Gamlebyen, the old town of Oslo, is more than a backdrop: its streets, cab rank, and abandoned factory area form a practical crossroads where the novel’s criminal trade meets the routines of work and travel. The district’s shifting use—from drug-selling territory to cheap rehearsal rooms and a place where a taxi driver waits for fares—makes urban space part of the story’s machinery of concealment and discovery.

Streets and Industrial Setting

One passage follows a group through Oslo’s eastern centre and Gamlebyen’s less reputable streets before they enter an abandoned factory area through an open gate. The surroundings include an open stretch of oil-stained gravel, tall grass, and two tyreless lorries resting on blocks. The industrial landscape is not entirely empty: the group expects to tally their goods quickly, while two other dealers, Enok and Syff, sell speed in nearby parts of the city.

The factory’s red-brick building has been repurposed. Its ground floor contains rehearsal rooms that the council has made available to young bands; on the first floor, Kalle Farrisen rents a room cheaply under the cover of a band-management and booking agency. The enterprise has secured no bookings, but its nominal cultural purpose gives a plausible surface to a space used for criminal work. The contrast between the public-facing arts use and the concealed dealing operation gives the factory a double identity without removing it from the district’s ordinary urban fabric.

Criminal Work and Private Pressure

The factory visit is one stop in a routine that extends beyond the immediate transaction. Afterward, the group must prepare and wrap new bags for the following day. Kalle’s work is also tied to private obligations: he hopes to return to Vera, who has been displeased that the Barcelona trip he promised never took place. He had been occupied with dealing throughout the spring, and a visa refusal linked to his criminal record prevents the Los Angeles trip he offers as a substitute. The passage connects the district’s criminal economy to the personal costs of maintaining a relationship and the further work needed to pay for it.

Gamlebyen’s factory thus holds more than contraband. It is a workplace disguised as an unsuccessful cultural venture, and a stop in a cycle of selling, preparing stock, and trying to meet obligations outside the trade. The setting makes the concealment concrete: a coded entrance and rented rehearsal-room premises place criminal activity inside a building with a legitimate community use.

The Cab Rank and Everyday Encounters

The district also appears as a working environment for Pelle Granerud, who waits at what is effectively his regular taxi-rank spot. Business is poor, his mood is low, and the address requested by a passenger—the Ila Centre—does little to improve his outlook. Another scene returns Pelle to Gamlebyen in the summer quiet, with few fares appearing for his location. His wife’s photograph is fixed to the dashboard, a domestic detail set against the uncertainty of his work.

From the cab rank, Pelle sees a man come out through the gate of the old factory. The man appears to be in a hurry to catch the only taxi, but stops and becomes unwell before continuing toward the cab. Pelle recognizes him as the same customer he drove about an hour earlier, a passenger who had lacked enough money to reach the hostel. When the man seeks another ride, Pelle locks the doors and refuses the fare. The encounter ties the factory’s hidden activity to the district’s ordinary transport economy, while Pelle’s decision marks a small boundary between his livelihood and a passenger whose condition he does not want to take on.

A Point of Connection in the Investigation

Gamlebyen’s role is not limited to the criminal group’s movements or Pelle’s work. In discussing the suspected concealment of a connection between Agnete Iversen and a killing, Simon Kefas argues that the effort to hide that the same killer was involved must itself point to a connection. Kari Adel considers whether the cover-up might not be intended to confuse them. The exchange places the district’s local criminal context beside a wider investigation into what has been concealed and why.

Across these scenes, Gamlebyen works as a threshold between visible routine and concealed relations. A factory can be both rehearsal space and cover; a familiar taxi rank can become a vantage point on a customer’s return; and an investigative theory can turn on the deliberate hiding of a connection. The district’s significance lies in this repeated proximity: different kinds of activity occupy the same streets, yet their meanings emerge only as characters move among them and compare what they have seen.