Buzz: A Thriller (30 page)

Elroy was clattering about in the kitchen, it sounded like he was busy with the coffeemaker.

With some difficulty, HP managed to untie the third knot. Only one leg left, the only question was would he be able to slip out through the hall and out of the door without the red-haired gorilla catching him?

♦  ♦  ♦

Two hours’ surveillance without any result whatsoever. But at least she had worked out what to do about her meeting tomorrow. She’d only get one chance, if she hesitated or seemed even slightly uncertain he’d just carry on, assuming that she’d change her mind, the way she had before. But the difference this time was that she really did want to get rid of him.

For good!

Her cell bleeped.

We think we’ve found his broadband supplier.

MayBey seems to be based to the east of the city.

Hugs

Micke

♦  ♦  ♦

He tugged at the strap, but the last knot refused to budge. But as luck would have it, the girls had only used one long length of fabric at each end, looping it around the frame of the bed to tie both limbs. Even if the knot was tied too tightly around his ankle to undo, at least he was free from the bed.

He wound the strap around his leg a few times, then knotted it loosely to stop him from tripping over it.

Then he stood up laboriously from the bed and took a couple of unsteady steps across the bedroom floor. The connection between his brain and his groin was gradually kicking in again, and he had to bite his lip not to groan out loud from the pain.

He poked his head out into the little hallway, but quickly pulled back. The flat was considerably smaller than he had thought, and Elroy’s back was just a couple of meters away. There was no chance of making it to the front door, certainly not in his current state.

He retreated into the bedroom, went around the double bed, and struggled over to the curtained window.

He carefully nudged the curtain aside, and instead of windows there was a glass door leading to a small terrace. He tried the handle gently.

Locked.

Damn!

But then he discovered the child safety catch at the top of the handle. He pressed the little button in and tried again.

YES!

The handle went down and he opened the door as carefully as he could. One centimeter at a time, until the gap was wide enough for him to squeeze through.

Hell, it was cold!

He had almost managed to suppress the fact that he was still naked. It had to be five, maybe ten degrees below freezing, and there was a stiff wind. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, but so far his escape seemed to have gone unnoticed. He peered over the railing of the terrace.

Shit!
That was a serious drop! Five floors down to street level, and no sign of life below. Damned Östermalm! The majority of its inhabitants already had one foot in the grave, and the rest were probably already celebrating Christmas “in the country,” which presumably meant some small castle in Södermanland or an old merchant’s villa out in the archipelago . . .

And where were the cops when you actually needed one for once?

With a sudden crash the terrace door flew open behind him.

♦  ♦  ♦

The news from Micke sounded promising, but right now she had matters of a more practical nature to think about. She had been desperate for a pee for a while now, and her bladder was so uncomfortable that she could no longer sit still. There were no shops open nearby, and the thought of squatting down in the gutter when it was minus six degrees outside wasn’t particularly appealing.

So she would have to leave her post, at least for fifteen minutes or so. Not ideal, but she didn’t have much choice.

She started the car, put it in gear, and rolled slowly away from the edge of the pavement. She drove past the red-haired man’s illegally parked Mercedes, and was just about to turn right, down toward Strandvägen, when she suddenly changed her mind.

She did a U-turn and stopped right behind the big Merc. Call it police instinct or whatever, but something was telling her it would be a good idea to take a closer look at the car before she left.

She pulled on the hand brake and took out her cell.

♦  ♦  ♦

Elroy raced through the terrace door, heading straight for him.

Without even thinking, HP climbed over the railing. There was a balcony a couple of meters below him, slightly to one side of him, and if he dangled from the railing he might be able to lower himself down.

He turned to face the building, struggled to lock his hands around the railing, then, as Elroy lunged at him, he did a little jump and let his body fall.

But he had misjudged his speed. His cold fingers couldn’t quite take the strain and instead of dangling from his arms from the bottom of the railing, he found himself falling helplessly.

He landed on a small pile of snow, but the force was still enough to knock the air from him. It took him a few moments to catch his breath, and when he looked up at the roof terrace there was no longer anyone in sight.

Quick, time to move!

The balcony was long, stretching most of the way along the front of the building. He ran past several windows until he reached a door. The cold was making his skin sting, his body ached both from the hard landing and the electric shocks earlier as he threw himself at the glass and banged on it with both fists.

A scared old lady’s face appeared on the inside.

“Open up!” he screamed. “Open up, dammit, you old bag!”

The old lady didn’t move.

Would he have opened the door to a completely naked man who had suddenly landed on his balcony?

“Please, let me in . . .” he cried.

Suddenly the woman was gone. He took a couple of steps back and peered over the edge.

A similar balcony two floors below. Could he . . . ?

He returned to the door, pressed his face against the glass, and raised his hand to bang on it again. But instead he jerked back toward the balcony railing. Philip Argos was suddenly staring at him through the glass.

“Don’t do anything stupid, now, Henrik,” Philip said, trying the door handle.

The old lady’s face appeared, she seemed to be showing Philip how to release the safety catch. Another dark figure came into view behind her. Presumably Elroy.

HP laboriously swung one leg over the wrought-iron railing. His body was getting stiffer and stiffer, and he could feel that he was losing the sensation in his fingers.

“Stop and think about this, Henrik . . .” Philip’s muffled voice cajoled from the other side of the door.

He was right, this was never going to work. It had to be six or seven meters down, and even if—against all reasonable expectation—he managed to dangle from his arms this time, there was a still a long way to drop.

Philip and the old lady seemed to be almost fighting over the door handle. He had just a matter of seconds to make up his mind.

Suddenly he caught sight of the length of velvet wound around his ankle. He leaned over to get it off. Weirdly it
slipped off his foot almost with ease. Must have been the cold.

He looped the strap around the railing and then wound the ends around his wrists. Then he clambered over the railing and squatted down.

The door flew open with a crash.

Bodies tumbling out into the cold. Feet slipping, swearing, hands reaching out for him.

He jumped . . .

♦  ♦  ♦

A rattling sound made her look up, but the view through the windshield was limited and all she could see was falling snow.

She had just spoken to central command. A check on the car license plate hadn’t produced much. A company car registered to ArgosEye Ltd., with an address in one of the skyscrapers at Hötorget. Maybe there’d be something more interesting inside the car. She opened the door and got out of the driver’s seat.

A clump of snow landed on the pavement a few meters away, but she paid no attention to it.

♦  ♦  ♦

The jolt was hard, and made the narrow velvet strap cut into his frozen wrists. He could feel someone pulling at it, and looked up to see Elroy hanging over the railing a couple of meters above him. For a few seconds he dangled in front of the building like some naked blasted puppet as they tried to pull him back up.

Then he managed to get his hands free, and fell the last few meters onto the balcony below. The landing was considerably softer this time, but by now his feet were numb with cold
and he barely noticed the difference. He didn’t waste any time banging on windows. His pursuers weren’t stupid, and in the unlikely event of him being let into the apartment, he’d still have to deal with them in the stairwell.

The street was still at least six meters below him, but the balcony he was on now was the lowest one. He stumbled along the building trying in vain to find a way out.

Then he noticed the awning of the restaurant on the ground floor.

♦  ♦  ♦

She tried to look in at the backseat through the tinted windows, but even though she had her hands cupped around her eyes it was all but impossible. The front seats were no problem, but sadly there was nothing interesting there. A couple of paper cups and the previous day’s evening paper, and that was all.

The cold was making her want to pee more than ever and she made up her mind to leave.

A moment later a body landed on the roof of the car.

Pillars of Society forum

Posted: 22 December, 17:26

By:
MayBey

Sometimes I fantasize about killing someone.

Finding some worthless little shit. A parasite on the body of society who’s just begging to be removed.

All of you out there can decide. Should I do it?

Thumbs up, or down?

I already know what the answer will be.

It would never occur to you to try to stop me.

Could I even be stopped?

Can you actually protect yourself against someone who might not even exist?

This post has
107 comments

HE DREAMED ABOUT
a bird.

A black desert crow with enormous wings that threw itself at him as he stood on the roof. He saw it coming, raised his
arm to his eyes instinctively, and took a couple of steps back.

And a moment later he fell over the edge. He fell in slow motion between the buildings, whose windows had been replaced by giant, flickering screens. Messages washed over him, filling his head. Almost making him forget the ground, which was getting closer and closer.

. . . as a Friend of Law and Order, I have to say . . .

Congratulations, Skövde, now we’re rolling . . .

. . . legislation that can’t come soon . . .

Recently it has become more and . . .

The writer doesn’t actually realize . . .

Hello to Vandelay Industries . . .

What Sweden needs is a new . . .

Suicide bomber!

. . . ready to take responsibility . . .

The Six O’clock News . . .

. . . meaningless . . .

Dressmann . . .

You Are . . .

Terrorist

. . . Always . . .

bomber!

Playing

voices

buzz

The

And then finally, just before his brain realized what was about to happen. The moment before his dream body smashed onto the tarmac . . .

Game

Game

Game

He drifted in and out of sleep and it took him a long time to make any sense of things. The bed was familiar, as was the room he was in. Extremely familiar, and for a moment he thought he was still dreaming. But then the pain caught up with him. Okay, so you could feel pain in dreams, but this was the mother of all pains . . .

His head, stomach, crotch, arms, legs, feet, and hands. Basically there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t hurt. So he must be awake. So—how in holy hell had he ended up here?

The door opened slowly and a familiar face looked in.

“Hi, Henke,” she said quietly.

♦  ♦  ♦

Obviously she should have taken him to Accident & Emergency straightaway. But he had begged and pleaded with her not to.

“Not the hospital, please . . . I’m screwed if I end up on a database. FUCKED, get it?”

So she had taken him home, helped him to stagger up to her flat, and then gave him several of her strongest knockout pills before tucking him up in bed.

His sleep had been unsettled, and he had woken several times babbling about desert birds, Dressmann, and a whole load of other incoherent nonsense.

She really ought to be beside herself with worry. But at the same time it was so incredibly good to see him, to have him here in the flat. Safe . . .

It was more than likely that the state Henke was in had some connection with her own disastrous evening with John. You didn’t have to be Einstein to work out that he must have been furious with her, and had in all likelihood taken out his anger on Henke.

Of course she should never have let on that he was her little brother . . .

Nice work, Normén!

♦  ♦  ♦

Things could have been better . . .

His cover was blown, he had been tortured and chased, and had almost killed himself playing Spider-Man in Östermalm. But he couldn’t deny that it was good to see her . . .

So, how much did he actually dare tell her?

He had already tried the day before, but the combination of the pain and the pills had fogged his thoughts.

But he had to make an effort now, at least. She definitely deserved that.

She had basically saved his life.

What astonishing luck that she just happened to be there.

But this wasn’t the first time that he had been surprised by karma, so he just had to sit back and be grateful.