Trafika Europe 2 - Polish Nocturne

a moment before I realized that he was the Stockmann store detective who had been in the electronics department when I’d confronted the junkie. On the job, the guy didn’t wear glasses and dressed in bargain-basement jeans that bagged at the knees and butt and a sweatshirt with tattered sleeves. Finer ladies averted their eyes from him. The man’s civilian clothes were more stylish, and I noticed that the young women sitting at the table next to him were trying their best to attract his attention. He wore no wedding band, but I knew from experience how easy that was to remove. I shifted my position at the bar counter just enough to be able to watch the women’s attention-drawing rituals without turning. The man did not appear interested in them. He was nice-looking in a safe, ordinary way, and men like that did not turn me on. I didn’t look for bums, either, and had zero interest in wasting time on whiners, for I was not the sympathetic sort. To the pair’s disappointment, the store detective folded the paper, in which he had already finished the crossword, and rose. He had to pass me on his way to the men’s room. He smelled of musk and lemon, a pleasant scent. I noticed it again when he walked past me to the bar and ordered an- other Christmas ale. He sat at the bar to drink it. Since he had evidently not come to the bar in search of female company, I stayed silent. I ordered another tequila.

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