Copenhagen Noir - Bo Tao Michaelis [32]
It was raining. I cut across the square. The sliding door stuck, I stood there tugging at it. The girl inside came over and picked up a clump of wet napkins in front of the door. Then she opened it for me, walked back to the counter.
“A French hot dog, regular dressing,” I said.
“On the way.”
She put the hot dog bun in the machine. Picked a cigarette up out of the ashtray and sucked on it. I had the exact amount ready. Her hand was pale and delicate, hair in a thin ponytail pinned up on her head. She might have been nineteen or twenty, her smile revealed a slightly crooked set of teeth: “Can you believe it, it’s the first French hot dog all evening.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded: “Mmm. Strange, with this weather. Usually people come in and stand around.”
We both gazed outside, she sucked on the cigarette again.
I wanted a cigarette too; I fished around in my net bag. The floor was covered with napkins. I found the pack and shook one out, she shoved her lighter across the counter.
“Those are really pretty earrings,” she said.
“Thanks. I like them too.”
“I have nickel allergy, I can’t handle anything at all,” she said. She blew smoke in the air, I did the same. By coincidence we had both held back a mouthful for a smoke ring; we blew one at each other simultaneously, the rings met over the counter. We broke out laughing, her laughter was what you would call sparkling, it trilled out of her. Smoke caught in her throat and she began to cough. The bun fell out of the machine, she kept coughing while she filled it with dressing. She smiled while she coughed and shook her head at herself. She held the back of her hand over her mouth, the hand holding the hot dog bun.
The ponytail wobbled on top of her head.
Then the telephone rang. She pounded her chest with the flat of her hand and lifted the receiver. The hot dog bun lay on the counter, some dressing ran out of it.
“This is Christina,” she said, her voice unsteady after the fit of coughing. “Sorry, but I can’t, I didn’t bring them with me. They’re over at Vibse’s. No.” Someone spoke to her. She cleared her throat, she pounded her chest again. “We don’t close until one-thirty. And Mathias is with me, I can’t go anywhere,” she said, and a moment later: “Can’t I bring them over tomorrow morning? Hello?”
She stood a bit longer with the phone in her hand, then she hung up. Turned around for the tongs, hovered over the hot dogs without picking one up.
“Toasted or plain?”
“Toasted, please.”
The hot dog entered the bun. She handed it to me, walked to the sink, bent over, took a sip of water. I had opened the sliding door halfway, about to leave, when she called after me: “Could I get you to do me a big favor? It’ll only take a minute.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll give you something for doing it. Just stay here for five minutes. My boy is out back asleep, I can’t leave him here alone.”
“How old is he?”
“Five months. But he’ll just sleep. I’m only asking because it’s an emergency. I have to go get something.”
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I said, and joined her behind the counter. She was really small, not much over five feet. She pulled a white raincoat off the hook and put it on, felt around in the pockets.
“I’m back in five minutes,” she said. “If anyone comes in, give them a free Cocio. But nobody will.”
After she closed the back door behind her, I threw my hot dog in the trash. I reconsidered and pulled it out, packed it in a napkin, and stuck it back in the trash. Covered it with several napkins. Then I opened the back door. The baby carriage was just outside under a porch roof, protected by a dark rain cover. I peeked down through the hood’s opening and could