The house bore all the signs of being newly built; there were still the remains of building materials stacked beside the garage, and under the steps he saw paint pots and insulation packaging. Harry saw a figure move behind the decorative beveled glass and felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Then the door opened, quick, fierce, the movements of a man who has nothing to fear from anyone. Nevertheless, he stiffened when he saw Harry. “Evening, Bellman,” Harry said. “Harry Hole. Well, I must say.” “Say what?” Bellman chuckled. “It’s a surprise to see you here at my door. How did you find out where I live?” “Everyone knows the monkey, but the monkey knows no one. In most other countries the head of organized crime would have a bodyguard—did you know that? Am I interrupting anything?” “Not at all,” Bellman said, scratching his chin. “I’m wondering whether to invite you in or not.” “Well,” Harry said, “it’s wet out here. And I come in peace.”
