Free Pets by Bragi Ólafsson Page B

he fetched a cup of coffee. He made a point of asking for a large cup of coffee, in a mug if they had one, and ordered another double vodka. There was a newspaper folded on the table. Once he had moved several empty beer glasses and dirty dishes over to the next table, he opened the newspaper and began to read. They were playing old, Icelandic pop songs on the radio. He skimmed through the newspaper, then he folded it again and used it to wipe the table, which was wet from the previous customers. He gazed into space for a few minutes, sipping his coffee and vodka now and then, always the vodka first, then the coffee. He took the book out of the plastic bag and placed it on the table, after first inspecting it to make sure it was perfectly dry and clean. He turned the pages slowly. He wasn’t reading the text; he just seemed to enjoy looking at the old pages. Then he closed the book and gently stroked the back and front covers, as if he were wiping off a thick layer of dust and didn’t want it to spread all over the table.
    Next he put his hand in the pocket of his anorak and took out the money and the photo of the girl with the Bible he had acquired in Austurstraeti. Then he got his wallet out from his inner breast pocket and took out a slim pile of bills. When he had added the piles together, he found that he had forty seven thousand kronur. He straightened the bills, put them down on the table, and, finishing his vodka, pressed a glass down on top of them like a paperweight.
    He glanced around, stretched his neck to see the two girls at the counter, and little by little began to act nervously, as if he was waiting for someone and was excited about it. He tapped the book with his index finger, gulped down the coffee, pressed the palm of his hand down on the empty vodka glass, and suddenly raised his hand, waving in the direction of the counter and calling hello until one of the barmaids noticed him. She asked if he wanted something; he beckoned her to come over to him. She didn’t seem to understand his sign language at first, but then she came out from behind the bar and walked in the direction of the tables; she had a puzzled look on her face. He smiled kindly at her and asked for her name. She seemed surprised, looked away for a moment, and then asked what he wanted. He smiled at her again—as if he wanted to tell her it was all right, he was just asking out of curiosity—and then he pointed at his empty glass and told her to bring him a double whisky with ice, no more coffee, just a double whisky with ice. When she told him that they didn’t usually serve at tables there, he took hold of her arm and pulled her closer. She didn’t seem surprised, and he asked her in a whisper if she would come outside with him, maybe into an alleyway nearby; he would give her fifteen thousand kronur, just for coming with him for ten, fifteen minutes. Either she didn’t understand what he was saying or didn’t want to understand. She pulled her arm away and said something about him having to come to the bar, she didn’t take any orders at the tables. But he seemed determined to get what he wanted, and he took hold of her arm again and repeated his offer: just the two of us somewhere nearby, just a few minutes for fifteen thousand kronur. He pointed at the pile of bills under the glass. Now she understood him; the girl loosened her arm by hitting him in the chest. She told him firmly, without broadcasting it all over the place, to leave. She used these words in the infinitive and when he didn’t stand up she called to someone named Kristjan. It sounded as if this Kristjan was the owner of the restaurant, and it worked. He stood up from the table, knocked his glass over as he stretched for his money, snatched up his plastic bag, and pushed past the girl in the direction of the door.
    Several customers had noticed that trouble was brewing—one of them had stood up to be ready for trouble—and