The Swede: A Novel by Robert Karjel

Author:Robert Karjel [Karjel, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9780062339584
Amazon: 0062339583
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2015-07-07T05:00:00+00:00

Reza was the first to take off his hood after the car picked them up. He threw it on the floor, didn’t say anything, only let his eyes wander between Vladislav and Adderloy. Mary floored it for ten blocks, ignoring the traffic lights, then turned and began to zigzag.

When she slowed down, everything seemed to be normal around them: women with strollers, teenagers with skateboards. No one stared at the black Impala. Mary let go of the steering wheel with one hand, rested her fingers on the wide shift lever.

“Perfect, believe me,” said Vladislav, before she could ask. “Not a dry eye.”

Mary turned the rearview mirror so she could see all three of them in the back. N. sat in the middle with his eyes closed. Like the others, he had torn off his hood, but his eyes were closed and his breathing strained, as if he was fighting nausea.

“Or, what would you say—Bill?” Vladislav still had the submachine gun lying flat on his lap.

Adderloy, who sat next to Mary, only humphed in response.

“Sorry?” said Vladislav, pushing.

Adderloy smiled in a moment of delight that only Mary could see. Then he pulled off the gloves for the second time that day, rolled them into a ball, and let them drop to the floor.

Reza stared at Vladislav, who avoided his gaze but kept track of the submachine gun sticking up between his knees.

“Did you secure it?”

No response. Vladislav pushed his hair to the side a little hesitantly and then leaned across N., grabbed Reza’s weapon, secured it, and put it on top of the bag at his feet. Reza’s jaw muscles pulsed stubbornly. Otherwise he was completely motionless, like a lizard on a wall. His and Vladislav’s eyes had not yet met. N.’s eyes remained closed, his breathing still violent.

“My guess is three dead,” began Vladislav, “and at least as many wounded.”

Adderloy looked out on the street, as if he were amused by reading the signs, or thinking about the weather. As if nothing had happened, as if nothing was going on in the seat behind him. Mary sat with both hands on the wheel again.

Vladislav set his foot on Reza’s submachine gun and turned so he could look him in the eye. “Who feels most alive now—them or us?”

Reza remained still as a lizard, only his jaws twitching.

“Them or us?”

N. didn’t exist between them, only his panting that wouldn’t stop. The car swayed on a curve. Music from somewhere outside came in and then faded away again. Reza drew his hand across his forehead and down over his face, a slow introspective gesture.

Then he whispered, almost hissed: “No one said anything about the guard, not anything about all this shooting.” He glanced at Adderloy.

“I hadn’t forgotten about the guard,” said Vladislav.

“We just hadn’t discussed what we would do about him.”

Reza looked miserable. “I saw you . . . ,” he said and tried to make a gesture, but his hand was too weak and fell down again.

“Welcome to America.” Vladislav snorted. He struck his machine gun, making it jump on his lap.

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