Black Seconds (20 page)

‘Brand-new boat,’ Willy said eagerly. ‘A regular cruise ship. I’ve got some business to do in Copenhagen. Why don’t you come along?’ he repeated. He said it like it was an order. Tomme did not like the sound of it. He took the leaflet.

‘It’s not new at all,’ he said, having read for a while. ‘It’s just been done up.’

‘Same thing, isn’t it?’ Willy said.

‘You know I can’t afford it,’ Tomme said. He put the leaflet on the worktop. It stayed there with the Polyfilla and the tools.

‘I’ll lend you the money, you know that,’ Willy said.

Tomme thought about it. ‘Business?’ he said dubiously. ‘I don’t want to be involved with your business dealings and you know it.’ The invitation worried him. Perhaps Willy had ulterior motives. Willy shrugged. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry 205

about. I just need to pop into a bar. It’s called Spunk,’ he said. ‘It’ll just take a couple of minutes. You can wait for me someplace else, if you’re scared of getting into trouble. And then we’ll hit the town.’

‘I don’t want to get mixed up with anything,’

Tomme said with all the authority he could muster. If Willy got himself involved in something, he could end up taking Tomme with him. Tomme had never had a girlfriend, but he imagined that it would be easier to break up with a girl than get rid of Willy. He instantly realised his own hypocrisy, how convenient it was for him that Willy always had money. That he was now prepared to fork out for a ticket for him, a return ticket to Copenhagen. That he had fixed his car for free. On top of that, running away from it all was quite tempting. The oppressive atmosphere at home. The police suddenly on his doorstep. His mum and her probing looks.

‘Friday to Sunday,’ Willy said persuasively. ‘And we’ll have a few hours in Copenhagen.’

Tomme tried to buy time. ‘I need to check with my parents. They’ll probably say no.’

‘Tell them you’re going with Bjørn and his mates.’

‘They’re bound to find out,’ Tomme said.

‘Bjørn and his mates will cover for you,’ Willy said. ‘Just tell them what to say. You’re eighteen, for fuck’s sake. Do you need to get permission for everything?’

‘But I live there. It’s their house.’ Tomme tossed his head, humiliated by his situation at home. Then he remembered that Willy was older. When I’m 206

twenty-two, Tomme thought, I won’t be living at home.

‘I’ll book the tickets,’ Willy said. ‘We’ll get a cheap cabin on the lower deck.’

Tomme felt as if he had trodden in glue. He wanted to free himself, but he was stuck with Willy. That same evening he asked his mother for permission to go on the boat to Copenhagen with Bjørn. She said yes. ‘I’m pleased that you’ve started seeing him again,’ she added. ‘I like Bjørn. He’s a nice boy. And you need to get out a bit more.’

Tomme nodded. Bjørn had promised to cover for him should it become necessary. ‘I can’t not go,’ he explained to his friend. ‘Willy fixed my car. He really wants me to come with him.’

On the afternoon of the twentieth of September they joined an endless queue at the check-in desk for the MS
Pearl of Scandinavia
. They had taken the bus to Oslo. Neither of them wanted to leave their cars in the capital over the weekend. They had bags slung over their shoulders. Tomme’s was a blue and red Adidas. Willy’s a black and white Puma. The bags were approximately the same size with roughly similar contents. A toothbrush. A spare jumper. A jacket. When they got on board, Tomme had a look at the cabin. He didn’t like it.

‘A right crypt,’ he mumbled, grimacing at the narrow room.

‘We won’t be spending much time down here,’

Willy said enthu

siastically. ‘We’ll be in the bar,

won’t we?’

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They tossed their bags on the floor and headed for the bar. The weather forecast for the weekend was bad; Willy thought it sounded great.

‘A gale, Tomme, that would be something, eh?’

Tomme ordered a pint. He had no desire for a gale. He looked across the table at Willy. His upper lip flattened every time he inhaled his cigarette. He was downing his beer at an impressive speed. Tomme suddenly felt completely alone, at the mercy of this other person. It was difficult enough at home, but there at least he had his own room. He always had choices. He could sit in the warm and cosy living room eating his mum’s cakes. Or be on his own in his bedroom with some DVDs and his computer. Now he was sitting here with Willy and would continue to do so until Sunday.

‘The ship weighs forty thousand tonnes,’ Willy informed him, reading from the leaflet. He looked around, rolled his eyes and then looked out at the sea. ‘It can carry two thousand people. Fancy that.’

‘It would be a terrible disaster if it sank,’ Tomme said, sipping his beer slowly. ‘I intend to find out where they keep the life jackets. Might as well do it sooner rather than later.’

‘Top speed twenty-one knots,’ Willy stated. ‘How fast is twenty-one knots?’

Tomme frowned. ‘No idea. Forty kilometres per hour, perhaps?’

‘Forty? That’s not a lot.’ Willy stared out of the window at the lazy grey waves. He was holding his pint with both hands. ‘On the other hand,’ it occurred 208

to him, ‘this forty-thousand-tonne baby cutting through the waves in the middle of the sea at forty kilo metres an hour. And in rough weather too! That’s not bad when you think of it.’ He drank more beer. He’s nervous, Tomme thought. He has done this loads of times before and it has always gone without a hitch, but now he’s nervous. So am I. The police have been to his garage. But they were looking for me. Perhaps they’re out to get both of us. He shuddered and gulped down his beer.

‘So what’s up?’ Willy said, glancing at him sideways. ‘Any more news from the cops?’

Tomme considered his answer carefully. He would prefer not to talk about his cousin Ida and everything that had happened recently. However, it was hard to avoid. ‘An officer turned up at our house the other day. Bloody tall guy!’ He looked up at Willy. ‘He’s heading the investigation. I’ve seen him on TV.’

‘He’s the one who came to my garage.’ Willy nodded.

‘He wanted to know how I bashed the car.

Exactly how it happened.’ He was watching Willy closely. ‘They’ve even checked out the crash barrier at the bridge. Would you believe it? They sent a man out to look for traces of black paint from the Opel!’

‘Yeah?’ Willy said; he was so fascinated by this that his eyes looked as if they were about to jump out of his head.

‘And they found them,’ Tomme said. ‘I was shitting myself.’

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‘But it’s true!’ Willy stated. ‘You’re only telling them the truth!’

‘I know. But I was still shitting myself.’

‘And what else? What else are they doing?’ Willy said.

‘I think they’ve got a lead. I wish I knew what it was. I don’t understand any of it,’ Tomme concluded, rubbing his neck with a clammy hand. Despite the thick carpets, the floor was throbbing underneath his feet. It was weird to think that they were on a ship. It didn’t feel like it; it was more like a huge restaurant with a strong humming sound coming from the basement. A power station or something like that. Tomme touched his neck with his hand again and started massaging it. He was sitting with his back against the wall and a chilly draught was coming from the window behind him. Tomme did not dream. He fell asleep quickly and the low hum from the engines kept him company throughout the night. The next morning they went ashore. It felt good to have solid ground underneath his feet once more, but the gale was strong. The boys walked sideways against the fierce wind and warded off the worst gusts with their shoulders. Tomme’s jacket had a hood; he pulled it over his head and tightened the toggles. When you looked at him from the side, his narrow nose stuck out like a fragile beak.

On Saturday Willy carried out his bit of business at Bar Spunk. That was how he phrased it. It was no 210

big deal, just a bit of business. He had no intention of getting anyone hooked. He never forced his drugs on anyone, people came to him. Adults. Regulars always. This was how he looked at it, a welcome bit of extra cash. His wages at Mestern bowling alley were measly, and as far as he had been able to work out, none of his regular clients had ever ended up with a serious drug habit.

‘But there’s no way you can know that,’ Tomme said. ‘Kids might get their hands on the drugs. Terrible things could happen.’

‘That’s not my problem,’ Willy said. ‘I sell to responsible adults. What they do with them has got nothing to do with me.’

Tomme was in a café eating chicken and chips. Willy had gone off purposefully with the Puma bag over his shoulder. It did not look noticeably heavier when he returned just under an hour later. Afterwards they drifted round the streets, peoplewatching. Later that day Tomme called his mother to assure her everything was all right. With him and with Bjørn. Then it was time to go home.

They returned to the bar, to the same cabin below. Willy did not say anything about what his business had involved, he just tossed his bag casually into the cabin. True, once during the evening he nipped out to check something, as he put it, but he was back quickly. Tomme wondered if the bag, which looked entirely innocent, might have a false bottom or a secret compartment. In fact it was an ordinary sports bag made from cheap nylon. 211

Willy seemed on top of the world. During the evening he got quite drunk. Tomme was nursing his third beer and feeling clear-headed. Another gale was brewing. However, it hardly affected them; they were comfortably ensconced in their arm chairs. Suddenly Willy went over to the bar and bought three pints in one go. He started downing the first one.

‘Why did you do that?’ Tomme said, baffled. He stared at the three glasses.

‘The gale is about to hit us,’ Willy said. ‘If it gets too severe, they’ll stop serving.’ He took a huge gulp. ‘I travel a lot,’ he explained, ‘so I know these things.’

Tomme shook his head in disbelief. He sipped his beer carefully and accepted that he would end up carrying Willy back to their cabin later on.

‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,’

Willy said. His speech was beginning to slur and his face had taken on an ugly expression, which unnerved Tomme.

‘Aha?’ Tomme said. He tried to sound indifferent. All the same, he could not help feeling scared. He had been expecting this.

‘I mean, let’s face it,’ Willy said. ‘You owe me a favour. Or two.’

‘And why’s that?’ Tomme said. He suddenly felt sober, and he pushed his glass aside to indicate that he was in another place. That he was in control.

‘To begin with, there’s this weird story of yours,’

Willy said. ‘Though your secret’s safe with me, that 212

goes without saying. And then there’s the fact that I fixed your car for free.’

‘But now you want paying, is that what you’re saying?’ Tomme said acidly. Christ, he wished he had not come with Willy. He reached for his glass and drank fiercely. He was angry. It felt good; every thing was easier when you were angry. Anger sped things up, made the blood run faster.

‘Now, now, don’t be crude,’ Willy said. ‘I’m not talking about money.’

‘I didn’t for think for a moment that you were,’

Tomme said.

‘Just a small favour in return,’ Willy said. ‘A little job. It’ll only take a few minutes.’

Tomme waited for him to continue.

‘When we go ashore,’ Willy said, ‘we’ll swap bags.’

Tomme jumped in his chair and his eyes widened with fear. ‘No way,’ he said, clutching his glass. Again Willy smiled his vicious smile and leaned across the table. ‘Please, let me finish,’ he said.

‘I’m going back to the cabin,’ Tomme said. ‘I don’t want to hear another word about it. And don’t you go thinking that telling my weird story to anyone will get you very far.’

‘Won’t it?’

‘Think about it, for Christ’s sake. I don’t even understand a single word of it myself. So why would the police?’

‘Perhaps they’re smarter than you?’ Willy suggested.

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‘I don’t think so. You’re blackmailing me,’

Tomme accused him.

Willy looked at him and pretended to be hurt.

‘Aren’t we as bad as each other? I’ve got something on you. You’ve got something on me. I wouldn’t call that blackmail. I would call it a standoff. It’ll only take you a few minutes. All I want you to do is carry the gear through customs for me.’

‘Do you take me for an idiot? You’re drunk,’

Tomme declared. ‘Let’s go to bed. It’s late, and they’re shutting the bar soon anyway. I’ve had enough of this.’

‘Still got some beer left,’ Willy slurred. ‘I just thought you might want to help me out. Given that I helped you.’

‘You’re asking a lot, I think,’ Tomme said bitterly.

‘As were you. If you think about it. If you really think about it,’ Willy said, pronouncing each word with exaggerated clarity.

Tomme kept staring out of the window, hoping to see the sea. No use. It was almost impossible to believe that the sea was on the other side, right on the other side. Inside it was bright and cosy. Inside there was music and good times to be had. Now and again bursts of laughter rang out and the clinking of glasses could be heard. It was like a different sort of sea, waves of warm bodies, music, rhythm, and all of it lit up so strangely that it reminded him of the undulating surface of the ocean. He suddenly felt worn out. So tired and fed up with it all. 214

‘Take your beer outside and let’s get a bit of fresh air,’ Willy said.

Tomme yawned. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

‘I want to see the gale,’ Willy said. He drank three huge gulps so the glasses would not spill when he carried them. They left the bar and climbed up the stairs. The wind got hold of them the moment they opened the door to the stormy deck.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Tomme said. ‘We’ll get soaked.’

‘Fantastic,’ Willy screamed with elation. He stood with his arms stretched out to the sides and the icy wind hitting him straight in his face. It was totally exhilarating. ‘The perfect storm!’ he yelled. Tomme crouched as he felt the wind grab hold of him. He held on to the railings and moved cautiously towards the stern of the ship. Willy followed him on unsteady legs. ‘Fresh air!’