The forest is submerged in darkness, but the summer sky is still light. The smell of wet soil and foliage rises from the narrow footpath.
My head is throbbing, and my body aches. I slept on the night bus, though I didn’t end up getting much sleep. I mostly sat there wondering how the hell I was going to get Igor’s package back, and at Hökarängen the bitch driving the bus threw me off.
I don’t even dare contemplate what Igor is going to say when I tell him that his samples drove off in a rubbish truck.
I pull my phone out to distract myself.
No messages from Mum.
I feel a twinge in my chest.
She’s never been pleased with me.
It doesn’t matter what I do. She wasn’t even happy the time I got an A in maths. Instead she started bitching about how I failed almost all of the other subjects. And once, when I gave her a Hermès bracelet, she went crazy and started screaming about how she had no intention of taking any stolen goods, and it was a deadly sin to steal, even though I had actually bought it.
I sigh and return to my mobile. Send a text to Jeanette, Alexandra’s best friend.
She’s so damn hot.
Long blonde hair and small firm breasts. Big mouth and tanned skin that looks soft. And it is soft, that much I know.
We’ve got something going on, Jeanette and I. What it is, I’m not really sure.
I really should stop it – she is Alexandra’s friend after all. But on the other hand, I never promised Alexandra eternal faithfulness. On the contrary, I’ve explained to her that I’m not ready to be in a real relationship. That I’m not there, basically, as if love were a station that I haven’t yet arrived at.
And Alexandra said that was OK, that she didn’t want any commitment either.
So we meet and sleep with each other and sometimes it’s really good. Almost like a porno or like we’re in love for real.
I speed up and hear my phone ding.
It’s Jeanette.
No messages now, it says on the display. I’m just about to text her back and ask why she’s playing hard to get when I hear it: a branch snaps somewhere behind me in the woods.
I stop and turn, peer into the darkness between the slender birches, but see nothing but the light, spotted tree trunks and the outlines of bushes behind.
It must have been an animal.
Even though we only live nineteen minutes from the city, there are deer in this forest. Not to mention all the dog owners who walk here.
I keep going.
The woods thin out and I see low, box-shaped buildings built of concrete and corrugated metal spread out in front of me. I crawl through the hole in the fence and walk towards the old garage, which is at the edge of the industrial area.
In the dimness at the entrance I can just make out two figures: one broad and large, one long and lean.
Igor and Malte.
My stomach drops as I cross the tarmac area in front of the auto repair shop.
Igor nods briefly, and Malte grins, flashing his gold teeth in the dim light.
‘Yo,’ I say. ‘Something happened. That package . . .’
I don’t make it any further before Igor raises a hand as if he wants to push the words back into my mouth. Then he takes a few steps away to an old container covered with tags and graffiti dicks.
‘Hello,’ he says, smiling, but not at me.
I turn around and see two more guys approaching.
One is short and a bit chubby, looks he might be Latino, and is wearing a biker jacket and jeans. The other is as pale as an albino, with white hair, wearing a hoodie and jeans. He is carrying a duffle bag with ‘Just do it’ written on the side.
I sidle over to Malte, trying to get his attention, but he hushes me.
‘The package,’ I hiss. ‘The product samples. They’re gone.’
Malte freezes and slowly turns to face me. I see the terror in his eyes.
‘What the hell?’ he whispers.
‘My mum took them.’
‘Seriously?’
I look over at Igor and the two guys he’s talking to. Igor gestures and the guys laugh out loud as if he just said something really funny. A second later, all three start walking towards me and Malte.
Sweat pours off my forehead and from my armpits, even though the evening air is cool and humid. I try thinking of Malte as Igor’s butt boy to make myself less scared, but even that doesn’t work.
‘Fucking. Loser,’ Malte whispers between his teeth and spits.
Igor’s leather jacket squeaks as he approaches, and the light of a street lamp bounces off his shaved head.
‘Samuel,’ he says. ‘Take the bag.’
The albino guy throws the bag at me, and I catch it. I don’t know what it contains, but I assume it’s not product, because Igor said we were meeting a buyer, a distributor.
It could be money, though Malte says Igor usually uses bitcoin when large sums are involved.
Igor meets my gaze. His eyes look like black marbles and his expression is unreadable.
‘The samples,’ he says briefly.
‘I-I tried to tell you,’ I stammer. ‘They’re gone. My mum took them.’ For a moment there’s silence.
Igor looks like he can’t understand what I just said, as if I were speaking in a foreign language.
‘What the fuck?’ he says finally.
‘And then she put them in the rubbish chute, and the truck left before I could fish them out and . . . But I thought I had to come anyway. And of course I will pay you back.’
I realise that I sound just like my mum and decide to shut up.
Anything is better than sounding like Mum.
But that mean voice, the one that sometimes chatters in my head, wakes up.
You’re toast, you fucking loser.
Igor takes a few steps towards me and his jaw tightens, as if he’s biting onto something that’s hard and maybe a little bitter.
‘No samples, no advance,’ says the Latino guy and shrugs indifferently.
And just then, when everything is as fucked up as it can get, a text message dings in my pocket.
Igor fixes me with his eyes and closes his big hands into fists.
‘Didn’t I tell you to turn off your phone, you fucking retard?’
I close my eyes and wait for the blow, while holding the sports bag tightly. Then I hear a voice roaring behind me.
‘Police! Hands up! Get down!’
When I open my eyes again, Igor and Malte are squatting down, as if they actually plan to do what the cops say.
The other guys are running towards the forest.
I don’t know why, it’s not some well-thought-out tactic or anything like that, but I start running in the opposite direction, along the bike path towards the old plant nursery. I run as fast as I can, still gripping the bag tightly; shame burning my skin like scalding water.
How could I be so fucking stupid?
Because you’re a fucking idiot.
Igor asked me to do two things: bring the package and switch off my mobile.
I failed at both.
I truly am worthless. Everyone who has told me so – and many have – was obviously right.
Shots echo in the darkness, and I speed up. My legs dash forward with my heart slamming in my chest. I’m suddenly overcome by nausea shooting out of the pit of my stomach, and I have to stop. I grab a lamppost and am sick on the tarmac. Panting in exhaustion, then I turn around.
The forest behind me lies quiet and deserted.
I see no one approaching from any direction, no police, no dogs. And most importantly no Igor or Malte.
Is it possible? Could I have escaped?
I realise I should step out of the revealing light of the street lamp and I take a few steps into the woods. My chest aches, and I have a bitter taste in my mouth from the vomit.
Somewhere in the darkness I can just make out a familiar shape – the big boulder where Liam and I used to hide secret messages, pornographic pictures and sweets when we were little.
I go over to it. Lay the bag on top of the damp granite and open the zipper. Blink a few times while my eyes adjust to the darkness.
Rolls of hundred-kronor bills are scattered around inside the bag. It’s impossible to say how much money it is, but it must be hundreds of thousands of kronor. Maybe more. There are at least twenty-five very thick rolls.
I take out a roll and flip through it quickly.
How many can there be? A hundred?
If there are a hundred in each roll and twenty-five rolls, that’s a total of 250,000.
I feel a sense of vertigo.
What happens if the police arrest me while I have this bag with me?
Surely I’d go to prison.
I think for a moment. Then I gently pull the zipper closed again and squat down. Rummage beneath the branches, leaves, and earth until I reach the hollow space I know exists beneath the boulder. I stuff the bag in there, cover the opening, and then jog toward the car park.
Next to a rusty old Volvo stands Igor’s shiny new black motorcycle – the one I’ve been able to borrow a few times and which my mum hates me riding.
I stare at the enamelled flame that winds over the petrol tank, while I consider.
Igor must have been arrested. Surely it can’t hurt if I borrow his bike? It might even be a good thing – after all, then police can’t seize it. So, in a way, I’m helping Igor if I move his motorcycle.
And if there’s one thing I can do, it’s hot-wire cars and motorcycles.
*
Alexandra opens the door after I ring the bell many times. And even then she keeps the chain on. Her eyes peer at me suspiciously through the opening.
‘Go to hell,’ she mutters through the gap.
I don’t understand.
‘What’s got into you?’ I ask.
Alexandra tries to pull the door closed again, but I pull it the other way. Only now do I see that her eyes are shiny and that she has streaks of mascara running down her cheeks, as if she’s been crying. Her hair is tangled, and she’s wearing a dirty T-shirt and pants.
‘What happened?’ I try.
‘Did you have to hit on Jeanette? Is that your thing, humiliating me?’
Her voice is thin. She lets go of the door and stands still, as if hesitating. I jerk the door a few times, but the chain holds.
‘Damn. Baby – it didn’t mean anything. Jeanette isn’t . . . You’re the one I like.’
‘Sure,’ she says sarcastically, but I hear the tears in her voice.
‘Let me in, baby. That fucking maniac Igor is after me.’
I don’t mention the police, because Alexandra hates that I’m involved in illegal things. She always says that she would rather I worked collecting train tickets and earned nothing than as a dealer.
Though I think that’s a lie.
Without money I’d be a nobody. Neither Alexandra nor Jeanette would be interested in me.
Because I am nothing. I know nothing. And I have nothing.
That’s the bitter truth and I might as well I face it.
Because that’s exactly how it is. You’re nothing. Nothing.
‘You know,’ she says quietly, but with unexpected calm, ‘I’m tired of solving your problems. Grow up. And don’t drag me into Igor’s fucking shit.’
She closes the door, but opens it again almost immediately.
‘And for fuck’s sake, don’t call me baby,’ she sputters so that spit flies out of her mouth.
The door slams shut again, and I’m left standing there in the stairwell.