"Another one, mate?" the bartender asked, wiping a glass with a rag that hadn't seen soap in a week. Harry shook his head. "I'm meeting someone."
Harry sat at the far end of the bar, his long legs cramped under the stool. He was a tall, jagged silhouette against the mirror, his eyes scanning the room with the restless precision of a man who looked for trouble because he didn’t know how to look for anything else. In front of him sat a glass of tomato juice, an ascetic’s penance in a cathedral of vice. El Murcielago (Harry Hole 1) Jo Nesbo epub
"You're late, Harry," she said, her voice a soft contrast to the abrasive roar of the pub. "Another one, mate
"Show me," Harry said, and as they stepped out into the humid Australian night, the hunt for the killer—and his own demons—began in earnest. He was a tall, jagged silhouette against the
Harry felt that familiar cold prickle at the base of his spine. He wasn't just a visitor anymore; he was a hunter. And in this heat, under the gaze of a thousand strange stars, he knew the predator was already watching him back.
"Traffic," Harry lied. He had actually spent twenty minutes standing on the street corner, debating whether to buy a bottle of Jim Beam or a plane ticket back to Oslo.