Haeger: Two Million and One Reasons

By Anders Lyholm

Not given enough time to prepare a seemingly routine assignment, Swedish Secret Service Agent Morgan Haeger makes a costly mistake. The death of his best friend and colleague, Christer Carlberg, crumbles his entire existence. Sleep-deprived from a recurring nightmare, Morgan turns to prescription drugs and alcohol to cope, often getting in trouble with a violent outcome. At his lowest he realizes unless he cleans up his act and, first of all, becomes the father his five-year-old son wants and deserves, he is risking being completely shut out of his life.

Suspended with no pay, an opportunity to straighten out his financial woes is presented to him. Billionaire Friedrich Levin is willing to pay Morgan a substantial amount of money to help him recover a painting stolen from his family by the Nazis during Kristallnacht in November 1938. Presented solid evidence the piece is in existence and in the hands of a wealthy Belarus with strong ties to the Russian mob, Morgan knows the risks of stepping out of the Government-provided protection he normally is used to and go rogue. Given his messy personal situation, the offer is simply too good to resist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483581002

Book preview

Prologue

Vienna, Austria.

The young woman threw a quick glance at the wall-mounted clock. Heart pounding and very much aware of the fact she was running out of time, she pulled the kitchen towel from the apron pocket and dabbed her forehead. She felt droplets of sweat trickle down her spine forming a wet stain on the white silk fabric of the blouse just above her lower back. She placed a metal bowl on the island in the middle of the large industrial kitchen. Exhausting her hearing, not to miss the opportunity she was waiting for, she pulled a pot from the stove, poured out the boiling water over the sink and placed the potatoes in the bowl.

The opportunity would show up without notice, and most likely be her last chance before work was over for the week. The man she knew as Pjotr, a two meter tall giant of one-hundred-fifteen steroid infused kilos, sat behind a laptop at the far end of the table in the Belarus style, magnificently decorated dining room. Head shaved, he was wearing dark grey suit pants and a white shirt; no tie. His enormous hands resting under his chin, he kept his eyes glued to the screen not moving a muscle.

Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, she forced back most of the nausea. Back in the kitchen she grabbed another bowl and quickly mixed flour, salt and baking powder. The ground beef got a quick stirring in the same motion. The burner under the small pot with melted butter was turned off. Carrying a bag of flour back into the pantry separating the dining room from the kitchen, pain shot up her left thumb and again she cursed her own clumsiness. Earlier, during a moment of haste, she had cut more than the onion and was forced to put a large bandage around the piece of her left hand thumb and the small piece of fingernail that was still there.

The flour was put in its place followed by another quick glance at Pjotr behind the computer. The tall glass of water he had ordered a few minutes earlier was no more than half empty–she had hoped for more by now. Pretending to be occupied with china and silverware to later be used at dinner, she lingered in the pantry begging to higher powers the time had come. She picked up a muffled burp. Pulse spiking, she went for yet another errand to the silverware drawer from where she had a good view of the dining room. Pjotr removed the hand from his mouth and wiped his palm on the pant leg. He made a grimace of utter discomfort, folded the laptop, and rose from the chair. Disappearing out of sight her ears followed his heavy, fast paced steps as he hurried out of the room.

The moment she had waited four days for had just appeared. Quickly, she jumped out of the rubber-soled clogs, cautiously looked into the dining room to ensure he had left. She followed his broad backside as it disappeared behind the door at the very end of the long hallway, the security detail’s private bathroom. On her toes, as fast as she could, she made her way through the dining room to the far end of the table. Flipping up the laptop, she put her right hand inside the apron and into the blouse where she had left two buttons open. Struggling for a second with the bra, she found the USB stick under her left breast and pulled it out. She located a USB port, struggled with it for a second, and finally managed to put in the memory. At the same time she threw an anxious peek towards the doorway, the computer recognized the stick. She clicked her way to the temporary icon shaped as a smiling skull. The laptop started buzzing as the hard drive was copied.

She picked up the sound of a flushing toilet followed by splashing under a faucet. Biting her lower lip, she knew that any second he would be coming back. Hands waiving in the air as if to hurry up the process, she heard the bathroom door close and the fast approach of his heavy steps. Panicking, she tried to hide under the table only to realize what a complete idiot she was. It would take a lot of something she did not possess to try to explain her actions to Mr. Ivanov after being caught red handed by one of his bodyguards.

Terrified, she slowly rose from her knees and took a step backwards towards the corner to face the violent aggression she knew was coming through the door. There was nowhere she could go. She had failed, and could no longer manage to hold back the tears. Hands folded at her chest, eyes closed, she awaited her destiny when his cell phone echoed in the hallway. She recognized each and every one of the four body guards’ individual ring tones after a year and a half of service in the kitchen. She couldn’t tell whether the feeling that suddenly came over her was hope or not, but she felt like her life had been offered an extension, although perhaps short. A hard laughing, silent skeleton on the computer screen revealed the copying process had been completed.

Just as Pjotr was about to enter the room he stopped short and turned around. Gesturing intensely with his left hand, the loud conversation in Russian intensified. Yelling out his frustration over some mishap, he took a few steps away from the dining room and out of sight. She realized that was as good as it was going to get, and stepped back to the computer. She pulled the USB stick from the side. The skeleton disappeared in a cloud of white dust and the screen went dark. She grabbed the towel from her apron, wiped the mouse and put it back next to the water glass. After a quick rub of the table top where she initially rested her left hand, she carefully wiped down the laptop and quietly folded it. Hastily and soundlessly she made her way to the opposite end of the table and carefully peeked into the hallway. Relieved to a point which needed no explanation, she saw Pjotr had taken a few more steps in the opposite direction facing away.

She was back in the temporary safety of the pantry. Gathering herself for a moment, she closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and placed the USB stick back under her left breast. She pulled out the pipette, which earlier held enough laxatives to send a man of Pjotr’s size running for the toilet, from the pocket of the apron and placed it under her right breast. Straightening her bra, she made sure all buttons in the blouse were closed. In front of the mirror, in which the staff had strict orders to continuously assure the correctness of their uniform, she straightened the apron, collar, and sleeves.

Aiming for the kitchen to finish up her duties, she walked right into Pjotr. She just managed not to fall backwards. Irritated, he gave her a long, hard look and took a step closer. His huge frame towered over the kitchen aid barely half his size. Her pulse raced once again. His left hand shot out, grabbed her face and pushed her up against the door frame.

Where are you going? Pjotr growled in her face. Scared out of her mind, she tried to avoid eye contact and failed. Finding it very difficult to answer him with a fish mouth, she tried to relax despite her cheeks turning fiery hot and sweat breaking out on her forehead. He let go. Promptly she put up her hands and fixed the hair net, just to get something between him and her face. He looked her straight in the eye waiting for an answer.

Oh, I was not going anywhere. I was just checking my uniform in the mirror, her voice submissive as always. It’s a little much to run the whole kitchen all by myself now that Grandma is out sick, but I’m trying my best.

She realized how ridiculous what she just said sounded, and squeezed past him to get back to work.

You’re not burning that, are you? he barked, pointing with his frying pan-sized hand at the stove.

She ran across the kitchen and pulled the ground beef off the burner. A couple of stirs and she realized it wasn’t a minute too late.

No, it is fine, feigning control. In a minute it will be just the way Mr. Ivanov wants it.

Pjotr received the fake smile she managed, turned around to leave the kitchen and stumbled on the clogs she had left in the pantry.

What the hell is this? he yelled kicking them hard in her direction, one hitting her left shin. Holding back tears from the pain, she collected them and put them on. I am so sorry. I took them off when I straightened my uniform. They are new and far from broken in so they hurt my feet, she babbled on begging him with her eyes not to be hurt again. The bruise on her upper left thigh from her latest mistake had turned light yellow and was finally all but gone.

You know damn well you cannot have your shoes lying around like that if Mr. Ivanov walks in. I don’t want to see that ever again. Understood?

Absolutely. It will not happen again. Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave for the day? she asked sincerely, hoping her carelessness would stay between the two of them this time.

Give me something to drink. Something with bubbles, I’m not feeling well.

Club Soda?

The stern expression on his face ordered her to get whatever she had nearby to him right then and there. Expeditiously, she went around the center island, swung the fridge door open. Grabbing a one-liter bottle, she pushed it shut with her elbow. She grabbed a tall glass, unscrewed the cork, filled it two thirds and handed it to him. Annoyed, Pjotr first yanked the glass out of her hand and then snatched the bottle. Leaving the kitchen for the second time in the last few minutes, he stopped and turned towards her.

Is everything ready for the evening? his tone somewhat softer.

Yes. All that remains to do is mix the dough and get the pirogues in the oven. The roast has just a little over an hour left in the oven before it is done, and the potatoes will be put over the hot water bath with the vegetables and gravy right before I leave. Beer, white wine, vodka, soda and water are being chilled as we speak, and two bottles of red wine will be aerated right there in its place. She pointed at the exact spot on the counter top on the opposite wall.

Good job, Tatyana, Pjotr said not meaning it, turned around and left the kitchen drinking from the glass. Have a good weekend, she heard him mumble followed by an un-muffled burp. Tatyana clasped her arms tightly around her thin body. Closing her eyes, she breathed in through her nose, swallowed hard before slowly exhaling through the mouth. Her pulse was approaching normal.

An hour later, 19 year old Tatyana left the Friday evening at Mr. Jurij Ivanov’s residence to its fate. A light early October snowfall started as she stepped out of the staff entrance and into the street. She pulled the hat further down over her ears, and buried her chin from the cold deep inside her shawl. As always, she walked the five blocks to her bus stop crossing Stephanzplatz, where hundreds of tourists were in the way of stressed out suburbians eagerly zigzagging their way below ground into the subway hub leaving behind the work week.

Reaching the bus stop, Tatyana recognized the gentleman at the end of the line, nodded politely and stepped in behind him to wait for the bus to bring her home to Grandma. Anxious, she removed the mitten on her right hand and started chewing her finger nails. Not sure who or what to look for, she darted nervous looks up and down the street. Unable to let go of the last couple of hours, Tatyana replayed every single detail in her mind over and over again. No matter how she tried to navigate her thought process she ended up with the same unanswered questions. Had she really been that lucky? What kind of trace did she leave? Would they be able to detect the hard drive had been copied? If so, what would happen when the mad man Ivanov got hold of her? What would happen to Grandma? Each breath was uncomfortable, the USB-stick and the pipette still tucked away inside her bra. She had been thoroughly instructed not to remove them until she reached home and was ordered to. Between two street lights, Tatyana looked up into the dark early evening sky praying for it to be over now. It just had to be. Grandma was a broken woman. Her integrity had been shattered. Seventeen years of service in Mr. Ivanov’s kitchen without as much one sick day, she had now been out five days in a row. Tatyana stepped on the crowded bus, found a pole to lean up against, and closed her eyes.

The man in the long dark coat pushed his way into their apartment the previous Sunday afternoon after Grandma’s obligatory walk, and placed them both on the living room couch. Calmly, and extremely convincing, he explained in perfectly understandable Russian why he had come and the purpose of what he had been paid good money to accomplish. His mission was, by any means possible, to get very specific information about the Belarus, Jurij Ivanov. Information most likely stored in a computer, stationary or not, somewhere inside the grand four walls where the two of them worked.

The first hour the man, who was in his mid-fifties, asked questions regarding routines and the patterns by which Mr. Ivanov and his four body guards lived. Initially, Grandma refused to touch on the subject. It was her employer, Mr. Ivanov, about whom he was asking. How could she sit there and talk about the man who paid her salary that way? Had he no shame? Had he the slightest idea what would happen to her in case Mr. Ivanov found out? Were she to still be alive by his mercy, how could a woman at the age of 63 find another means of support?

Still calm and relaxed, the man patiently waited for Grandma to finish her speech about pride, integrity and how she absolutely could not, for herself and Tatyana, afford to lose her job. When she came up for air, the man cleared his throat. He explained that he was armed, but earnestly said that it did not have to come to that. If it did, it would most likely mean the end of all three of them. From his inner pocket he pulled out a thin stack of pink papers and put them one by one in a neat row on the table in front of Grandma. He explained they were deposit slips. Receipts of deposits made to her account over the last month. Each a sufficient amount to avoid attracting attention, but combined a considerable sum.

Explaining these to someone like Jurij Ivanov is not an easy task, he frowned. Can we agree it would be foolish to even try?

He pulled out a piece of Tupperware from his black sports bag and held it in the air for both of them to see, and explained that it contained the rest of the money they were to receive once the girl had delivered what he wanted. Next, he pulled out a laptop and ordered Tatyana to sit down in front of it. A small USB stick was placed in her hand. It was black and had a white skull on it. All she had to do was locate a USB port on the computer, find the temporary icon and click on it. The hard part would be to find the opportunity. Tatyana would have to create it on her own. Grandma, who flew into a rage when told she would be forced to stay home, first refused to accept his demands. Once he explained to her that it wasn’t really demands as much as the way things were going to happen, the lady, again, ran out of fight.

Tatyana was jolted out of her semiconscious state as the bus abruptly pulled in to the curb and stopped; her forty-five minute ride was over. Stepping off, she felt the man’s eyes on her from the fourth floor living room window as she slowly walked the thirty meters to Grandma’s building. A DHL guy rattled her as he came storming out of the elevator the second it stopped. Tatyana watched him leave the building, stepped inside, took a deep breath and pushed the button for the fourth floor.

Just as she grabbed the handle the door flew open and she was pulled inside. Not giving her a chance to even step out of her shoes, he pushed her into the living room. Grandma was sitting on the couch looking tired and frail.

Well? the man yelled. He clearly felt the pressure and the fact that he, too, was running out of time.

I have done what you asked me with the only computer I came close to. The one Pjotr usually sits behind. I have no idea whether it’s the right one or not. Now, would you please be so kind and leave us alone, The lump in her throat grew bigger.

Give it to me, the man ordered, flipping his fingers in front of her. She let her shoulder bag and heavy coat drop to the floor, pulled up the sweater over her bra, dug out the memory and the pipette and put them in his hand. He sat down in front of his laptop. The only sound in the apartment was the rapid clicking of the mouse. Tatyana glanced over at Grandma who, with a distinct gesture, told her to pull the sweater down and cover up. Tatyana gave the lady a tired smile and did as she was told.

Minutes passed at a snail’s pace.

The man pulled the memory stick from the computer and slammed the lid shut. He put the laptop inside the sports bag and took out the plastic container. In a nonchalant move he threw the money on the table. It slid along the table top and stopped at the edge in front of Grandma. Grabbing his long black coat and the sports bag, he aimed for the hallway. The door closed. The squeak from the elevator door was followed by the rumbling of the box going down. Seconds after the echo from the metallic clunk of the elevator coming to a halt on the ground floor everything went eerily silent.

2.

Södermalm, Stockholm

The beacon’s aggressive blue flashes bounced between the stone buildings along the narrow street. Bar patrons, who just a minute earlier fled the establishment, threw themselves up on the crowded sidewalk trying to make way. Some stumbled and fell to the wet cobble stones, and were trampled trying to cover their ears from the screaming siren. The two working the door in their yellow Security jackets had their work cut out for them, hopelessly trying to bring calm to the chaos. The female police officer turned off the siren as they pulled up, and stepped out of the vehicle. Her male partner already at the entrance, she listened for the approaching siren of the ambulance and caught up with him.

What do we have here? she heard him ask the security guard positioned just inside the entrance.

It’s not pretty. Never really had a chance to understand what happened before the place started to empty in full panic, you know. People couldn’t get out fast enough. Three guys injured on the floor, as you can see.

The Security guard showed the two uniforms inside as more people pushed their way out. The first room was huge. Its vaulted stone ceiling, dark green walls, rustic wooden beams decorated with heavy iron fittings and colored windows gave the feel of an authentic beer hall. Staff was hovering over two bodies in the middle of the floor. A third had pulled himself up against a wall and laid leaning on his elbow covering his face with a towel.

Who did this?

He’s sitting over there. The guard pointed at a male at the far end of the bar running along the left side of the room.

Did you speak to him? the female officer said taking a step forward.

Hell, no! The guard put both hands in the air. We can take care of a lot of shit, but this one we gladly hand over to you guys. It was over in a matter of seconds. Then he just went back to his seat as if nothing happened.

Looks like a job for Åsa. She made eye contact with her partner, stepped around the Security guard and walked further into the room.

The ambulance shut off its siren as it pulled up outside. Åsa carefully stepped over a pair of legs, and grabbed the shoulders of a waitress holding a bucket of bloody water to avoid an unnecessary spill should she suddenly decide to get up from the floor. EMTs came storming in. She raised her arm, got their attention and continued along the bar and the deserted half of the room.

The man sat leaning on his forearms watching a muted news flow on a flat panel. The pint between his hands had just enough beer left in it to cover the bottom. His worn leather coat had slid off the bar stool and formed a pile below. She didn’t think he looked too dangerous from a distance, but knew better. His short blond hair was in disarray, but went well with the two day stubble on his chin. Taking the red spots on his collar and left shoulder for blood splatter, she pulled up a bar stool next to him, jumped up and in the same motion moved his glass out of reach. His eyes stayed glued to the flat panel.

Hello, she began in a normal voice to feel him out. No response. She leaned in closer and stretched a little for her head to end up slightly above his. I said, ‘Hello’.

Bothered, he turned towards her. His expression sent a shiver down her spine. Slowly, he returned to the TV. She threw a quick peek at her partner, who was busy taking statements from eye witnesses, making sure he was nearby.

So, what’s going on? she said in a slightly harder but not yet provocative tone, all her senses on high alert.

I’m fine. What’s up with you? his voice low, eyes straight forward.

I mean with those three on the floor.

He looked at her, snorted through his nose and went back to the TV. Once again she made sure her partner was close by. Not entirely confident he was close enough, she knew she had to wrap up the situation.

Hey, come on now. What happened here? You know you’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later.

I told them to leave me alone. Now I’m asking the same from you, he said gesturing for a fresh pint from a bartender passing by. The young guy stopped, only to receive a signal from the police officer to move on. She could tell it did not sit well with him and waived at her partner for assistance.

You know you’re going to have to come with us, right? she said putting more authority into it than before.

I don’t have to go anywhere. I didn’t start this.

OK, if you want to play that way, then let’s play that way. Sure her partner was on his way, she grabbed his left wrist and tried to force it behind his back. It didn’t move. Her partner arrived and grabbed the man’s right arm only to end up with the same result.

The two officers were relieved to see back up arrive. The younger of the two quickly located his colleagues and made his way towards them. The older, carrying Inspector’s rank, got acquainted with the scene as he slowly made his way over.

Problem? he rumbled arrogantly completing the semi-circle around the suspect.

Admits he caused the victims’ injuries, but denies any guilt since they, according to him, started it. Wants to be left alone, and is refusing to come with us, the female officer summed up.

Are we now? In one motion he forced his left hand under the man’s left pit, went up over his shoulder and gripped his neck from behind. The second mistake the overconfident Inspector made that night was to put all his weight on the man’s back as he kicked the bar stool from under him. Using the forward momentum, the man quickly spun around, freeing himself. A well-placed kick on the inside of the left knee followed up with an elbow to his chest sent him sideways to the floor. Before any of the other three uniforms had a chance to react, the superior officer found himself on his back, screaming in excruciating pain, fighting for his life. Both younger male officers on his shoulders, pulling frantically to get him off their injured boss, the man took a long hard look in the horror filled eyes of the Inspector. A quick glance at the badge on his chest and the rank on his collar, he suddenly let go and allowed them to cuff him belly down on the cold, dirty stone floor. The female officer went over to the EMTs for a brief conversation, and came back.

One is unconscious and the other is likely suffering from a lot of broken bones. The third male has agreed to let an E.R. doctor take a look at his broken face. The ambulance outside will be filled to capacity. A second has been requested.

Get them out of here now, the Inspector barked referring to the three victims. He then turned his attention to the female officer. Bengtsson, take that piece of shit and put him in the back of your squad car.

Following orders, Officer Bengtsson and her partner pulled the man from the floor. Approaching the exit, they passed two bodies strapped onto gurneys. Both had their heads fixated in cervical collars and orange hospital blankets pulled over their bodies. The third male had pulled himself up on a chair and sat staring at the floor with a fresh towel over his face. He looked up and saw the man, who in only a few seconds caused the injuries to him and his two friends, being led out of the establishment they had picked to rule for the night.

3.

Stefania Ricci was wide awake before the second signal. The clock radio’s bright red numbers yelled out 2:17 a.m. She grabbed her cell phone. The display read City South. What the hell now. Yes?

Stefania, please, a woman said with authority.

Yes, who is this? Stefania recognized the voice, but couldn’t place it.

It’s Carina Pihl, from City South. Sorry to bother you at this hour.

What’s going on?

I’m working the radio and about half an hour ago we brought in something that I believe ‘belongs to you.’

Shit! Stefania had a pretty good idea what that meant. She kicked the comforter aside, swung her legs over the bed side and stood up.

Go ahead. What happened? placing the palm of her left hand against her forehead bracing herself.

Don’t know all that much yet. All I can tell you is that he was apprehended by us after a brawl at a local bar.

Stefania closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief, What do you mean, ‘apprehended’?

Like I said, I don’t really…

Tell me what you know, Carina, Stefania raising her voice and gesturing with her free hand as if the woman were actually in the room. A volcano of anger, fear, and disappointment in her stomach.

Four injured, including one of our senior Inspectors. One is critical, two are serious, and one barely able to stand. Don’t know who is who yet, and now I have to go. I just thought you’d want to know

Where is he now?

Sleeping it off.

Alone?

Yes. We’ve learned from last time. Carina’s sarcasm ended the call.

Furious, Stefania dropped the phone on the bed. Pulling the t-shirt over her head, she slid off her panties and tossed them across the room hitting a pile revealing doing laundry had not been a priority as of late. Grabbing clean underwear, she slammed the drawer and left the bedroom. She crossed the living room into the hallway, and swung up the bathroom door. A few splashes of cold water and some fumbling for a towel, she wiped her face dry. Grabbing a brush, her eyes went in search of a tie while she pulled it through her long, thick, dark hair.

Tightening the ponytail, she gave her right pit a whiff, located a deodorant and covered the issue. In the hallway, she yanked a pair of beige cargo pants from a hook, and pulled a black hoodie that had seen better days over her head. Grabbing a waist long ski-jacket shoving her feet inside a pair of black Paloma 2 Eye boots, she realized she forgot socks. Keys. Wallet. Phone. Where’s the phone? She ran back to the bedroom. The clock radio read 2:22 when she left the apartment.

The street, usually busy with people returning home after a night on the town was dead. Stefania pushed up the door, looked for a taxi and started jogging east in the direction of a busier area, gradually increasing speed. Going left in the first intersection, she spotted a car on the opposite side just over a hundred meters away. She cut the distance to only a few meters with impressive speed, and rattled three young men shoving paper bills between them. A fourth stood with his head inside the vehicle on the front passenger side. Stefania closed the door behind her as she stepped into the back seat.

No, no, no, little lady. This one’s mine. Get out! the intoxicated young man yelled at Stefania. Short of breath from the sprint she gave him a quick look; not a day over twenty.

"Was, is the word, it was yours. Now, pull your head out unless you want to scratch that pretty face of yours. She looked at the driver, Go!"

The driver put the gear in drive, signaled he was leaving the curb and pushed the button to close the window. Hey, what the hell! the young man realized the car was moving and he was not in it. Almost getting his fingers caught, he let go. Had it not been for the window his fist would’ve hit Stefania right on the nose. She could hear his disappointment as the cab picked up speed, Bitch!

Minutes later the cab made a left turn from Hornsgatan on to Torkel Knutssonsgatan. Behind the squad car, please, she handed the driver a piece of plastic. The machine spit out a slip. He handed the card, slip and a pen to Stefania over his shoulder. She scribbled the dotted line, and stepped out.

Receipt? the cabbie yelled after her to no avail. Approaching the side door, she could see the back of the on-duty officer. She recognized Carina Pihl from her straight bob hairstyle. At the glass door, she rang the bell and got a gesture of recognition. The lock opened with a loud buzz. Stefania stepped inside, passed through a second door and went up to desk.

Here we go again, right? Carina greeted her with even more sarcasm than over the phone. Not amused, Stefania bit her tongue. Just open, please?

Sure. Just give me a sec. Carina leaned over an Intercom. Martin, are you there?

A deep male voice answered her with a grumpy sounding, Uh huh! Stefania knew who manned the desk on the other side.

She’s here. Can I let her in?

Yeah, go ahead, the man called Martin answered tiredly. Carina nodded go ahead at Stefania. About to pull the handle, it swung up–the door frame completely filled by Martin and his huge belly. His well-worn not-so-white tank top peeked out the gaps between the shirt buttons. Stefania knew him from her days in uniform as one of the grumpiest bastards she’d ever met.

Follow me, Martin turned around and started walking. Stefania right behind, he swung the huge bunch of keys from his hip and without looking found the right one. They stopped outside door number seven. Martin took a quick look through the peep hole to avoid a surprise, turned the key with his sausage fingers. Have fun! he smirked and left.

Angry and frustrated she put her hands at her waist and purposely sighed out loud. He was sleeping stretched out on his back on the orange rubber mattress. T-shirt, underwear and socks they had let him keep, but no blanket, just like the rules stated. Angry look on her face, she checked the time on her phone, slipped it back in the pocket and took position sideways next to the bed just above his knees.

Stefania had not seen him in five days. He looked thinner than usual. On his arms, a couple of red rashes almost blister-like that she’d certainly never seen before. Expecting a violent reaction, she carefully leaned closer, eyes on his hands. Hey, it’s Stefania, rocking his body slightly. Instantly, his hands flew up in a defensive position in front of his face. Stefania grabbed his wrists, put weight on them and hoped that would be enough until he came to his senses. In a blink of an eye, he freed his left hand and went for her throat. She blocked his attack, and stepped away. Their eyes met, Stefania angrier than before. He realized who she was, looked around for a second and fell back on the mattress.

No, no, no! Stefania raising her voice, stepping forward. Get up. Get up now! she yelled at him immediately regretting it. He moved his head slightly but made no real attempt go get up. Standing there in a holding cell in the middle of the night, she felt like an amateur for letting her emotions get the best of her. It made her even angrier. This wasn’t the first time in the last nine months he failed to keep his promise of staying out of trouble. Fine, if you want to stay, stay. Stefania turned around.

Alright, alright!

She looked at him again, not holding back her disappointment. You know you’re ruining everything, right? She took her eyes off him. I’ll wait up front.

Martin got up from his chair and dragged himself over to a row of metal cabinets. He pulled out a pair of jeans, a leather jacket and a pair of black leather shoes from the bottom. Face red from the effort, he grabbed a plastic bin from the top shelf and kicked the door shut. Need a signature for the personal stuff, he said