The G File Read Online Free PDF Page B

meal. At least three courses and two different wines, and just now he was puffing away at a thin, black cigar, gazing out through the window and somewhat absent-mindedly twirling around a brandy glass. As far as Verlangen had seen he hadn’t exchanged words with a single person all evening, apart from the waiter. He had been to the toilet once, but what the hell was buzzing around inside his head – or why he was hanging around here instead of spending the time at home with his lovely wife – well, goodness only knew.
    At least it didn’t look as if he was waiting – or had been waiting – for somebody. He had checked his watch now and then, true enough, but apart from that there had been no indication that a companion had failed to turn up: no calls from the telephone in the lobby, no delays before placing an order, no apologetic explanations to the waiter. Nothing at all.
    Nor had he spent time reading a book or a newspaper. Neither had Verlangen, come to that, but then he was there on business, as it were. For a few minutes he toyed with the idea of walking past Hennan and spilling beer over the back of his neck. Or trying to bribe somebody else to do that. There was no shortage of slightly drunk young people sitting around, and no doubt it would have been possible to persuade one of them.
    Simply in order to make something happen. Verlangen’s feeling of being worn out had caught up with him again. He had eaten something that was alleged to have been veal – but in that case it must have been from the world’s oldest calf.
    He had washed it down with four or five beers, and in the end given way to temptation and followed Jaan G. Hennan’s example. Coffee and cognac.
    He lit another cigarette, despite the fact that his previous one was still glowing away in the ashtray.
    Looked at the clock: ten minutes to ten.
    Bugger this for a lark, he thought as he turned away yet another customer who wondered if the seat opposite him was taken. Drink up your damned cognac and pay your bill! And get the hell out of here!
    It was just as he looked up after thinking these pious thoughts that he saw Hennan was on his way to his table.
    Eh, what’s all this? he had time to think.
    ‘May I join you?’
    ‘Please do.’
    ‘Hennan. Jaan G. Hennan.’
    ‘Verlangen.’
    Hennan pulled out the chair and sat down.
    ‘Verlangen?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Not Maarten Verlangen, surely?’
    ‘Yes, that’s me.’
    ‘I thought so.’
    ‘What do you mean? I’m not at all sure . . .’
    ‘Sure about what?’
    ‘That I know who you are.’
    Hennan put his cigar down on the ashtray, and leaned forward with both elbows on the table.
    ‘Come off it, Maarten Verlangen. I know all too bloody well who you are, and you know just as well who I am. Why are you sitting here?’
    Verlangen took a sip of cognac and thought for a moment.
    ‘That’s a very good question.’
    ‘You think so? But you’re welcome to answer it, in any case.’
    ‘Why I’m sitting here?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Because I’ve had dinner, of course.’
    ‘Really? And is that the only reason?’
    Verlangen suddenly felt anger boiling up inside him.
    ‘How about you telling me what the hell you’re after? I haven’t the faintest idea who you are, nor what you’re getting at. If you don’t have a satisfactory explanation, might I suggest that you clear off before I ask the staff to throw you out!’
    Hennan sat there without saying a word, just screwing up his eyes slightly. No trace of a smile. Something told Verlangen that there ought to have been one. He noticed that he had instinctively clenched his fists and pushed his chair back a couple of centimetres.
    So that he could stand up quickly and defend himself if necessary.
    Don’t be stupid, he thought when he realized what his imagination was pushing him into. He can’t start fighting inside here, for God’s sake. That would be pure . . .
    ‘Fuzz. You are still the fuzz, I take it?’
    Verlangen hesitated for a