henrik molstrom

Helge, there’s something I have to ask you,＂ Torben said after a long pause.

＂You know that it was your car Carl was driving. His own car was in the shop, and you had the day off.＂

＂Some nights, I clean off the blood,＂ Helge said sarcastically.

Torben looked at him with bewilderment. He apparently didn’t know Scorses’s Taxi Driver. Helge decided to put a minus next to Torben’s name.

＂Helge, is there any reason to believe that it was you who was supposed to be killed?＂

For the second time that day, he felt a violent discomfort. He could feel himself about to vomit, but no, he wouldn’t show weakness in front of Torben.

＂I don’t have any enemies,＂ he said weakly. ＂Not that I know of, anyway.＂

＂I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so pale.＂

＂You know, it was a tough night, and a good friend has left us.＂

He tried his classic smile, which people always told him was sarcastic but which he didn’t mean that way. At that moment, he realised that his quiet and pleasant life was over. He had to find out who killed Carl; he knew he had to before it was too late.