He Who Fears the Wolf (7 page)

Skarre looked at him in surprise.

"Let's say it was all pre-arranged, that they were in it together. That she was his girlfriend."

"I don't think she's his girlfriend," Gurvin broke in. His eyes were fixed rigidly on the flickering screen. "That hostage is a man. And his name is Errki Johrma."

*

Suddenly he realised what had happened. It rose up through his consciousness like a great shock. He had taken a madman hostage!

He drove as fast as he dared go without attracting attention, keeping a watchful eye on the traffic in his rear-view mirror. His pulse was still fast, his body taut and tense, and he was hyperventilating. It made him dizzy. He scowled at the man sitting next to him.

"I'm asking you again: what were you doing in the bank so early in the morning?"

Errki heard the snare drums. They were playing a drum roll that was a long way off tempo. He didn't answer, just opened and closed his fists and stared down at the floor of the car as if he were looking for something. The words were drowned out by the drums. Don't move, don't say anything. He rocked back and forth in his seat and closed his eyes.

"I said, what the hell were you doing in the bank so early in the morning!"

This time Errki heard the angry voice. The man was scared. He stored this away in his mind and began silently to shape an answer. Nestor listened to his thoughts; he had to approve of the words before they were released. That's why it took time. Nestor was meticulous. Nestor was –

"Are you deaf, man?"

Am I deaf? thought Errki. That was a new question that required a new answer. He shoved the first one aside and started working on the second. Nestor was still listening. The Coat was silent. No, he thought. I can hear perfectly. I can hear his pulse pounding in his veins because his blood pressure is too high, and he's expending a huge amount of energy on something as simple as trying to communicate. But does he really want an answer that hasn't been properly thought through? Isn't it a mark of respect to take your time finding an answer? On the other hand – does he deserve respect? Of any kind?

Demanding money from a young teller was no great feat, at least not in Errki's opinion. And besides, he had a gun. But the man was plainly excited by his exploits. It was making his cheeks bulge even to bursting point. Now he needed to let off steam.

"Is it possible to get some kind of answer around here?"

His voice, a nice tenor, was ruined by the drums, which scrambled the words and gave him a shrill sound. Too bad, thought Errki. Men were more concerned with other things than their voices. Muscles. Bravado. Having the right jeans to wear. Such pitiful things. Errki had discovered that he had the ability to drive a grown man almost mad without even trying, just by keeping silent. It was tough for the man not to get an answer. Not to find out who you were. What you were. Errki still didn't say a word.

The robber was breathing hard next to him, his curly hair damp with exertion. He looked in the rear-view mirror and reduced his speed, then turned off the road and stopped. The engine was still running. He threw a quick glance at Errki and snarled between clenched teeth, "I have to take off some of these clothes. Don't try to run away!"

Errki didn't have any intention of escaping. The pistol bothered him. He could feel it piercing his body like a ray of light. Now the robber placed his gun on the dashboard, above the steering wheel. He struggled to pull off his sweater and then the corduroy trousers, keeping his gloves on. It wasn't easy because the car was so small. He groaned and cursed and tugged at the trousers, but at last he was done, and more sweaty than ever. Now he was sitting there dressed in what must be a form of disguise, Errki thought. Nestor chuckled softly from the cellar. Under the clothes he had removed, the robber was wearing a pair of gaudy Bermuda shorts covered with fruit and palm trees, and a blue sleeveless shirt with Donald Duck on the chest. He reached across Errki and opened the glove box. He took out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. His outfit was perfect. Errki couldn't help staring. The muscular man looked so odd in his colourful shorts. He was fighting to control his voice.

"You don't understand any of this, so keep your mouth shut! Just shut up unless someone speaks to you!"

Errki hadn't said a word. In spite of his leather jacket and black trousers he wasn't sweating. He concentrated on not moving. If he remained motionless, he would be almost invisible.

"Damn, you smell terrible!" The robber sniffed loudly to show his disgust and opened the window even further. Errki wondered whether he expected a reply to this or whether he was just slinging a little shit. To be on the safe side, he kept quiet. Besides, Nestor was singing a beautiful hymn in a low voice, and it would be best to take advantage of his good mood. Errki didn't think much about where they were headed or what might happen later on. He was using all his strength to close himself up and hold everything else out. This man. This moment. The gun. But he couldn't stop his hands. They kept on opening and closing, faster and faster.

"Can't you stop doing that with your hands?" the robber said, his eyes wide. "It looks so creepy. It's driving me crazy!"

Errki began rocking back and forth instead. It was impossible to make himself invisible here, with the storm in the seat next to him that wasn't going to let up. He tried to turn away from the man. Stared out of the window. The drums were making his ears hurt. He gave a little wave of his hand to make them stop.

"I suppose you're not interested in money," the robber said, a little calmer now. "Maybe you don't know what it's good for."

Errki listened. The man had lowered his voice. Now he was suddenly extremely alert: the question was filled with curiosity.
Interested in money.
Well, yes, up to a point. But he already had a few kroner in his pocket, so the answer was both yes and no. Is that what he should say?

"It looks as though you've escaped from some kind of institution. That's a tough game to play. Plenty of people try to escape, and then they come shuffling back with their tail between their legs. Is that how it is with you? Are you one of them?"

Are you one of them?
The question was almost touching in its barely disguised eagerness to find out who he was. Errki closed his eyes again. The city was beginning to vanish behind them. Evil intentions, or none at all? He discovered that he couldn't figure out where to place him. Peas, beef and pork, he thought, blood, sweat and tears. It was disturbing.

The road began an uphill climb. Further ahead, high up on a hill off to the left, was a scenic point. He found himself again, recognised this area. This was one of the roads that he had trudged along for years. They passed through a tunnel and deep darkness descended over the car. The driver was instantly nervous, as if he feared an attack. He drove with the gun in his right hand, and tore off his sunglasses when he realised how dark it was. Then they came out on the other side. Errki blinked. Now there was only one kilometre to the toll gate. The man would either have to stop and pay, or else crash through the barrier, which was just a wooden bar painted red and white. The thought had evidently occurred to him. He began to slow down.

"Don't try anything!" he snarled.

It hadn't even crossed Errki's mind. The only thing he was trying to do was to remain motionless and invisible, but his body had a life of its own and was refusing to obey.

The driver stopped the car. He had made up his mind. He swung the car to the left and drove up towards the scenic point. Errki wasn't sure what he intended to do at the top, but there was no traffic on the road. It was still early and probably deserted up there. The robber gripped the pistol hard and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Dust and sand spewed out behind the car as it strained up the wooded slope. The road was far below them now, and the cars looked like brightly coloured toys. He made one last tight swerve and then steered the car towards the railing. From here they could look down at the toll gate. They both noticed it at the same time: two police cars were parked on the shoulder to the right of the toll booth. There was a gasp and then a hiss as the robber exhaled through clenched teeth. He put the car in reverse and backed away from the railing. Stopped again. Began hammering the steering wheel with the gun. Errki could hear the chaos in the man's head. He was about to explode, the sweat was just about gushing from his forehead, and his heart was working hard, close to its limit. A tiny scratch in his carotid artery right now and the blood would spurt out in a red arc, all the way down to the toll gate.

"OK, my friend. What do you suggest?" the robber said.

Friend. What a pathetic attempt. The poor man was at the end of his tether, it was almost unbearable. Errki wanted to get away. He turned to look out of the window, peered at the woods, at what might be a path winding its way through the trees. His glance was quick and almost imperceptible, but the robber saw it. He followed his gaze, his brain starting to function again. He put the car in gear, turned around, and drove across the parking area. The path was so wide at the beginning that he could drive in 15 or 20 metres before it narrowed and became a well-trodden track. When he stopped, the car was invisible from the lookout, hidden by the dense foliage. He turned around and grabbed a bag from the back seat.

"We're going to get out and walk."

Errki stayed where he was. The robber opened the door and came around the car, gesturing with his gun.

"You go first. It's a good, dry path. We can wait here until dark. That roadblock isn't going to be there long, they don't have enough manpower for that. Let's go! Get out of here, fast!"

Don't move, don't say anything. In the distance he could hear that the Coat had woken up and was starting to flap as Nestor informed it of the latest details. Their laughter rang inside him, making his whole body vibrate. He put a hand on his chest to ease the pressure.

"What's the matter with you? No use pretending to be sick, I'm not that simple. Now get the hell out of that car!"

Errki scrambled out. The robber went behind the car, opened the boot, and looked inside. For a terrifying moment Errki thought he was going to be locked up in the tiny boot, unable to move or see out. Instead, the robber rummaged around and pulled out some kind of plastic package. He opened it and took out a tarpaulin, glancing up at the green leaves. The tarpaulin was green. He looked at Errki.

"Put this over the car. You have to fasten it underneath with the hooks. The car will be camouflaged. The longer it takes for them to find it, the better."

The robber tossed the tarpaulin into his arms. Errki stood there holding the green material. It was made of nylon, thin and slippery and hard to handle. It slid out of his slack grip and fell to the ground.

"Pick it up. First you have to open it right out and then put it over the car."

Errki laid the green material out on the ground and began opening the flaps. There was a little strap with a metal hook in each corner. He lifted the tarpaulin at one end and tried to spread it over the bonnet of the car. It slid straight away to the ground. He had never held anything so distasteful in his hands as this slippery green fabric. It was disgusting.

"Damn it, man, you're incompetent!"

Errki tried again, feeling the barrel of the gun poking him in the side. Eventually he got it spread over the roof of the car, but just as he started to arrange the sides, it fell off again. The robber was sweating and grunting at his incredible clumsiness. He stuck the gun in the waistband of his shorts, yanked the tarpaulin out of Errki's hands, and had it over the car in a matter of seconds. Then he pulled out his gun again.

"We'd better get you back to the asylum fast. How do you manage even to get dressed on your own? Or do you just keep wearing the same clothes? That's what it looks like. Come on, we're going to take a little hike."

Finally, Errki was allowed to walk. Walking he could do for hours. He fell into a rhythm that calmed him as he swayed and rolled up the wooded slope. Behind him came the robber with the raised pistol and the bag over his shoulder. The bag with the money. The path grew narrower and the woods closed its canopy above them. Only a small amount of light penetrated the leaves. The robber relaxed. He felt safer far away from everyone. No-one could see them here. He should have thought of this a lot earlier. They wouldn't think to search the woods, just check the roads and cars.

And he had kept his promise. He had the money.

Errki strode along with the robber huffing and puffing behind him. It was hot, and the bag wasn't light. Inside he had a travel radio, a bottle of whisky he would drink to celebrate, a box of ammunition and the money.

"Slow down, nobody's on our trail."

But Errki kept going. He could hear the other man struggling to keep up with him. He was panting hard after only a few hundred metres. The path was steep, and the going was getting rougher.

"Hey, you. I'm in command here!"

Three drums performed a sharp roll. Errki heard Nestor cough up a clot of mucus, which was his way of commenting on the robber's statement. Errki kept going without slackening his pace. He had only one speed; he either walked fast or he lay down to rest. But he did slow down as the path continued climbing towards the mountain ridge. From the top they would be able to see the road and find out whether the police were still there. He tossed and flung his thin body from side to side. The other man moved with harsh jerks. He had more muscles than Errki, but not much stamina. But after an hour the robber slipped into a rhythm. His muscles had warmed up. And he had a bag full of money. He felt a surge of joy and decided to share it with the lunatic. He cleared his throat.

"What's your name?" he called.

The voice was almost friendly. The question left a dull slap, as if the drum skin had got loose. Errki didn't reply, just kept on walking. It was harmless enough, but you could never be sure. Nestor was squatting in the dim light, staring up at him. The fire in his eyes gleamed like a low blue flame.