Prim looked straight into Markus Røed’s eyes. Saw the parasite-infested brain working behind them and drawing the wrong conclusions:
‘And I think we should make it as similar as possible to how it was before.’
‘Similar?’ Markus Røed said. His throat was already tight with excitement. That was the paradox of toxoplasmosis, how the sexual drive — which is essentially the desire to reproduce — suffocates the fear of death, ignores dangers, giving the infected being that delightful, hopeless tunnel vision, a tunnel leading right into the cat’s maw.
‘The house,’ Prim said. ‘It’s still there. But you have to come alone, you have to give your bodyguards the slip.’
‘You mean...’ Markus swallowed.
‘Of course. I can see you...’ Prim leaned forward and placed a hand on the other man’s crotch. ‘...want to?’
Røed’s jaw was moving up and down uncontrollably.
Prim got to his feet. ‘You remember where it is?’
Markus Røed just nodded.
‘And you’ll come alone?’
Another nod.
Prim knew he didn’t need to tell Markus Røed not to let anyone know where he was going or who he was planning to meet. Toxoplasmosis renders the infected person horny and fearless, but not stupid. That is to say, not stupid in the sense that they would do something that might potentially prevent them from getting the only thing on their minds.
‘I’ll give you thirty minutes,’ Prim said.
The older bodyguard, Benny, had been in the business for fifteen years.
When he opened the door, he saw the visitor had put on a face mask. Benny watched on as the younger bodyguard patted him down. Apart from a set of keys, the visitor had nothing on him that could be used as a weapon. Neither did he have a wallet nor any form of ID. He gave his name as Karl Arnesen, and even though it sounded like something he had made up on the spot, Røed had confirmed it with a curt nod. The visitor was relieved of his mobile phone as Røed had requested, and Benny insisted on the door to the TV room remaining slightly open.
It took just five minutes — at least that was the length of time Benny would give in his statement to the police later — for this young ‘Arnesen’ to emerge from the TV room, get his mobile phone and leave the apartment. Røed called out from the TV room that he wanted to be alone and closed the door. It took another five minutes before Benny knocked to say that Johan Krohn wanted to speak to him. But Benny got no answer, and when he opened the door, the room was empty and the window out to the terrace was open. His eyes fell on the door of the fire escape leading down to the street. It was hardly any great mystery; the client had hinted three times within the last hour that he would pay exceptionally well if Benny or his colleague would head over to Torggata or Jernbanetorget and procure some cocaine.
Blood moon
Markus got out of the taxi by the gate at the end of the drive.
The first thing the taxi driver had asked him when he got into the car at Oslobukta had been if he had any money. A reasonable question given that Markus wasn’t wearing his jacket over his shirt and had slippers on. But he had his credit card with him, as always — no matter what, he felt naked without it.
The hinges screeched as he opened the gate. He walked up the gravel drive, reached the top and was a little shocked when he saw the half burnt-out house standing there in the dusk. He hadn’t been here since leaving Molle and the boy with that idiotic nickname, Prim. He had read about her death in the paper, had gone to the funeral, but hadn’t known the house was so badly damaged. He only hoped enough of the backdrop was preserved for them to act out the scene in a credible manner, so to speak. Reconstruct what they had done and what they had been to one another back then. Although, what he had been to the boy God only knew.
As Røed began walking down towards the house he saw a figure step out the front door. It was him. The desire Røed had felt sitting in the TV room across from the boy had been overwhelming, almost making him lose control and lunge. But he had done that sort of thing one too many times in his life and had just about got away with it. Now his desire was under control, enough to enable rational thought, he felt. Still the craving, after so many years of stored-up memories about Prim, was so strong that nothing could have stopped him now.
