motor pool. She had not exactly asked permission, but Armansky had never
expressly forbidden her from using Milton’s cars. Sooner or later, she thought, I
have to get a vehicle of my own. She did own a second-hand Kawasaki 125, which
she used in the summertime. During the winter the bike was locked in her cellar.
She walked to Högklintavägen and rang the bell at 6:00 on the dot. Seconds later
the lock on the street door clicked and she went up two flights and rang the
doorbell next to the name of Svensson. She had no idea who Svensson might be or
if any such person even lived in that apartment.
“Hi, Plague,” she said.
“Wasp. You only pop in when you need something.”
As usual, it was dark in the apartment; the light from a single lamp seeped out into
the hall from the bedroom he used as an office. The man, who was three years
older than Salander, was six foot two and weighed 330 pounds. She herself was
four feet eleven and weighed 90 pounds and had always felt like a midget next to
Plague. The place smelled stuffy and stale.
“It’s because you never take a bath, Plague. It smells like a monkey house in here. If
you ever went out I could give you some tips on soap. They have it at the Konsum.”
He gave her a wan smile, but said nothing. He motioned her to follow him into the
kitchen. He plopped down on a chair by the kitchen table without turning on a
light. The only illumination came from the street light beyond the window.
“I mean, I may not hold the record in cleaning house either, but if I’ve got old milk
cartons that smell like maggots I bundle them up and put them out.”
“I’m on a disability pension,” he said. “I’m socially incompetent.”
“So that’s why the government gave you a place to live and forgot about you.
Aren’t you ever afraid that your neighbours are going to complain to the
inspectors? Then you might fetch up in the funny farm.”
“Have you something for me?”
Salander unzipped her jacket pocket and handed him five thousand kronor.