Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

‘Youbetya, Pål Wall!’

‘Rudi, could you exercise a modicum of calm?’ Jan Inge speaks slowly to Rudi, letting his eyebrows dance up and down to make him understand that he’s marring the current tactics. ‘You will,’ he goes on, ‘you will feel pain, but it shall pass. My advice to you is to think about how good things are going to be for you and your daughters.’

Jan Inge raises his corpulent form from the seat. He’s definitely going to start working out after this job is over with. He begins to swagger across the floor, doing his best to resemble a barrister or something along those lines. Pål follows him with anxious eyes.

Jan Inge stops. ‘What’s going to happen,’ he says, ‘is the following. Cecilie is going to explore the house. She’ll take a close look at your possessions, point out what we’re going to take with us and what we’re going to wreck. Isn’t that right, Cecilie?’

Cecilie turns to Pål, her face tracing a pretty arc, making her resemble Beverly Hinna, and serves him a smile of class. Good, she’s singing from the same hymn sheet again.

‘The last part,’ Jan Inge continues, ‘is mostly for the sake of realism. It’s important for it to look like the crooks who broke into your house and beat you up were looking for stuff to steal. People like that usually leave a trail of senseless destruction in their wake.’

A hmph sound escapes Rudi, ‘Hopeless sorts.’

‘They’re on drugs and they take pleasure in wrecking things,’ Jan Inge says. ‘They have a need for destruction, Pål. Have you heard of that?’

‘No, can’t say—’

‘It’s the same as when a gang of youths kick the wing mirrors off parked cars. They’re generally acting out after a painful upbringing. They’ve experienced maltreatment and abuse. We’re talking about failure of care a lot of the time. These people have something inside that has to come out. A need for destruction. The crooks that were at your place tonight suffer from something like that. Do you understand, Pål?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘It sounds … well, realistic.’

‘Good, Pål. You catch on quick.’

‘I think so too,’ Cecilie says.

‘While Cecilie carries out an evaluation of your household contents,’ Jan Inge says, smiling, ‘the three of us will get started on you. We’ll leave a few signs of forced entry, we need to fake a modus operandi so it looks like we’ve broken in. We’ll smash the window beside the front door to make it look like that was how we gained access, we’ll mess up the hall a little — what do you think, Tong, smash the mirror? Evidence of a struggle?’

Tong nods. ‘Enough with a crack in it. Turn a chair over.’

‘If Tong says it’s enough with a crack and an overturned chair, then it’s enough with a crack and an overturned chair.’ Jan Inge nods. ‘So. We’ll rearrange the hallway a little, make it look like a scuffle has taken place, same goes for the kitchen here, where I think we’ll let the main action play out. Or actually.’ He stops to think for a moment. ‘Let me have a look at your living room.’

Pål shows Jan Inge and Pål into the living room and they take a look around. A corner sofa, an armchair, a table, large windows facing the garden.

Tong shakes his head. Jan Inge does the same. He points to a framed photograph standing on a sideboard. The same two girls from the pictures in the hall. They’re about ten or twelve years old in the photo. ‘Your daughters?’

Pål nods gravely.

‘Lovely girls. Think of them. The living room is a no go,’ Jan Inge says as they walk back to the kitchen. ‘This is where we’ll let it all go down. We’ll tie you to one of the chairs. You’ll be in some pain overnight, and sore for a few days after, but without serious injury. And we’ll break a few things around us—’

‘The Tjeeeeensvoll Gang! The Tjeeeensvoll Gang!’ Rudi exclaims, grabbing Cecilie on the behind. ‘Sorry, capo,’ he says, as he receives a stern look from Jan Inge, and removes his hand from her behind, ‘I’m just so happy today. Job satisfaction! Arbeit macht frei !’

‘So,’ Pål says meekly. ‘This … I don’t know what you’d call it … this…’

‘The actual violence, is that what you’re thinking of?’ Jan Inge folds his arms, noticing at the same time that he actually has a pair of tits now.

Pål nods.

‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ Jan Inge says. ‘Would you like to know what we’re going to do beforehand?’

Pål rubs his palms against one another and shifts his weight. ‘Weeell, em … can I get a cup of coffee?’

Jan Inge nods and Pål pours himself a coffee, immediately warming up his nervous hands around it.

‘You don’t want to know,’ Cecilie says, again producing that motherly warmth that impels Jan Inge to believe, truly believe, in the future.

‘Pål,’ she says, with the air of an old-time continuity announcer, ‘it’s not worth it. You’ll only work yourself up and that’ll make the pain worse.’

‘Right,’ Pål says, ‘I see…’

Cecilie strokes him across the cheek and Jan Inge sees Rudi’s eyelids quiver.

‘That is,’ Tong says, ‘if you don’t find it reassuring to know what’s in store. People are different. Some people work in the symphony orchestra, some study lit crit and some specialise in break-ins.’

‘True,’ Jan Inge says, taken aback by Tong’s comparison. He turns to Pål again: ‘It’s something you’ll need to decide for yourself. We’ll blindfold you after we’ve tied you up anyway.’

‘Shit,’ Pål says, putting his hand to his hair, ‘not easy to decide.’

‘That I can well understand,’ Rudi says, seeming more together now.

‘You need to make a decision,’ Jan Inge says, glancing at the clock, ‘we have to get started.’

He leans down to one of the bags by his feet.

‘What have you got inside that?’ Pål asks nervously.

‘That’s sort of what you either want to know or don’t want to know,’ Jan Inge says impatiently. ‘What’s it going to be?’ He looks at Cecilie. ‘Will you start taking a gander round?’

She straightens up and nods. Stroking Pål across the cheek one last time she says, ‘Trust me. Think of your daughters, what were their names again?’

‘Malene and Tiril.’

Cecilie’s forehead relaxes and her face takes on a faraway expression, that of an expectant mother. ‘Malene and Tiril,’ she says, a growing colour in her cheeks, ‘such gorgeous names. I’m sure they’re lovely daughters.’

‘Yeah,’ Pål says, and Jan Inge can see that he’s having a hard time swallowing.

‘Think about them,’ Cecilie says, ‘and just go with it. Think of it as giving birth.’

Jan Inge clears his throat unintentionally.

‘A birth?’

Cecilie nods.

‘Okay,’ Pål says. ‘I’ll go with … that. I don’t want to know anything.’

Tong takes a step forward. He demands attention from everyone in the room, just by the look in his eyes, and he gets it. ‘One last thing,’ he says, ‘there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding about the insurance money.’

‘Yes, that,’ Jan Inge says, producing his inhaler from his pocket and sucking in air.

Pål frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We’ve discussed it within the company—’

‘We’re taking a cut,’ Tong breaks in. He places both hands on the table in front of Pål. ‘Half.’

Pål’s eyes widen. He looks from one of them to the other. ‘But — but — the deal was — the whole point of it is … I need … but, I need a million! It’s not enough with — we made a deal—’

Jan Inge shrugs. Tong keeps his eyes fixed on Pål.

‘We made a de—’