PART 8[Luke Worrall, modelling for Antony Morato, photographed by Joseph Cardo. A kind of proto-type Skylar Moon in my imagination.]
’I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.’
The cool, soothing voice belonged to Skylar Moon. The vampire mercenary leaned over the body of Acting Inspector Sandra Birger in the office at SÄPO HQ. At Skylar’s unorthodox entry she had collapsed into a heap in an armchair
Max Blumenthal brought a large mug of coffee over to her. ’Are you with us Sandra? You feinted back there. A blackout? Here, I think you need this. I’ve made it extra strong.’
Sandra blinked at Skylar. She found herself staring into the face of angel. His face had the pallor of an old-style graveyard statuette. Parian marble, oval face, perfectly chiselled features, high cheekbones, well defined chin. A curtain of hair brushed forward in Emo style. It was platinum blonde, though appeared to have no real colour of it’s own. Like a shock of fibre optic thread cables, loosely flopping and flouncing as it reflected the light. A pair of wrap-around Raybans, in camp fashion, perched on his head like a tiara.
’I’m Skylar Moon’. His full lips were offset with a low-sheen Prussian blue lipstick, the shade of a drowned corpse.
’You’re dead meat if you pull a stunt like that again.’
’I really do apologise.’ His lips parted to reveal pure, strong, brilliant white teeth, not a trace of dentistry. His cool breath smelt slightly of bitter-sweet almonds, the trademark of cyanide.
Skylar held out his hand in a gesture of friendship. His long, thin artistic fingers were held out from a limp wrist. They were surmounted by carefully manicured nails, cut to fine points and varnished white.
Sandra seized the opportunity to test Skylar’s legendary pain-resistance. Summoning her not inconsiderable strength as a trained police officer, she wrapped her meaty hand around Skylar’s. At first she was shocked at the sensation of gripping a block of ice. She then dug her own nails into his flesh and squeezed as hard as she could.
He registered not a flicker of pain. He placed his left hand over Sandra’s. Skylar’s innocent but cheeky smile broadened. His closed hand arched and she felt his boney knuckles raise into sharp points. His upper hand gently closed morphing into something like a construction site grab-claw. Sandra felt her hand being slowly crushed between Skylar’s hands, with the strength of an industrial power vice.
’OK. OK. Could I have my hand back please Skylar?’ He immediately relaxed his grip, and withdrew his right hand.
’Hey, whats with you guys? Are you arm wrestling or something?’ Max laughed. He caught sight of them as he made himself a coffee from the sidetable behind his desk.
’We’re just getting better acquainted. Isn’t that right Sandra?’
Sandra was silent. His choir-boyish grin did not fool her. A traitor’s seductive sneer if ever there was one. She observed his eyes with their pale blue irises like a Persian cat. His pupils which had been contracted to pinpoints, began to dilate. This kid needed to be watched carefully. She felt her heart beat faster with suppressed resentment.
He let the forefinger of his left hand slide over her pulse as he backed off.
’I do believe Sandra is having palpitations!’
’Don’t be a jerk, Skylar. It’s this coffee Max made. It’s very strong.’
Max chimed in good-humouredly. ’Skylar, behave yourself. Sandra’s old enough to be your mother.’
’Please, Max!’ Sandra chuckled. ’Skylar’s supposed to be seventeen? I wouldn’t have put him as older than a fourteen year old.’
Skylar flounced into the arnchair opposite, the various chains adorning his body chinked. He sat, slouched badly with the insouciance of a slapped teenager. His feet were splayed outwards with the toes of his bondage boots upturned.
Max called over. ’Can I fix you a drink, Skylar?’
’I’ll have my usual please.’
Max went over to the water cooler to draw off a paper cupful.
’Sandra thought I was going to say blood. Didn’t you Sandra?’ Skylar winked at Sandra.
’The thought did cross my mind. As it would the mind of any sane person.’
’Max thinks very highly of you Sandra. I can tell. I feel privileged to meet you.’
’Is that supposed to be an example of your mind-reading abilities? He’s just called me back into active service. Go figure.’
Skylar smirked. ’Max has held out a candle for you for a long-time. He didn’t tell me that, but it’s true.’
’Skylar, I told you before. Quit this joshing! You’re embarrassing Sandra.’
’Max. I’m just joking. It isn’t true.’ Skylar leaned towards Sandra and mouthed in a barely audible whisper ’It is really.’
’It’s OK. Max, I wouldn’t want Skylar to think I don’t have a sense of humour.’
Max, slightly reddened in the face by Skylar’s revelation, pronounced. ’Now, now folks. We are in a serious stressful deadly business, and yes you are right. We need to have humour to stop ourselves going insane. But enough is enough for now.’
’Sorry, Max, I’m just trying to establish rapport. Sandra, forgive me, it’s just my way of being friendly.’
’That’s fine Skylar. I do understand. I’m just not used to working with teenaged special agents.That’s all.’ Sandra chipped in.
Max busied himself gathering paperwork together. ’OK, people. I’ll just get myself organised and then we’ll get down to business.’
Sandra attempted to build bridges, ’I’m very taken with your dress sense, Skylar.’ she lied.
’Why, thank you.’ Skylar smiled in reply, and tipped his head coquettishly to one side.
Sandra scanned the incongruous mass sat before her. The purple silk shirt with lace cuffs and collar, slashed three buttons open at the neck. No discernable chest hair, indeed his hands and arms appeared hairless. No trace of facial hair, no afternoon shadow. The black leather jeans that looked as tight as if they were sprayed on. The rather provocative bulge at the crotch which only an immature adolescent boy would think was attractive. The small piercings in one blonde eyebrow. The carefully applied eyeliner. The perfectly shell like ears, sporting black discs. All the self-conscious studied chic of a high maintenance rent-boy. Those seductive eyes which glowed softly with blue flourescence. Difficult for anyone to believe they were gazing at a merciless killing machine.
’You obviously take a lot of trouble with your appearance.’
’Thank you.’
’I like the lippy.’
’I don’t wear make-up.’
’No,’ Sandra confirmed, unconvinced.
’I like piercings. I’ve had my nipples done. Because I can withstand pain, I’ve also had a Prince Albert. Would you like to see?’
’Perhaps some other time.’ Sandra nodded with total incomprehension. ’So what other things do you do when you’re not being a special agent?’
’I’m lead singer in a retro rock band. We’re called Svedjefinner.’
’Slash and Burn Finns. Charming. What sort of music do you play.’
’Rehash death metal versions of pop classics, Kinks, Bowie, Smiths, and so on.’
’Lovely,’ remarked Sandra without having a clue what was meant.
’We have quite a following on the underground circuit. It keeps me in with a fresh supply of meat. Girls and boys y’know.’
Sandra swallowed distastefully. She picked up on Skylar’s jewellery. He was adorned with black earings, black necklace, black bracelet, with a black brooch.
’I must say I do like these.’ Sandra indicated the jewellery.
’They are original English Victorian mourning bling. Whitby Jet. Cost me an arm and a leg, so I had to grew new ones.’ Skylar smirked.
Sandra returned the smile. ’Ah there we have common ground. I love antiques. Whitby jet. I’ve heard of that. It’s unique to that area of England?’.
’Whitby. Yes.’
’Home to the writer, err .... Bram Stoker?’
’Who wrote Dracula.’
’How very appropriate.’ Sandra nodded. ’Is antique collecting a hobby, like with me.’
’I’m a serious trader.’
Max was listening in, and coughed loudly from the sidelines, knowing Skylar was a thief and a blackmailer.
Skylar continued. ’I have a boutique showroom in my basement apartment in Södermalm.’
Sandra looked puzzled. ’That’s odd. I think I know every antique outlet in Stockholm. I’ve never come across your name. But Söder, it’s kind of anything Bohemian goes there, right? ’
’It’s for private showings. Let’s say, I trade with discerning collectors who wish to be discrete about their interests.’
’So what line are you in, Skylar?’
’Erotic artefacts, BDSM curiousities, antique whips, chains, pineapple dildos, implements of to......’
’OK. OK. I think I get the picture!’ Sandra waved her hand in revulsion.
’You know, you are most welcome to visit my dungeon anytime, Sandra.’ Skylar smirked lasciviously.
Max interrupted, pulling up a chair. ’Hey, I’m really pleased to see you two getting on so well. Together we are a team, right? More than a match for this Eli and Oskar duo.’
There was a palpable, embarrassed silence.