I’ve lost my wife, she took the goddamn kids–those brats–but maybe, just maybe, if I solve this Phono case, everything will be alright. Fuck, I haven’t slept or showered since that son-of-a-bitch gave me the slip on Laugavegur a week ago. My head hurts, must be all that whiskey. Where are you Pavel Sfera? Where would a Bono-impersonator hide in Reykjavík? I need to get inside your head. Shit, let’s just start on the street where it all began.
My sources in the police say the trail for Sferfa has gone cold. Not for me it hasn’t. This is my Zodiac, my Jack the Ripper, my Moby-Dick. He’s hiding in plain sight and he wants me to find him; I can feel it in my gut. But he wants it on his terms and in his natural habitat; surrounded by parsley and baguettes. The only thing I need to work out is which supermarket on Laugavegur he’ll be at. A Bono-impersonator can’t earn that much, for Christ’s sake. Let’s start at Bónus.
Fuck! He’s not here, but one bunch of parsley is missing. He’s teasing me, mocking me. It’s all a game to him, but I’m hot on his heels. He’s got to be at 10/11. I bet he’s mulling over how he can best emulate his hero next, chomping down on some soggy egg mayo while contemplating which Lithuanian shopping centre he’s going to use his offshore company to invest in. I’m coming for you, you smug bastard!
I can’t believe it, not here! He’s one step ahead of me every time. I’m not reading between the lines. I need a cigarette. I have to think of the bigger picture. If I work out what Bono is, maybe I can figure out where Sfera is. So, let’s go back to basics. What is a Bono? Think Grieg, think. He has a friend called The Edge, he’s patronising towards African people. He’s been avoiding tax for years. He invades your iTunes. But what term encompasses all of these traits?
I’ve got it! I’ve cracked the case. Bono is a dick and Sfera is at the Phallological Museum! Honey, open that bottle of wine Rochelle bought you after she came back from that trip she took from Milan to Minsk. I’m coming home!