Read Online Let the right one in by John Ajvide Lindqvist - Free Book Online

newspaper to Lacke so he could see the photograph.
    "What do you think?"
    Lacke looked at it reluctantly.
    "Ah, I don't know. I get creeped out by that kind of thing." Larry breathed on his glasses and polished them against his shirt.
    "They'll get him. You don't get away with something like that." Morgan tapped his fingers on the table, stretched his hand out for the paper.
    "How did Arsenal do?"
    Larry and Morgan switched to talking about the currently pathetic state of English soccer. Jocke and Lacke sat quietly, nursing their beers, lighting cigarettes. Then Jocke started in on the whole cod thing, how the cod was going to die out in the Baltic. The evening wore on. Karlsson didn't turn up, but just before ten another man came in, someone none of them had ever seen before. The conversation was more intense at this hour and no one noticed him until the man was sitting alone at a table at the far end of the room.
    Jocke leaned toward Larry.
    "Who's that?"
    Larry looked over discreetly, shook his head.
    "Don't know."
    The new guy got a big whisky and quickly emptied it, ordered another. Morgan blew air out through his lips with a low whistle.
    "This guy means business."
    The man did not appear to notice that he was being observed. He simply sat motionless at the table, studying his hands, looking like all the trouble in the world had been stuffed into a backpack and strapped onto him. He quickly downed his second whisky and ordered a third. The waiter leaned down and said something to him. The man dug around in his pocket and showed him a few bills. The waiter made a gesture as if to say that wasn't what he meant, when of course that was exactly what he had meant, and then he walked off to fill the man's order. It wasn't surprising to them that the man's credit had been in question. His clothes were wrinkled and stained as if he had slept in them, in some uncomfortable place. The ring of hair around his bald spot was straggly and hung halfway to his ears. The face was dominated by a large pink nose and a jutting chin. Between them were a pair of small, plump lips that moved from time to time as if he were talking to himself. His expression didn't change at all when the whisky was placed in front of him. The gang returned to the subject they had been discussing: if Ulf Adelsohn would be worse than Gosta Bohman had been. Only Lacke looked over at the lone man from time to time. After a while, when the man was on his fourth drink, he said, "Shouldn't we ... ask him if he wants to join us?"
    Morgan glanced at the man, who had sunk together even more. "No, why? What's the use? His wife has left him, the cat is dead and life is hell. I know it all already."
    "Maybe he'll offer to buy us a round."
    "That's a different story. Then he's allowed to have cancer as well." Morgan shrugged. "It's OK by me."
    Lacke looked at Larry and Jocke. They made small gestures of assent and Lacke got up and walked over to the man's table.
    "Hello."
    The man looked up at Lacke, bleary-eyed. The glass in front of him was almost empty. Lacke rested his hands on the chair on the other side of the table and leaned down toward the man.
    "We were just wondering if maybe ... you wanted to join us?" The man shook his head slowly and made a befuddled, dismissive gesture, brushing the suggestion away.
    "No, thank you, but why don't you sit down?"
    Lacke pulled the chair out and sat down. The man drained the last of his drink and waved the waiter over.
    "You want something? It's on me."
    "In that case. Same as you, then."
    Lacke didn't want to say the word "whisky" since it sounded presumptuous to ask someone to buy you something expensive like that, but the man only nodded, and when the waiter came closer he made a Vsign with his fingers and pointed to Lacke. Lacke leaned back in the chair. How long had it been since he had last ordered whisky in a bar?
    Three years? At least.
    The man showed no signs of wanting to start a conversation, so Lacke cleared his