Tore Renberg - See You Tomorrow

Rudi shrugs. ‘We are going to have a lot to do now, what with that Pål guy—’

‘That’s item four—’

‘Okay, right—’

‘But if you’ve both got your hands full with item four, then I’ll take care of the trailer. We’ve people within our network with a trailer. No problem.’

‘Tødden must have a trailer,’ Cecilie says.

‘We’re not talking to Tødden,’ Jan Inge replies sharply, ‘not after what happened in Sauda. Sick hippie. But. Anyway. Great! Clean-up. Sunday. I’ll arrange the trailer. I’ll have a chat with Hansi. Everybody happy.’

‘Hansi? Like all of a sudden it’s better to go to Hansi than to Tødden?’ Cecilie says, rolling her eyes.

‘Maybe not,’ Jan Inge concedes. ‘But Hansi owes us, so we’ll go to him.’

‘Will Tong be going along?’ Cecilie asks, casually.

‘That actually pertains to item five—’

‘Jesus! Jani! Fuck your items!’

‘Listen, if we didn’t itemise—’

‘Itemise my ass.’

‘Itemise my ass!’ laughs Rudi. ‘Sodomise my ass. I’ll sodomise your ass, baby—’

‘Moving on,’ interrupts Jani. ‘Item three. Are we going to see W.A.S.P.?’

Jubilation round the table, even Cecilie’s face breaks into a smile. ‘W.A.S.P.?! Are they playing?’

‘Yes indeed, in Oslo on the twenty-fourth of October,’ her brother says, in a satisfied tone.

Rudi shoots his hand in the air and bangs his fist on the wall behind: ‘We’re totally going to W.A.S.P.! I fuck like a beast!’

‘God, I love W.A.S.P.,’ sighs Cecilie. A yellow glow spreads across her forehead and she sings: ‘Hold on to my heart, to my heart.’

‘Yeah,’ Rudi says. ‘He’s one, big, lawless lyricist is Blackie. L.O.V.E., all I need is my love machine tonight … I can’t fuck, I can’t feel, I’m one bizarre motherfucker, what the fuck’s inside of me, those lines especially, so fucking intense. The thing about what the fuck’s inside of me.’

‘I’m guessing that’s settled then,’ Jan Inge says. ‘A trip to Oslo for the three of us. W.A.S.P. That’s going to be amazing. But we’re not staying at Tom B’s in Holmlia, just so we’re clear on that.’

‘That goes without saying,’ says Rudi. ‘I mean, we’re not Nazis.’

‘And that—’ Jan Inge says, nodding to Rudi, ‘that brings us to item four. The update on yesterday. What happened, where do we stand, what’s going on.’

Rudi takes a gulp of chocolate milk. He realises it’s his turn to talk. He clears his throat and straightens up in the chair. ‘Yes, well,’ he says. ‘There’re a couple of things—’

‘Nice guy,’ Cecilie suddenly cuts in. ‘Pål.’

‘Nice?’ Rudi turns to look at her.

‘Yeah, well he was, wasn’t he? So?’

‘Nice schmice,’ Rudi pouts. ‘Do you want to fuck him as well? Anyway, we’re not here to talk about how ni—’

‘He needs money,’ interrupts Cecilie.

Rudi clears his throat again, ‘Right, they—’

‘A million,’ Cecilie says.

Rudi gapes at her. ‘Jesus, you’re very talkative all of a sudden!’

‘Am I not allowed to speak now either!’

What has gotten into her? They’ve had a good night’s sleep. They’ve had a good screw. She’s got that skincare shit to look forward to. Yet here she is, all thorny and difficult. Besides which, she’s sitting there talking about riding that fucking Pål guy.

Rudi swallows and looks at Jan Inge.

‘Long story short, brother, what we’re looking at here is a man with a problem. He’s run up a large amount of gambling debts, we’re talking a million, like Cecilie just mentioned. The problem is further complicated by women, two daughters, and he’s come to us for a solution. Is there any way we can help him get hold of a million kroner. That’s the situation.’

Jan Inge begins to nod. His head rocking back and forth.

This is good. Always a good sign when Jani moves his head back and forth.

Jan Inge takes hold of the egg slicer, places his egg in it and brings the thin wires down through it. He leans forward and picks up the mayonnaise. Hellmann’s. Unscrews the lid. Puts his knife inside, then spreads the mayonnaise across a slice of bread. Lifts up the egg and distributes the slices on the bread. Takes a tomato. Cuts it up with the knife. Places the slices over the egg.

This is good. Always a good sign when Jan Inge goes quiet and concentrates.

He brings the bread to his mouth. Takes a bite. Chews. Continues nodding and rocking his head. Then he looks at them, takes another bite and says:

‘This is just right.’

Rudi raises his eyebrows, sends an expectant glance towards Cecilie, who makes an odd grimace.

‘This is just right,’ Jan Inge repeats, nods, chews and goes for his third mouthful of egg, mayonnaise and tomato. ‘You know what?’ he says, getting up from the wheelchair and moving towards the window, the slice of bread in his hand, ‘you know what, I had a feeling about something like this when I woke up today. The sun was shining down on me and I thought: there’s something good on the way.’

‘What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours?’ Rudi asks, cautiously.

‘Firstly,’ Jan Inge says, taking a large bite of his bread, continuing to speak with his mouth full, ‘firstly we can make use of a time-honoured classic in our business.’

‘We can?’

Rudi turns once again towards Cecilie, whose face has taken on an odd yellowish tinge.

Jan looks at them, and with pride in his voice, says: ‘We’re talking classic insurance fraud. Does this guy have a house? Good. Does he have money? Good. No problem. We borrow Hansi’s Transporter at the same time as we get a loan of the trailer on Sunday, we drive up at night, reverse into the garage — does he have a garage? Good. We back into the garage, smash up his house, wreck his car, take everything we can find, break one of his arms, a leg, the usual. Rudi gives him a black eye and maybe a gash under the ear, we tie him to a chair — and voilà , this guy can cash in all his insurance, household contents, personal injury. That should go a good way towards the million, and then we can drive the stuff out to Buonanotte’s barn, take ourselves a coffee with a little something in it and have a chat.’

Jan Inge swallows the last piece of bread. Rudi shakes his head, impressed. It’s just nuts, he thinks, this man has always got a solution.

‘What about Tong?’ Cecilie asks, her hand over her mouth, looking out of sorts. ‘He … will he be going along?’

‘Yes,’ Jan Inge says, with a note of satisfaction, ‘and that ties in with item five on the agenda. Tong gets out on Friday. It’s perfect. Because what would Tong like better than walking out the gates at Åna and getting straight to work?’

Rudi downs the rest of the chocolate milk in one and gets to his feet. He walks over to where Jan Inge is standing. Puts his arm around him.

‘If you were from Oslo you’d be famous all over the country. And everyone would call you The Brain of Crime. Jo Nesbø would base a character in his books on you. A time-honoured classic! That is seriously sweet!’

Cecilie suddenly gets up and holding her hand over her mouth, she dashes in the direction of the bathroom while mumbling: ‘Sorry, sorry, I have to…’

Rudi and Jan Inge look at one another.

‘Hey, are you sick?’

They both shrug.

‘And now,’ Rudi says, straightening up, ‘now Rudi is going to remove the rest of the skirting boards in this house, in your honour, so you can go just where you want in the wheelchair.’

Then he trots from the kitchen, stooping like an eager horse, into the hall and down to the basement to fetch the crowbar, while he feels his chest bubbling with delight and then that song kicks in again: Du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du.