Let the right one in by John Ajvide Lindqvist Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Ajvide Lindqvist
what Gert had said was true.
The youth followed him, came up right next to him by the stone wall.
"How young? Eight or nine? Is difficult, but—"
"No!"
Did he really look like such a fucking pervert? Stupid thought. Neither Ove nor Torgny had looked particularly. . . remarkable. Normal guys with normal jobs. Only Gert, who lived on the proceeds of a huge inheritance from his father and could indulge himself in whatever he wanted. After multiple international trips he had acquired a truly appalling appearance. A flaccid mouth, glazed eyes. The boy stopped talking when Hakan raised his voice, still studying him through narrowed eyes. Took a puff on his cigarette, then dropped it on the ground and crushed it under his foot, stretched out his arms.
"What?"
"No, I just..."
The boy took half a step closer.
"What?"
"I... maybe ... twelve."
"Twelve? You like twelve?"
"I... yes."
"Boy."
"Yes."
"OK. You wait. Number Two." Excuse me?
"Number two. Toilet."
"Oh. Yes."
"Ten minutes."
The boy zipped his leather jacket and disappeared down the steps. Twelve years old. Booth number two. Ten minutes.
This was really, really dumb. If a policeman came by. They must know about these transactions after all these years. That would be the end. They would connect him to the job he had done yesterday and that would be the end. He couldn't do this.
Go over to the bathroom and take a look, that's all.
The bathroom was empty. A urinal and three booths. Number two had to be the one in the middle. He put a one crown coin in the lock, turned it, and walked in. Closed the door behind him and sat down on the toilet seat.
The walls of the booth were covered with scribbles. Not at all what you would expect from the City Library clientele. Here and there a literary quotation:
Harry me, Marry me, Bury me, Bite me
but mostly obscene drawings and jokes:
Killing for peace is like fucking for virginity.
Here I sit
I am elated
Came to shit
Ejaculated
as well as an impressive selection of telephone numbers that one could call for a variety of interests. A few of them had the sign and were probably authentic. Not just someone trying to have a joke at someone else's expense.
So, now he had checked it out. He should leave. Never knew what the young man in the leather jacket would think of. He stood up, urinated into the toilet, sat down again. Why had he urinated? He didn't really need to go. He knew why he had done it.
Just in case.
The outer door opened. He held his breath. Something in him hoped it was a policeman. A large male policeman who would kick open the door to the booth and beat him up with the baton before he arrested him. Low voices, soft steps, a light knock on the door.
"Yes?"
Another knock. He swallowed a glob of saliva and unlocked the door. A boy about eleven or twelve stood there. Blond hair, heart-shaped face. Thin lips and large, blue eyes devoid of expression. A red puffy jacket that was a little too big for him. Right behind him was the older boy in the leather coat. He held up five fingers.
"Five hundred."
The way he said "hundred" sounded like "chundred." Hakan nodded and the older boy carefully guided the younger one into the booth and shut the door. Wasn't five hundred a bit much? Not that it mattered but. . .
He looked at the boy he had bought. Hired. Was he on drugs? Proba-blv. The look in his eyes was far away, unfocused. The boy stood pressed up against the door half a meter away. He was so short that Hakan didn't need to tilt his head to look into his eyes.
"Hello."
The boy didn't answer, just shook his head, pointed to his groin, and made a gesture with his finger: unzip your pants. He obeyed. The boy sighed, made a new gesture: take out your penis.
His cheeks grew hot as he obeyed the boy. That was how it was. He was following the boy's orders. He had no will of his own. He wasn't the one doing this. His small penis was not in the least erect, hardly made it down to the toilet lid. A slight tickle
The youth followed him, came up right next to him by the stone wall.
"How young? Eight or nine? Is difficult, but—"
"No!"
Did he really look like such a fucking pervert? Stupid thought. Neither Ove nor Torgny had looked particularly. . . remarkable. Normal guys with normal jobs. Only Gert, who lived on the proceeds of a huge inheritance from his father and could indulge himself in whatever he wanted. After multiple international trips he had acquired a truly appalling appearance. A flaccid mouth, glazed eyes. The boy stopped talking when Hakan raised his voice, still studying him through narrowed eyes. Took a puff on his cigarette, then dropped it on the ground and crushed it under his foot, stretched out his arms.
"What?"
"No, I just..."
The boy took half a step closer.
"What?"
"I... maybe ... twelve."
"Twelve? You like twelve?"
"I... yes."
"Boy."
"Yes."
"OK. You wait. Number Two." Excuse me?
"Number two. Toilet."
"Oh. Yes."
"Ten minutes."
The boy zipped his leather jacket and disappeared down the steps. Twelve years old. Booth number two. Ten minutes.
This was really, really dumb. If a policeman came by. They must know about these transactions after all these years. That would be the end. They would connect him to the job he had done yesterday and that would be the end. He couldn't do this.
Go over to the bathroom and take a look, that's all.
The bathroom was empty. A urinal and three booths. Number two had to be the one in the middle. He put a one crown coin in the lock, turned it, and walked in. Closed the door behind him and sat down on the toilet seat.
The walls of the booth were covered with scribbles. Not at all what you would expect from the City Library clientele. Here and there a literary quotation:
Harry me, Marry me, Bury me, Bite me
but mostly obscene drawings and jokes:
Killing for peace is like fucking for virginity.
Here I sit
I am elated
Came to shit
Ejaculated
as well as an impressive selection of telephone numbers that one could call for a variety of interests. A few of them had the sign and were probably authentic. Not just someone trying to have a joke at someone else's expense.
So, now he had checked it out. He should leave. Never knew what the young man in the leather jacket would think of. He stood up, urinated into the toilet, sat down again. Why had he urinated? He didn't really need to go. He knew why he had done it.
Just in case.
The outer door opened. He held his breath. Something in him hoped it was a policeman. A large male policeman who would kick open the door to the booth and beat him up with the baton before he arrested him. Low voices, soft steps, a light knock on the door.
"Yes?"
Another knock. He swallowed a glob of saliva and unlocked the door. A boy about eleven or twelve stood there. Blond hair, heart-shaped face. Thin lips and large, blue eyes devoid of expression. A red puffy jacket that was a little too big for him. Right behind him was the older boy in the leather coat. He held up five fingers.
"Five hundred."
The way he said "hundred" sounded like "chundred." Hakan nodded and the older boy carefully guided the younger one into the booth and shut the door. Wasn't five hundred a bit much? Not that it mattered but. . .
He looked at the boy he had bought. Hired. Was he on drugs? Proba-blv. The look in his eyes was far away, unfocused. The boy stood pressed up against the door half a meter away. He was so short that Hakan didn't need to tilt his head to look into his eyes.
"Hello."
The boy didn't answer, just shook his head, pointed to his groin, and made a gesture with his finger: unzip your pants. He obeyed. The boy sighed, made a new gesture: take out your penis.
His cheeks grew hot as he obeyed the boy. That was how it was. He was following the boy's orders. He had no will of his own. He wasn't the one doing this. His small penis was not in the least erect, hardly made it down to the toilet lid. A slight tickle