The neon sign above "The Bat" tavern flickered with a rhythmic buzz, casting a jaundiced yellow glow over the damp pavement of Sydney’s Kings Cross. Inside, the air was a thick soup of stale lager and cheap cigarettes—a scent Harry Hole knew better than his own mother’s perfume.
"The police found another one," she whispered, leaning in. "Circular Quay. Same marks on the neck. They're calling him the 'Bat' now." El Murcielago (Harry Hole 1) Jo Nesbo epub
Harry stood, his coat hanging heavy on his frame. He walked toward the shadows where Birgitta sat. She was his guide to this upside-down world, a place where the sun burned too bright and the secrets buried in the Outback had a way of crawling into the city streets. The neon sign above "The Bat" tavern flickered
Harry sat at the far end of the bar, his long legs cramped under the stool. He was a tall, jagged silhouette against the mirror, his eyes scanning the room with the restless precision of a man who looked for trouble because he didn’t know how to look for anything else. In front of him sat a glass of tomato juice, an ascetic’s penance in a cathedral of vice. "Circular Quay
"Another one, mate?" the bartender asked, wiping a glass with a rag that hadn't seen soap in a week. Harry shook his head. "I'm meeting someone."