The American Artisan by Christoffer Petersen

Author:Christoffer Petersen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aarluuk Press
Published: 2022-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Part 6

A swirl of blue light splashed on the walls of the alleyway and the man turned just as Juulia opened the driver’s door and hopped out of the patrol car. Maratse watched as she guided the man to one side with a gentle touch of his elbow, a sympathetic nod, and a string of reassuring words that seemed to put the man at ease. The bag of shopping Juulia retrieved from the passenger seat was the final touch, and she sent the man on his way with little more than a sneer than aimed at Maratse as he walked back onto the street. Juulia slipped her hands into her trouser pockets and dipped her head to one side. The smile on her lips suggested she had done well, had smoothed the edges of an otherwise unpleasant encounter, and was now ready to receive a word or two of appreciation from Maratse.

“Hmm,” he said, as he finished his cigarette.

“That’s it?” Juulia dipped her head towards Maratse, expecting more but with an air of one who should perhaps settle for less.

“Tiilla’s gone,” he said.

“I know.”

“I tried to talk to her.”

“I noticed.” Juulia pointed at the patrol car. “We followed…”

“The American?”

“Is back at the station. Gaba called. He said there’s been a development. He said you should come back.”

Maratse turned to look at the dumpster, shifting his feet as if contemplating climbing over it. But the trail was cold.

“And Gaba’s waiting,” Juulia said.

Maratse took a last look in the direction Tiilla had run and then followed Juulia back to the car. She gestured at the driving seat, and Maratse shook his head.

“You drive.”

“You’re sure?”

“Iiji,” Maratse said as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Juulia settled behind the wheel, took a breath, and slowly shifted into first gear. She eased her foot off the clutch and giggled as the heavy patrol car rolled forward.

“Like butter on warm bread,” Juulia said. She glanced at Maratse, then accelerated. “You’re the only one – the only man who hasn’t commented on my driving.”

Maratse turned to her and said, “You can drive.”

“Aap. But…”

“You’ll get better.”

“I know, but everyone else makes such a big deal out of it. When I was at the academy, I aced all the theory, even the physical stuff. But they failed my driving.” Juulia shrugged, and said, “I’ve been given a dispensation. Provided I get better…”

“Hmm,” Maratse said. He nodded at the road as Juulia pulled off the pedestrianised street and turned the patrol car in the direction of the station. “You’re better than when we met earlier,” he said.

“Qujanaq.”

Juulia drove the last few hundred metres in silence, leaving Maratse to his thoughts. But when she parked, and Maratse reached for the door handle, Juulia stopped him with a light touch on his arm.

“The girl’s important to you. Isn’t she?”

“I failed her,” Maratse said.

“I don’t think so. You’re not responsible for what happened.”

“Imaqa.” Maratse slid his hand around the door handle. He opened it a crack, and then paused. “I won’t fail her again,” he said, and stepped out of the car.

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