Cockroaches: The Second Inspector Harry Hole Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

know.”
    “And what if I don’t?”
    “You’ll ruin it for us.”
    “Pardon?”
    “You’ll be helping to raise prices, to make Thailand more expensive for everyone else.”
    Harry had studied the man, who was wearing a beige Marlboro shirt and new leather sandals, and decided to drink some more.
    “Surasak Road 111,” Harry said and the driver smiled, put the suitcase in the boot and held the door open for Harry, who crawled in and noticed the wheel was on the right-hand side.
    “In Norway we complain about the English insisting on driving on the left,” he said as they drove onto the motorway. “But recently I heard more people in the world drive on the left than on the right. Do you know why?”
    The driver glanced at the mirror with an even broader smile.
    “Surasak Road, yes?”
    “Because they drive on the left in China,” Harry mumbled and was glad the motorway cut through the misty skyscraper landscape like a straight, gray arrow. He could sense that a couple of sudden bends would be enough to release the Swissair omelette onto the rear seat.
    “Why isn’t the meter running?”
    “Surasak Road, five hundred baht, yes?”
    Harry leaned back in the seat and looked up at the sky. Well, he looked up, for there was no sky to be seen, just a hazy vault lit by a sun he couldn’t see, either. Bangkok, the City of Angels. The angels wore masks, cut the air with a knife and tried to remember what color the sky had been in earlier times.
    He must have fallen asleep because when he openedhis eyes the car wasn’t moving. He hitched himself up on the seat and saw they were surrounded by vehicles. Small, open shops and workshops lay cheek by jowl along pavements milling with people who all seemed to know where they were going. And they were in a hurry to get there. The driver had opened a window and a cacophony of urban sounds merged with the radio. There was a smell of exhaust and sweat in the boiling hot car.
    “Traffic jam?”
    The driver shook his head with a smile.
    Harry’s teeth crunched. What was it he had read somewhere, that all the lead you inhale ends up in the brain sooner or later? And it makes you lose your memory. Or did it make you psychotic?
    As if by a miracle the traffic suddenly began to move again, and motorbikes and mopeds swarmed around them like angry insects and launched themselves at crossroads with utter contempt for life and limb. Harry counted four fully fledged near misses.
    “Incredible there are no accidents,” Harry said to fill the silence.
    The driver looked in the mirror and smiled. “There are accidents. Many.”
    By the time they finally arrived at the police station in Surasak Road, Harry had already made up his mind: he didn’t like this city. He wanted to hold his breath, do the job and get on the first and not necessarily best plane back to Oslo.
    At the police station Harry was greeted by a young officer who introduced himself as Nho. He had a slim body, short hair and an open, friendly face. Harry knew that in a few years the expression would change.
    The lift was full and stank; it was like being thrust intoa bag of sweaty sports clothes. Harry towered two heads above the others. One person looked up at the tall Norwegian and laughed, impressed. Another asked Nho a question and then said to Harry:
    “Ah, Norway. That’s … that’s … what’s his name now? … please help me.”
    Harry smiled and tried to splay his hands apologetically, but there wasn’t room.
    “Yes, yes, very famous!” the man insisted.
    “Ibsen?” Harry essayed. “Nansen?”
    “No, no, more famous!”
    “Hamsun? Grieg?”
    “No, no.”
    The man gave them a stern look as they got out on the fourth.
    “Welcome to Bangkok, Harry.”
    The Chief of Police was small and swarthy and had clearly decided to demonstrate that people knew how to greet in Western fashion in Thailand. He squeezed Harry’s hand and shook it enthusiastically with a beaming smile.
    “Sorry we couldn’t