"You're late, Harry," she said, her voice a soft contrast to the abrasive roar of the pub.
"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. El Murcielago (Harry Hole 1) Jo Nesbo epub
"The girl?" The bartender gestured vaguely toward the back booths. "She's been waiting. Doesn't look like she belongs here. Too much light in her eyes." "You're late, Harry," she said, her voice a
"The police found another one," she whispered, leaning in. "Circular Quay. Same marks on the neck. They're calling him the 'Bat' now." "She's been waiting
The neon sign above "The Bat" tavern flickered with a rhythmic buzz, casting a jaundiced yellow glow over the damp pavement of Sydney’s Kings Cross. Inside, the air was a thick soup of stale lager and cheap cigarettes—a scent Harry Hole knew better than his own mother’s perfume.
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.
"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.