Burned

‘You’ve been making things difficult for me,’ Hassan says, without looking at him. Henning stands motionless on the floor, concentrating on his breathing. He is only just holding it together; at any moment he could crumple, lose contact with the ground and collapse. His thoughts are all over the place, he tries to contain them, but he is paralysed by an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. Perhaps it’s meant to be this way, he thinks, it’s what he has coming. What he deserves. No one is on his side when push comes to shove.

Don’t show your fear, he tells himself. Don’t let them see you at your most pathetic, stripped of honour and dignity. If you’re about to die, then go out with your head held high.

The thoughts are like a kick up the backside. And that’s why he says:

‘I’ve worked it out.’

Hassan stops

‘You have?’

‘Yes, it wasn’t difficult. Yasser Shah, one of your thugs, is wanted by the police because he killed Tariq Marhoni. It’s not easy being you right now with so much heat around. Have you seen Heat, Hassan? Al Pacino and Robert De Niro?’

Hassan smiles, but shakes his head. He starts circling him again.

‘A classic. The point is, if you want to be a successful criminal, don’t fill your life with anything you aren’t willing to leave in thirty seconds, if it gets too hot. And you have no plans to leave, have you, Hassan?’

Hassan laughs briefly, but he doesn’t reply.

‘Then we have a problem.’

Hassan looks at Henning.

‘We?’

‘Surely you’re not dumb enough to kill me, just because Yasser Shah didn’t do his job properly?’

Hassan’s steps shorten. Henning decides to keep talking while Hassan reviews his options.

‘Yasser Shah is on the run from the police, who can link Tariq Marhoni’s brother to you, and it doesn’t take much imagination to work out that they’ll turn the heat up on you from now on. You see, Mahmoud Marhoni is about to be released from custody. Detective Inspector Brogeland told me so an hour ago. Do you know what else he told me?’

Henning doesn’t wait for a response.

‘He said that Mahmoud has enough evidence to bring you down. In which case, is it a stupid or a smart move to kill a journalist, even though he witnessed a killing you ordered?’

‘One killing more or less makes very little difference,’ Hassan says brusquely and looks to the others for confirmation. ‘Besides, no one will ever find you.’

‘No, perhaps not. But if you think it’s going to make your life easier, you’re wrong. You drug dealers bumping each other off is one thing. Most people don’t have a problem with that. But murdering a journalist — now that’s something else. We journalists aren’t always popular, far from it, and many people would happily tell you that they loathe us, but deep down, I think they’re glad that we exist. And, if anyone kills a reporter or makes him disappear because he was doing his job, there’ll be hell to pay, believe you me. The police already know you’ve taken an interest in me and, if you think it’s bad now, then wait and see what happens from tomorrow onwards, when they start looking for me. Brogeland offered me protection against you, but I declined. Do you know why? Because I’ve no intention of going into hiding or looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life and because I don’t think you’re stupid enough to make it worse for yourself by hurting me. But if you want to kill me, Hassan, then do it now, don’t hesitate. You’ll be doing me a huge favour.’

His voice sounds thick against the walls. His heart is pounding. He looks at Hassan, who is still prowling around. His shoes make soft, slurping noises against the wet floor. The rest of the gang are following their boss with their eyes.

‘What happened to your face?’ Hassan asks after a while.

Henning sighs. Perhaps it’s right that Jonas is here now, he thinks. My lovely, lovely boy. He remembers the leap through the flames, how he tried to shield his face with his hands and arms, his hair which caught fire, the burning and the stinging, Jonas’s eyes when he saw him, how he helped extinguish the flames before they got to them.