Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
And true to Magnus’s word, we end up going to a bar in another part of town. Of course it’s just after two in the afternoon, but that doesn’t deter him.
Einar and I go in first and check the place out. He wasn’t kidding when he called it a dive bar. The name is Harold’s, and it’s not dirty or anything, just extremely small and dark, without any flourishes except for some tiny gold-framed paintings of whales on the dark green walls. To be honest, it’s my kind of place, except for the lack of suitable women in here. There are two men and an elderly lady sitting at the bar who exchange a nod with Einar, and from the way he nods back at them, and the bartender, I’m guessing they’re considered safe.
Magnus walks in and gives a few high fives to the customers, greeting them like he knows them really well, and then we go and sit in a booth at the back. Einar locks the front door and remains stationed by it, hands clasped at his front.
“I take it you come here often,” I tell Magnus.
He folds his hands across the table. “Before I met Ella, I lived in an apartment not too far from here. I would come here all the time.” He gestures to the three over his shoulder. “That’s Maud, Guillermo, and Slender Man. And the bartender is Harold. Also the owner, if you haven’t gathered.”
“I’m sorry—Slender Man?” I ask peering over his shoulder.
One of the men is extremely skinny and tall, with a long gray face and black suit, so I guess I can see where he got the name from.
“His real name is Erik,” Magnus supplies. “I’d introduce you, but he’s been going through a divorce for years now, and he’ll take the wind out of your sails if you get him going.”
He frowns at me for a moment, weighing something in his head, and I have a feeling I know what it is.
“Something to drink?” he then asks, derailing me.
“No thank you,” I tell him.
“Are you sure? It’s not a problem. We’ll just count here on forward as an evening off.”
I shake my head. “Thank you, but no thank you. With all due respect, sir, even if I was off duty right now, I am your protection officer, and I have sworn a duty to protect you no matter what. We’re out here in public. I need to keep a clear head and do my job regardless.”
A smile slowly spreads across his face. “Well done. That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”
“Wait, was this a test?” I ask as Ottar gets up and heads to the bar.
“Not really. I would have been fine if you had some aquavit with me, but the reason I hired you is to keep me, and my family, in line. Seems you’re going to do just fine.” He pauses. “But the bar at home is a different story.”
“I’ll take that as a warning.”
Ottar comes back with water for me, and glasses of aquavit for him and Magnus. The stuff smells terrible, and this is coming from a man who will drink almost anything.
Magnus raises his glass to me. “Let’s skål to James Hunter,” he says. “To your bravery and selflessness in the line of duty. I still don’t think I’m worth taking a bullet for, and I’m definitely not worth missing out on aquavit at Harold’s, but I commend you for it.”
I raise my glass of water and knock it against his and Ottar’s. I have no doubt that my work going forward will never have a dull day.
Magnus slams back the glass of aquavit, making a face, and Ottar does the same, matching him. “You really ought to try this,” Magnus says, though he’s wincing and can barely speak. “Nectar of the gods.” He coughs, face going red.
“I’m sure there’ll be many an aquavit in my future.” I’m more than grateful for my tap water.
“Speaking of Slender Man and divorce,” Magnus suddenly says after he recovers, swinging the conversation back in time. “You were married once, weren’t you?”
Talk about a non sequitur. I’m so taken aback by the question, I don’t even have time to feel defensive.
Oh, wait. There it is.
“I was,” I say carefully, feeling my hackles go up.
He studies me, giving me a sympathetic tilt of his head. God, I hate those head tilts. They always accompany the words marriage or divorce. “Is it hard to talk about?”
I clear my throat. Lift my chin to give the illusion that it isn’t. “No, not at all. It’s just in the past.”
“She was a Belgian woman, correct? What was her name…Anne?”
“Anika,” I say hesitantly. “You seem to know a lot.”
He gives me a tight smile. “I had to do my due diligence when I hired you of course, to make sure there were no skeletons in your closet, or nothing that could impede your duty. May I ask what happened? You’re my age, aren’t you? Thirty-four? Pretty young to be divorced.”