcome. If the girl on the stage was to open her mouth and say
Daniel, come with me, and we'll make the pain worse,
he would obey.

Tiril lifts her chin, lets her gaze sweep over the room as the flame burns closer and closer to her fingers, before bringing the match to a pillar candle and the wick begins to glow, and Daniel hopes she manages to burn the whole world down.

‘Sorry,' he whispers.

The music increases in volume. Daniel opens the door, with Veronika right behind him. They run towards the Suzuki.