The bell above the entrance to Fighting Fit chimes energetically as Henning arrives and steps on to the purple carpet. He walks up to the reception counter. The girl who was behind it before is there again today. Like the last time, she looks up and pushes her chest up and out as he comes over. Her T-shirt, which displays a Pondus cartoon he has seen before, briefly attracts his attention.
‘Kent Harry Hansen?’ he enquires and sees that the woman recognises him. She manages a bored nod towards the back room before her fringe falls over her eyes again. Henning thanks her, and, as he starts to walk, the popular Prima Vera song about the Swedes starts to play on the loudspeakers. Henning doesn’t bother knocking, he just walks straight into Hansen’s office.
‘I’ll call you back,’ Hansen says and puts down the handset. He gets up and looks at Henning. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes,’ Henning says, aggressively and without introducing himself. ‘The man who interviewed you yesterday is in hospital, beaten to a pulp.’
‘Is he?’
‘Yes, he is.’
Henning looks at Hansen’s unruffled face and shifts his gaze to Hansen’s hands. No evidence of recent fighting. ‘Would you know anything about that?’
‘Me? Why would I?’
Henning doesn’t reply. Instead, he studies Hansen’s eyes, but he can’t read anything in them.
‘Sometimes he upsets people. He told me he had got on the wrong side of you.’
‘Yes, but I don’t go round beating people up for that.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you do. You have people who do it for you.’
Hansen scoffs. ‘As I said to that journalist, I don’t know what you think we’re doing in here. And I don’t know who the hell you think you are, coming here, hurling accusations about-’
‘My name is Henning Juul,’ Henning interrupts him. ‘I asked Iver to talk to you about Tore Pulli. I got him into this mess. I don’t know what questions he asked you, but I gave him the ammunition. If you have a problem with the press or your operation here can’t stand a little close scrutiny then take it up with me. Don’t beat people up in dark alleys.’
‘Listen, I don’t know what you think you’re-’
‘It’s either you or Even Nylund who sent some heavies to tell Iver to shut up and back off.’
‘I think you should leave now.’
‘Or you’ll beat me up, too?’
Hansen looks at Henning for a long second before he quickly moves past the desk, grabs hold of Henning’s upper arm and pushes him out of the office. Prima Vera is halfway through the chorus, Henning can hear, as Hansen shoves him in the back and Henning has to take a step to the side to avoid falling over.
‘Get out of here,’ Hansen thunders.
‘Thanks for talking to me,’ Henning says with sarcasm, but he does as he is told. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the for-now-gentle receptionist staring at him.