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About Bergen

Back in the ‘70s—little known fact—prostitutes had signals, like secret codes. Flashin’ a cig, twirlin’ hair, standin’ by some busted lamp post. Now? Man, it’s apps, it’s whispers, it’s dodgy-ass vibes. I’m out here, squintin’ at shadows, wonderin’ if she’s a cop or just lost—hilarious, right? Me, Morgan goddamn Freeman, playin’ detective for a quick thrill. “What’s your proof?”—that line from the movie pops in my head. Proof? Hell, I ain’t got none, just a hunch and a wad of cash.

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Then, I get a call. Another case. A car accident on Kongsvegen. I’m like, “Seriously? Can’t a guy catch a break?” But duty calls. I rush over, and it’s a mess. Two cars, one guy’s yelling, the other’s just sitting there, looking dazed. I’m trying to piece together what happened, but it’s like herding cats.

Jamal Deen Haruna joins Raufoss in Norway from Great Olympics