Kordian’s second day at work was immeasurably worse than the first.
Yesterday, he had left the office at ten o’clock, and was home around eleven. He opened his first beer just before midnight, and fell asleep at around two. And he was to report to the Skylight building at eight, so he had to get up at six.
If that was what his life had come to, he was ready to opt out. Paraphrasing Robert Frost, Kordian thought that if he worked diligently in his office for ten hours a day, perhaps one day he would become the boss – and work for fourteen hours.
Stopping outside the office building, he lit a Davidoff.
‘Don’t make a stench here,’ he heard a woman’s voice say, although this time the tone wasn’t scathing.
Déjà vu, thought Kordian. He turned round and greeted Chyłka with a genuine smile.
‘Tell me, how many hours does a senior associate sleep?’ he asked.
‘As many as she likes,’ Joanna replied, deadpan. ‘Come on, don’t smoke outside Złote Tarasy like some lowlife. You’ve got an office for that.’
‘I don’t have an office,’ objected Oryński. ‘You put me in the newbie-burrow.’
‘It makes no difference, there’s still a smoking room.’
Kordian took a last drag on his cigarette, stamped it out and followed Chyłka.
In the lift, there was an awkward silence again. Oryński sneaked the odd glance at his boss; when she noticed, she gave him a withering look.
‘Didn’t get enough sleep, Zordon?’
His response was a long, genuine yawn. Perfect timing. ‘Up all night, searching for the answer to your task?’
‘What? Ah . . . yes. Didn’t find anything.’
‘You’ve forgotten again, haven’t you?’
‘No.’
‘I’m not going to remind you. It’s your problem.’
He racked his brains for a moment, in silence. Then suddenly, somewhere in his brain, a neuron fired up.
‘I was supposed to change my ringtone,’ he replied, proud as a teacher’s pet with the right answer. ‘But I haven’t managed to do it yet.’
‘No, not that, that’s just a technical thing,’ she said, as the lift reached their floor. ‘Your other task was much more important. If you don’t remember it, why on earth should I think you’re capable of learning the Criminal Code or the CCP?’
The Criminal Code and Code of Criminal Procedure were the last things on Kordian’s mind. The events of the previous day had proved to him that his new job had very little to do with codes, laws and charters. First, he had met a psychopath, then visited the top brass at Żelazny & McVay, and then to top it all off, he had spent hours in Kormak’s office. That had been the most exhausting.
The two young men had diligently searched all the nooks and crannies of social media, but it was hard going. Kormak showed an impressive ability to multitask, being able to work and talk about the works of Cormac McCarthy simultaneously – including a not very successful Polish translation of one of his books. Initially, Kordian had made an effort to show he was listening; later, he simply pretended Kormak didn’t exist.
It soon became apparent that Langer’s nouveau riche neighbours in the apartment block valued their privacy. The pair found nothing of any use on social media.
So Oryński’s surprise was all the greater when he stepped out of the lift to see the skinny man in the Elton John glasses wearing a radiant smile.
‘Kordian, I’ve found something,’ he said in a low voice.
At that time of day, you could still hear what he was saying, but an hour later it wouldn’t even be a murmur in the background. The two lawyers looked at him questioningly.
‘That blonde,’ he declared. ‘From the same floor as Langer.’
‘No, I don’t know who you mean,’ yawned Oryński.
‘The one who had her picture taken in front of Christ the King in Świebodzin.’
‘Nope, don’t remember.’
‘The one with the boobs.’
‘What boobs?’
‘What a question!’ exclaimed Kormak. ‘Shapely ones, like soft, yielding pyramids.’
Chyłka shook her head in pity. Why was it that the only thing that could make a man sit up and take notice was a pair of breasts? Would things ever change?
‘Agnieszka,’ declared Oryński. ‘Powirska, if I remember rightly.’
‘Exactly. That’s her,’ said Kormak, nodding his head enthusiastically. ‘I know which gym she goes to.’
‘Gym?’ asked Chyłka incredulously. ‘I thought an upmarket apartment block like that would have everything. Fitness rooms in the flats, a gym on the roof or something like that, no?’
‘No,’ replied Kormak. ‘No, they don’t have their own gym.’
Joanna looked at the two of them, realising their minds were still firmly focused on the girl’s outstanding attributes.
‘Go there,’ she said. ‘Lie in wait, ready to pounce like two revolting paparazzi.’
‘OK,’ agreed Kormak, glancing at her cleavage. ‘But I’m going to need your necklace.’
‘What for?’
‘I just will.’
Chyłka took off her pendant, though she was not happy about it. ‘If anything happens to it, or you lose it, I’ll rip your legs out of your arse and feed them to Old Rusty.’
‘Sure, sure,’ muttered Kormak, and he looked at Kordian. ‘Here, you take it.’
‘No.’
‘Come on. Grab it and let’s go.’
‘I don’t even know why we need it.’
‘You’ll see.’
Before he could answer, Joanna pressed the necklace into his hand. It looked terrifyingly expensive, but Kordian decided that it didn’t matter. What could possibly happen to it? He’d keep it safe in his pocket, and whatever his Elton-John-lookalike colleague was planning, it wouldn’t involve damaging it. It was fine. Everything would be fine.
‘Get going,’ urged Joanna. ‘We don’t pay you to stand idle.’
‘Nobody pays—’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll get your cash at the end of the month.’
Kordian wanted to object, but Chyłka was already way down the corridor.
Back in the lift, he thought again how far this was from what he’d expected. The paparazzi analogy wasn’t completely spot on because paparazzi only took photographs, whereas he had to snoop around and sneak up on innocent people using methods straight from the Stasi playbook.
‘We won’t get anywhere,’ he said.
‘Nonsense.’
‘If Langer’s neighbours knew anything, they’d have reported it to the police a long time ago. Or the media.’
‘Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t.’
‘Besides, running around after people and reading their posts on some stupid social media page has nothing to do with what I’m supposed to be doing as a legal trainee.’
‘That’s life.’
They reached the ground floor, and left the Skylight building onto Emilia Plater Street. Oryński lit a cigarette, and Kormak adjusted the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
‘Parked somewhere near?’ he asked.
‘Are you kidding?’
‘No,’ replied Kormak in an almost offended tone. ‘Other people have parking permits. I thought you did too.’
‘Not yet.’
‘So where are you parked?’
‘I use the tram.’
‘What?’ Kormak turned around and looked at his companion with disbelief. ‘Too tight to spend fifty zlotys an hour for parking?’
‘I don’t have a car.’
‘Ah.’
For a moment both men were silent.
‘So get a taxi,’ suggested Kormak.
‘Do you think I’m made of money?’
‘Man!’ exclaimed Kormak. ‘Are you a lawyer, or aren’t you?’
‘Clearly not the sort you’re used to,’ replied Kordian, looking tellingly at the tram stop. They headed off in that direction.
‘And yet you smoke Davidoffs.’
‘You can’t economise on the important things,’ explained Kordian. ‘Besides I’m not completely skint. I have money set aside; I just don’t waste it on crap.’
‘I’m not saying a word,’ said Kormak, shaking his head.
Outside the Central Railway Station, they boarded tram number thirty-three, heading for Kielecka Street. They got off about ten minutes later; now it was just a matter of finding the right address.
‘Where to?’ asked Kormak.
‘To the most impressive building in Mokotów Field.’
‘Mokotów Fields, I think you mean.’
‘Field.’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘I can assure you, Kormak, it’s Mokotów Field.’
‘Do you have to be such an arse?’
‘I try not to be, but life kind of forces it on me.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Get your phone out and Google the address.’
Oryński winced.
‘Something wrong?’
‘Not a lot of data left . . .’
Kormak spread his arms, pulled out his own phone and typed in the address Kordian dictated. They set off towards a modern, minimalist housing complex, walked straight past it and stopped outside a gym, whose sole purpose was probably to squeeze even more money out of the apartment block residents.
‘So, I guess you’ve got a plan,’ said Oryński, as he read a poster encouraging him to try out new ways of burning calories.
‘Crouching tiger,’ replied Kormak, pointing to himself. Then pointing to Oryński, he added, ‘Hidden dragon.’
‘Great,’ retorted Kordian.
‘So you don’t want to know the details?’
‘Probably not.’
‘We wait here, in hiding,’ explained Kormak, ignoring him. ‘Then when you see her, you spring into action.’
‘Genius, not. Will it take long?’
‘Could be a while, I suppose.’
Two hours passed without a trace of Powirska. The pair were sitting on a bench where they could see everyone entering and leaving the gym.
‘How did you find her anyway?’ asked Oryński, to kill time.
‘I have my methods.’
He made it sound like he was getting data from CIA spy satellites.
Kordian raised his eyebrows and looked at his companion doubtfully.
‘Nothing illegal,’ Kormak explained. ‘You just have to rummage through the internet. Let’s imagine Agnieszka on the elliptical cross trainer right now, exercising her shapely posterior.’
‘So why don’t we just go in?’
‘Because we don’t want to interrupt her. We’ll catch her when she leaves. Or rather you will.’
‘OK,’ replied Oryński without much enthusiasm.
Every minute seemed to last an eternity, and there was still no trace of Powirska. A quarter of an hour later, Kordian had just about had enough. He glanced at his companion, relieved to see he felt the same.
‘Clearly she’s already done her stint for the week.’
‘In that case, we resort to Plan B,’ declared Kormak.
He explained his plan from beginning to end, and Kordian had to admit it seemed to make sense. There were a couple of things that could go wrong, but it was worth a try. He nodded to show that he understood, and then set off towards the entrance.
The gym was pretty empty at this time of day. Through the window he could see a solitary woman slogging it out on a treadmill, looking as if she might drop dead at any moment. Kordian moved on and approached the man standing at reception. His biceps were approximately the same circumference as his head, but apart from that, he could have been a model for a metrosexual clothing catalogue.
‘Good morning,’ said Oryński.
‘Hi,’ replied the model with a slight smile. ‘Great outfit for morning training.’
‘This?’ asked Kordian, straightening his jacket. ‘Uh . . . no, I was here last night. Can’t do it that often,’ he added, patting his thighs.
He cringed to think how many times he’d made an epic fool of himself over the last two days.
‘A certain girl left this here yesterday,’ he added, placing the necklace on the counter.
The receptionist looked at it and nodded appreciatively. Kordian knew he was taking a risk when he said he had been in the club the previous night, but assumed the receptionist was more interested in a different type of client and wouldn’t have noticed someone like him.
‘Expensive,’ commented the receptionist, as if he was surprised that anyone would bring in a find like this instead of trying to flog it online.
‘It might be. But the girl was really nice.’
The smile on the receptionist’s face showed that he had cottoned on, and knew where this was going.
‘No worries, leave it here, and I—’
‘No,’ said Oryński, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes. ‘I can’t do that. Man . . . give me a break,’ he added with a smile.
The advantage of conversing with people like the receptionist was that you didn’t have to use words; it was enough to raise your eyebrows, nod your head or purse your lips. In this situation, they didn’t even need to resort to these universal signals. It was obvious what he was after, and the receptionist seemed only too ready to help a brother in need.
‘I’d prefer to give it to her personally,’ Kordian told him.
‘Er . . . do you know Miss Thundershag’s real name?’
Oryński had never come across the term before, and for a moment he was lost for words. But he soon pulled himself together.
‘Agnieszka. And her surname . . . Powirska, I think, not sure though. When she introduced herself, I was concentrating on other things,’ replied Oryński, gesturing with his hands as if he was weighing up two watermelons at a market stall.
The receptionist’s eyes lit up at the thought.
‘Enough said,’ he declared, turned to the monitor and squinted at it as if he were eighty, not twenty.
‘She’s a member, but doesn’t come in regularly. So I can’t really help you much.’
‘And her number? I could phone her and say that I found it in the gym . . .’
‘Nah . . . can’t give phone numbers, mate.’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind in this case.’
‘Well, I don’t know.’
‘Come on, help a man in need,’ pleaded Oryński. ‘If I give her necklace back, I’m almost guaranteed some action, eh?’
The receptionist smiled, but shook his head.
‘Dream on,’ he said. ‘But keep trying, bro, keep trying. Just try and bulk up a bit, I can see you could do with it.’ Suddenly he grabbed Kordian by the arm, by his flabby bicep. He grimaced as if he had touched a dead fish.
‘I’ll work on it when I get that number.’
The receptionist sighed.
‘I’m not going to leave the necklace here,’ said Oryński. ‘So it would be the lesser of two evils if you gave me the number and I returned it to her, rather than me flogging it at some car boot sale.’
‘OK, OK,’ replied the receptionist, raising his hands. ‘I won’t turn my back on a bro on the pull. If it was just some old munter, I wouldn’t pass the number on for your own good. But this chick is hot. Wait a sec . . .’ he added, focused on the cursor on his screen.
Within seconds, Oryński had the number of the girl who lived on the same floor as Piotr Langer.
‘And remember, at least an hour a day pumping iron. Otherwise you’ll never get laid, trinkets or not, got it?’
‘Got it,’ Kordian replied gratefully, turning towards the exit.
‘Above all, you need guns. Start with the biceps, because they make the best impression. Then get working on the triceratops,’ added the receptionist, patting his own triceps. ‘And get some supplements. Without them, someone like you won’t get anywhere. You need to get into it.’
‘I will, thank you.’
‘My advice would be Xtreme AnticataboliX. That’s what I do.’
‘Thanks, I’ll be sure to check it out.’
‘OK, laters.’
‘Laters,’ replied Oryński, and left as fast as he could.
Oryński’s greatest sporting achievement was the odd game of squash – he and a few friends played on a squash court in Wyszyński Street. But it had been difficult to find time even in his previous life. Now it would be much harder. He was lucky if he had time to scratch his own backside. Still, as he left the gym, he made a solemn promise to himself: although he wouldn’t go down the supplements route, he would find time to play squash at least once a week. And he would cut down on the smoking, or even give it up.
He lit a cigarette and looked around for Kormak.
‘Excuse me, have you got a light?’ said an unfamiliar voice.
Kordian turned around and saw a man who looked as if he’d been a bodybuilder since babyhood, starting by ripping the slats out of his cot.
‘Sure.’
He handed over his lighter, and the hulk quickly lit his cigarette and handed it back.
‘Finished working out?’ he asked.
‘Me? No, just looking, because . . .’
The hulk grimaced. ‘You like to look?’ he asked.
‘No . . . I mean . . . I was looking to join.’
‘Do you live here then?’
‘Yes, quite close.’
‘I live over there,’ said the hulk, pointing to the smart white building.
Kordian perked up. But it didn’t take him long to realise he’d never seen the face before, although he’d spent hours studying the apartment block residents online.
‘Have you lived there long?’ Kordian asked.
‘Only just moved in.’
Oryński nodded. He should have expected that fate wouldn’t have been that kind to him, delivering one of Langer’s neighbours straight into his lap.
‘Why do you ask?’ inquired the stranger.
‘No reason. It’s just a nice building.’
‘Fucking awesome, I’d call it,’ said the hulk. ‘Apparently the Sadist of Mokotów lived there. Killed two people, then sat stewing with their corpses for two weeks in the bathroom.’
‘Ten days. And it was a different room.’
The hulk didn’t respond, and the young lawyer finally spotted Kormak, sitting on a bench a little further on, reading a book by his beloved McCarthy.
‘Catch you later,’ said the hulk, stamping out his cigarette, and went into the gym.