The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [108]
“Then do it. I need to clear my head.”
Slobodan Andersson swung his legs over the side of the bed, made a face, and rubbed his hands over his head. He muttered something and drew in the snot in his nose.
Manuel sat down again. He took hold of the idea that had been slumbering and growing unexpressed since his visit to the summer-house.
“I come bearing a message,” he said.
Slobodan looked up.
“I come bearing a message from my brother.”
“What the hell are you talking about. What brother?”
“Angel.”
The astonishment momentarily made Slobodan look human, until he realized who Manuel was.
“You are the brother who was not so enthusiastic, is that right? The one who stayed behind? What kind of message?”
“That which Angel was not able to deliver,” Manuel said and stood up again. Slobodan was five meters away.
“The German cops didn’t take it?”
Manuel shook his head, not sure if Slobodan would buy the lie. He did not know what had appeared in the papers or what Slobodan knew about where the drugs had gone.
“But it will cost you,” he went on.
“I have never received anything for free in my entire life,” Slobodan said, and smiled.
He appeared unaffected. The hangover he most likely had felt as he woke up appeared to be gone.
“But I don’t buy something that already belongs to me,” he added.
“Well, then,” Manuel said. “There are other buyers.”
“Did you try with Armas first?”
“I don’t know who that is,” Manuel said and Slobodan stared at him for a long time before he spoke.
“How is Patricio? Is he well?”
“I am going to visit him tomorrow.”
Manuel did not like the situation. There was a veiled threat behind Slobodan’s questions, the same tactic that Armas had used to try and shake him up.
“How long have you been in Sweden?”
“Not long.”
“I can reimburse you for your costs.”
“Fifty thousand dollars,” Manuel said and tried to keep his voice level.
Slobodan chuckled. Manuel watched him without moving a muscle, hoping the fat one would not realize how nervous he was. He had been taking a chance when he threw out that figure, but now he saw in Slobodan’s reaction that fifty thousand dollars was in the ballpark.
The thought of offering Slobodan the chance to buy back his own stash of drugs had come as an inspiration, and now seemed like sheer genius. He imagined the possibilities; now his brother could get a more comfortable life in prison.
Slobodan stared thoughtfully at Manuel for a few seconds before he stood up and left the room. Manuel heard the sound of liquid pouring into the toilet bowl and how the fat one splashed water, snorted, and talked loudly to himself. Finally there was some rinsing and a short laugh.
When the restaurant owner returned he looked decidedly more alert. The thin hair had been water combed back over his head and several drops of water glittered on his cheek.
He glanced quickly at the double bed, the sheets lay wrinkled and bunched up at its foot, so he shook his head and sat down in the other armchair.
“So, let’s do business,” he said and smiled broadly.
Manuel longed for his tent by the river. He was tired and stiff and feared what was to come. Did he have enough power to stand up to Slobodan Andersson?
“Fifty thousand,” he said and knew in the moment what he should do. Patricio would get money and Slobodan would be punished without Manuel having to exert any extra effort.
“Why should I trust you?”
“You trusted my brothers.”
“How much do you have?”
Manuel measured with his hands.
“Two kilos, maybe more, I don’t know.”
“If it is Angel’s package it is around two kilos,” Slobodan said. “And you are charging fifty thousand dollars? Do you understand what that means?”
Manuel shook his head.
“It is worth perhaps a million Swedish kronor. I can make five hundred kronor per gram. So far I have paid out one hundred thousand dollars and with your fifty thousand that comes to more than one million kronor. I get the money back and that is good, but I deserve a small profit,” he went on in a conciliatory tone, “I could perhaps scrape together twenty-five thousand. That is a fortune to you.