Maelstrom

Chapter 16: A Little Hygge

Sunday

I compulsively touched my swollen lip; the damn thing was still plump and tender and, I knew from a cursory examination in my bathroom mirror upon waking, looked like hell. At least the cut was on the inside of my lip; the bruising should fade enough by Wednesday night that a light application of makeup would cover it.

I brought my mug of nut-milky coffee and a set of kitchen shears over to the sofa and sat down heavily. There had been an Amazon box leaning against my apartment door this morning when I got home, but I'd been too tired to do anything with it other than toss it on the coffee table. Now I slipped one side of the shears under the flaps, sliced the tape open, and examined the contents of a package I didn't order.

It was from the OCCB, copies of the files of known Santiago cartel associates and New York City drug traffickers for me to memorize. I flipped through the heavy stack; good thing I had nothing to do for a few days.

I stood and stretched. The snow that had begun to fall while I was asleep was starting to come down more heavily now. I made a quick, easy decision to skip the gym today and wait to tackle the files until after a shower. I needed to feel a little cleaner before filling my head with more faces of dealers and killers. And besides, I felt weird doing police work when I kept catching glimpses of the tribal tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of my fuzzy sage-green bathrobe; my full sleeves of fake ink would have to go, at least for a few days.

I smiled to myself as I padded to the bathroom. I'd make it a totally hyggelig day – snow, coffee and tea, candles, maybe even a little cello music. Banshchikov, I decided. Somehow, something passionate and Russian felt just right after last night.