Copenhagen Noir - Bo Tao Michaelis [73]
The editor cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking.”
Sebastian looked at Hannah.
“You get presents?” she asked, and leaned over the bar. Her low-cut blouse exposed the upper part of her breasts and made the pale skin appear even more radiant than usual. Sebastian gave her the elephant.
“Those tusks are really long,” she said. She held it up in front of her.
“Do you know how many sets of teeth elephants go through in a lifetime?” he said. “Six. When the last set wears out they starve to death.”
The editor grinned and nodded with satisfaction. “It’s a brilliant novel. The best you’ve written.”
“There is no novel,” Sebastian said, thin-lipped.
“What are you talking about? I have the second set of page proofs lying on my desk.”
“There will be no novel.” He held his glass out to Hannah, who filled it. She set the elephant on the bar, but Sebastian grabbed her wrists and closed her hands around the small wooden figure.
“Put it on your nightstand and think of me,” he said.
“I’d rather read your novel.”
“Do you read novels, sweet girl?”
Hannah smiled mischievously and set the elephant aside. She leaned forward again and nearly blinded them with her luminous breasts.
“I read almost everything,” she said. “But a novel about elephants is probably not something for me.”
Her cleavage was like a dark and warm cave between two snowdrifts. Andreas reached over and picked up his glass. The smoky whiskey burned his throat.
“It’s not about elephants,” the editor said.
“Small cute elephants.” Sebastian smiled and stepped down off the stool. “Small cute elephants to hide under your pillow, to rock yourself to sleep. Small cute elephants can go everywhere, they can be hidden between your legs, Hannah, they can rock you to sleep.”
He left the elephant where it was, sent the bartender a kiss with his fingers, and, without uttering another word, turned to go.
“There’s shooting down on Blågårds Square,” a man at the door yelled.
Sebastian disappeared into the crowd.
It was the second time that week. Andreas had seen it on television. Gangs at war, they said. It had happened just outside his apartment building’s door, but he hadn’t heard a thing.
People grew uneasy. Several stood up from their tables and gathered around the bar. Hannah blew smoke down over the elephant and turned the music off. It was for the best, given all the confusion. People were quick to turn panicky, even though nothing had happened. Several chairs were overturned and candles blown out. Perhaps it was like being on a boat about to capsize, knowing that you’ll be one of the few to survive. Andreas couldn’t help smiling. He looked toward the door, but the dim lighting and all the jittery customers made it impossible to see if Sebastian was still inside.
Like Andreas, the three other “birthday guests” were still seated at the bar. They were silent. Dejected, perhaps. But not scared. Andreas considered saying something about Sebastian—or the shooting. Hannah poured them more whiskey. He smiled at her. She smiled back. Wasn’t it times like these that you should go for it? He drank up and stepped down off the barstool. Put on his coat and turned to go. That was how it should be. So simple.
He had to push his way through the crowd. The sweat from all the bodies. A woman’s hair brushed his face. The smell of paraffin and smoke. There were sirens outside. The blue flashes lit up the dim bar.
He waited until the sound of the sirens had disappeared before leaving. It was drizzling, but it didn’t feel as cold as it had earlier. The water puddle at his feet reflected a blurry moon. He looked up, but he couldn’t spot it anywhere. Empty racks stood at the vegetable shop across the street. A few cardboard boxes lying in front of the shop were getting wet. Everything seemed normal, except there were no people. He turned and peered down the street at Blågårds Square. He was alone out here unless someone was hiding in a doorway. There were no police cars, either—maybe they’d already left the area. It had been a false alarm, no