The Great Gold Robbery by Jo Nesbø Read Free Book Online Page B

behind him with his thumb.
    Lisa turned around and realized that it wasn’t so much that the figure looked like Michael Jackson as that it looked so
alive
. So alive that it actually seemed totally normal when
it kept talking.
    “Now listen up, because both my legs are going to cramp up any minute, okay?” said Michael Jackson. “You’ll find the Crunch Brothers at a pub in Eastburnwickside called
the Lion, the Hamster, and the Very Crooked Oxcart of Mr. Woomblenut Who Used to Sell Rye Beer Down by the Old Mill.”



“I’m sorry,” Lisa said. “I forgot to concentrate. Can you repeat that?”
    “Just take a taxi and say you’re going to the Lion on Buck Street,” Michael Jackson whispered. “Now, get out of here before I collapse.”
    Doctor Proctor said, “Come on,” and started to walk away.
    “Hey, Michael,” Nilly said. “Could I . . . uh, get your autograph?”
    “Come on!” Lisa said, pulling Nilly along with her after Doctor Proctor. “He’s dead!”
    “Dead? He was just talking to us!”
    “No, Michael Jackson! That guy isn’t the real . . . oh, just come on!” Lisa said.
    “But I want a souvenir! Please?” Nilly pleaded.
    “Come on, Nilly!” she hissed.
    Pouting a little, Nilly followed the other two. But by the exit he stopped, lit up again, and pointed.
    “Like that! I want one of those!” Nilly exclaimed.
    At a counter, there were wax museum souvenirs and celebrity masks for sale.
    “Well, hurry up, then,” Doctor Proctor said.
    Nilly pushed his way over to the counter. “Excuse me, my lovely lady,” he said to the saleslady, who was standing with her back to him, filing her nails. She turned and looked around
at the air over Nilly’s head, surprised not to see anyone.
    “Down here, O Eiffel Tower of a woman,” Nilly said, waving from down below.
    She noticed him and lit up with a smile.
    “One Napoléon mask, please!” he said.
    “Sorry, my little friend, but we’re sold out of Napoléon.”
    “Hmm.” Nilly rubbed his chin. “Do you have any other small people who tried to achieve world domination? What about Julius Caesar? Genghis Khan? Adolf Hitler? Alexander the
Great? Or should we say Alexander the Small?”

    “Well,” she said. “Unfortunately, things have kind of been picked over here, but we do have Maximus Rublov.”
    “Did he achieve world domination?” Nilly asked.
    “Well, he did just buy the Houses of Parliament and half the rest of England. Plus, he owns the Chelchester City soccer team, so we made a mask of him for the World Cup finals.”
    She pointed to a shelf of blue Chelchester City soccer jerseys and replicas of the trophy in case you wanted to take one home and claim you were the cup winner. Next to that there was a mask of
a guy with a prominent forehead, a receding hairline, narrow eyebrows that appeared to have been shaved with painstaking precision, and a goatee.
    “
That’s
Rublov? Do you have anyone a little more attractive who achieved world domination?” Nilly asked. “A little more like me?”
    “Oh, as long as a man has charisma, people don’t care that much about what he looks like, you know,” the saleslady laughed. “And it’s a well-known fact that nothing
gives you more charisma than money.”
    “Then I’ll take it!” Nilly said.

The Lion, the Hamster, and . . . Look, It’s a Long Name, So Just Read the Chapter, Okay?
    AS USUAL, IT was super noisy in the pub we’re just planning to call “the Lion.” The bartender was standing by the tap handles taking beer orders while people
toasted, talked about rugby, Hillman engines, and how many goals Chelchester City would beat Rotten Ham by in the final World Cup game. Stuff like that. Things they
weren’t
talking
about included hand-stitched handbags, French perfume, and the most recent royal wedding. As you may have guessed, there were more men than women in the Lion. A few of them were singing a song
about how it was an irritatingly long way to go to a