The Ice Queen: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

already been approved, no matter how Nierhoff might react. Before he set off for Frankfurt himself, he stopped by the conference room. Ostermann, Fachinger, and the DIs who had showed up in the meantime, Frank Behnke and Andreas Hasse, all looked at him expectantly.
    “You can all go home,” he said curtly. “I’ll see you on Monday. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”
    Then he turned and left before any of his astonished colleagues could ask a question.
    *   *   *
    Robert Watkowiak finished his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He had to take a piss, but he didn’t feel like walking past the rowdy idiots who’d been playing darts beside the door to the john for the past hour. Only the day before yesterday, those guys had stupidly harassed him, trying to start a fight over Robert’s regular seat at the bar. He glanced over at the dartboard. It wasn’t that he couldn’t deal with them; he just wasn’t in the mood for an argument.
    “I’ll have another.” He shoved the empty glass across the sticky bar. It was 3:30. By now, they were all crowded together, dressed to the nines, guzzling champagne and acting as though they were overjoyed to be allowed to take part in celebrating the old snake’s birthday. What a bunch of phonies! Actually, none of them had much use for the others, but on such occasions they acted like one big happy family. Of course they hadn’t invited him. Even if they had, he wouldn’t have gone. In his daydreams, he’d smugly pictured throwing the invitation at her feet with scorn and sneering at her shocked and horrified face. It was only yesterday that he had realized they had denied him that satisfaction by not inviting him at all.
    The bartender shoved a freshly tapped pilsner over to him and added another tick to his beer mat. Robert reached for the glass and noticed angrily that his hand was shaking. Shit! He didn’t give a fuck about the whole lot of them. They’d always treated him like dirt and made him feel that he didn’t really belong in their crowd because he was an unwanted bastard. They would whisper about him behind their hands, sending him meaningful looks and shaking their heads. What self-righteous, archconservative assholes! Robert, the loser. Had his driver’s license revoked again for drunk driving. The third time? No, the fourth time! Now he’ll probably get sent back to the joint. Serves him right. He had all the advantages in the world, that guy, and he never made anything of himself. Robert grabbed his glass and watched his knuckles turn white. That’s how his hands would look if he put them around her wrinkled chicken neck and squeezed till her eyes popped out of her head.
    He took a big gulp of beer. The first one was always the best. The cold liquid ran down his esophagus, and he imagined it flowing with a hiss over those smoldering lumps of envy and bitterness inside him. Who was it that claimed hate was cold? A quarter to four. Damn it, he had to go to the john. He fished a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. Kurti would show up eventually. He had promised him last night. At least he’d been able to pay him back what he owed, after he leaned on Uncle Jossi a little. He was his godfather, after all, and that ought to count for something.
    “One more?” the bartender asked in a businesslike tone. He nodded and looked in the mirror on the wall behind the bar. The sight of his slovenly appearance, the greasy hair falling to his shoulders, the glassy eyes, and the beard stubble threw him instantly into a rage. Ever since that fight with the asshole in the Frankfurt-Höchst train station, he was missing another tooth. It made him look like a thug. The next beer arrived. The sixth one today. He was gradually reaching operating temperature. Should he convince Kurti to drive him over to Schloss Bodenstein? Just the thought of how they would all stare when he sauntered in, climbed up on the table, and calmly emptied his bladder