For a split second, he actually hesitates. His eyes dart indecisively back and forth, and the temptation of dropping the whole thing right then and there makes him take a few steps in the wrong direction.

One last journey, reclining comfortably in an almost-new Renault. It’s over for him anyway, he might as well ride in style until they nab him. Dignified.

Because I’m worth it.

At first, he doesn’t know where the phrase is from. Uninvited, it creeps into his brain and unleashes a new surge of rage. Then, as he whispers it back to himself, he remembers the adverts. The whores. Crafty ad men telling them they actually have value.

He pictures the paused TV image. Not even young and pretty like the ones in the adverts. A fucking wreck, hollow-eyed and lank-haired like some junkie bitch. And those damn eyes.

He stops. Then he turns and takes three quick steps in the opposite direction. Breaks the window of a car whose owner he knows isn’t going to report it stolen. His junkie neighbour probably stole it himself in the first place – or got it in a trade that wouldn’t hold up well to police scrutiny. In any event, the police wouldn’t lift a finger to find a rusty old Skoda, or to help that guy in any other way, for that matter.

He glances down at the jumble of empty bottles, cigarette butts that have fallen out of the overflowing ashtray, bits of tin foil, and remnants from various fast-food meals. Pushes an evening paper aside along with something that might possibly be a dried-up banana peel, takes out his screwdriver, and slips in behind the wheel.

It’s the ’93, possibly ’94 model. Could work if he’s lucky, otherwise he’ll have to do it the hard way. He shoves the screwdriver into the ignition and turns it.

Sure, it’s not going to purr like a cat, or like a Renault, he reflects, but at least it starts on the first try.

Ten past six. All he has to do now is lie low and wait for dusk when people start retreating indoors before driving out there. Early May, the sun probably doesn’t set until around nine this time of year.

Though maybe it starts getting dark a bit earlier than that, he muses and glances over at the leaden sky in the west while minding the speed limit on his way down Trossvej on his way towards Road 32.

Chapter 69

69

She wakes up because she has to pee. Doesn’t check the time as she staggers out into the bathroom. Still half-asleep, she studies the pile of clothes on the floor while her bladder empties. Realises she’s thirsty. That her head hurts, that every part of her body feels heavy.

That the house is quiet.