Sun on Fire by Viktor Arnar Ingolfsson

Author:Viktor Arnar Ingolfsson [Ingolfsson, Viktor Arnar]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Police Procedural, International Mystery & Crime, Thrillers, Crime
ISBN: 9781477823125
Google: Htr8ngEACAAJ
Amazon: 1477823123
Barnesnoble: 1477823123
Publisher: AmazonCrossing
Published: 2014-06-17T05:00:00+00:00

22:30

After a generous evening meal at home with his mother, María, followed by a half-hour nap, Gunnar decided to round off the day with a visit to his regular bar on Smidjustígur, in the hope that a couple shots of bitters would alleviate the misery of his head cold. The bar was walking distance away, but, although he could move around reasonably well with the aid of his crutches, his back hurt like hell. He called a cab.

As he entered the bar, Gunnar signaled to the bartender, then paused to scan the room for a seat. He didn’t think he could cope with standing or sitting at the counter. There were no free tables, but he saw an empty chair by a table for two, at which sat a familiar figure—a slim, sharp-nosed man with grayish, wavy hair parted in the center, and a neatly trimmed goatee. He was writing something on a piece of paper, but looked up through his thick spectacles as Gunnar sat down next to him.

“Emil Edilon. Good to see you, Maestro,” Gunnar said.

“By all that is holy! If it isn’t the Germanic Giant, back from the dead,” Emil said, eyeing the crutches Gunnar had leaned against the table. “Are you trying for a disability pension? I know a doctor who’s good at forging certificates.”

Gunnar pretended he hadn’t heard this and asked, “How’s the writing going?”

Emil sadly looked at the paper in front of him. “I think too much. One shouldn’t think. One should just write gibberish. That’s what readers like best. But you wouldn’t understand—you have no more feeling for literature than for any other nonedible pleasures.”

A waiter came to the table and set before Gunnar a Holsten beer and a small square bottle of Jägermeister bitters.

“Where on earth did you learn to drink that stuff?” Emil asked.

“From my mom. She likes bitters.”

The bar owner stocked these brands specially for Gunnar, who was the only customer who ordered them.

“OK,” Emil said. “Now go and bother someone else. I’m working.”

Gunnar looked around but couldn’t see any free seats. “Hey,” he said, “do you know Jón the Sun Poet?”

Emil looked at him suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

“I bumped into him in Germany.”

“What were you doing in Germany?”

“Never mind that. Do you know the Sun Poet?”

“Yeah, I used to buy pot from him back in the days when I still enjoyed the stuff. He grew a good strain and knew how to process it.”

“What about now?”

“I stopped smoking cannabis a long time ago. It’s bad for people who need to use their brains—but you don’t have to worry about that sort of thing.”

“I mean, do you know the Sun Poet now?” Gunnar asked impatiently.

“We sometimes talk,” Emil said reluctantly. “You can have an intellectual discussion with the Ogre if you catch him at a good moment. He’s at his best when he’s had three or four pints. After that he becomes tiresome.”

“Is he a decent poet?”

“He stopped writing poetry a long time ago. He never recovered after the accident.

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