‘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.
46
Friday
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.
He walked down to the young man, who extended his hand in welcome and smiled. It hadn’t crossed Røed’s mind until now but the two big, rodent-like front teeth were gone, and the boy had a line of nice, even teeth. For the sake of illusion, he would have preferred the childhood teeth but forgot about that as soon as he drew close and was led into the house.
Another small shock. The hallway, living room, everything black and burnt-out. The partition walls were gone rendering everything more open. The man — the boy — led him straight to the floor space that had been his room on the ground floor. With a shudder of delight, Røed realised he didn’t need any light, he had walked these steps from the bottom of the staircase to the boy’s room in the darkness of night so many times that he could do it with his eyes closed.
‘Undress yourself and lie down there,’ the boy said, shining his phone’s torch.
Røed stared at the filthy mattress and the burnt-out skeleton of an iron bed.
And did as he was told, laying his clothes over the headboard.
‘Everything,’ the boy said.
Røed took off his underpants. His erection had grown ever since the boy had taken his hand. Røed liked to dominate, not be dominated. Not up until this point anyway. But now he was enjoying the sound of the commanding voice, the cold giving him goose pimples, the humiliation in being naked while the boy was fully dressed. The mattress stank of urine and was wet and cold against his back.
‘Let’s get these on.’ Røed felt his arms being pulled upwards and something being tightened around his wrists. Looked up. In the light from the boy’s phone, he saw his hands being tied to the headboard with leather straps. Then the same with his feet. He was at the mercy of the boy. The same way the boy had been at the mercy of him.
‘Come,’ Røed whispered.
‘We need more light,’ the boy said. He had taken Røed’s mobile phone from the jacket on the headboard. ‘What’s the code?’
‘Eye recog—’ Røed began before the screen appeared in front of his face.
‘Thanks.’
Røed was blinded by the two light sources and couldn’t see what the boy was doing before discerning his figure between the two phones. He realised they must have been mounted on two stands at head height. The boy was older. Had become a man. But was still young enough for Røed to want him. Clearly. His erection was beyond reproach and the tremor in his voice owed as much to excitement as the cold when he whispered: ‘Come! Come to me, boy!’
‘First, tell me what you want me to do to you.’
Markus Røed moistened his dry lips. And told him.
‘Say it again,’ the boy said, pulling down his trousers and placing his hand around his own still flaccid penis. ‘This time without using my name.’
Røed was nonplussed. But fair enough, more than a couple of the ones at Tuesdays got off on the whole impersonal thing, preferring a stiff cock in a glory hole instead of seeing the entire person. Fortunately. He repeated his wish list without mentioning any names.
‘Tell me what you did to me when I was a little boy,’ the man between the lights said, now masturbating.
‘Just come here and let me whisper it in your ear—’
‘Tell me!’
Røed swallowed. So that was how he wanted it. Direct, crude, a harsh tone and in glaring light. Fine. Røed just needed to tune in his own receiver and transmit on the same frequency. Jesus, he’d do anything to have him. Røed began hesitantly, skirting around at first, but got going after a while. Told him. Directly. In detail. And found the frequency. Was aroused by his own words, of the memories they conjured up. Told it how it was. Used words like ‘rape’, both because that was what it had been and because it further increased the excitement, both his and the boy’s, he was groaning in any case, although no longer visible, he had taken a few steps back, into the darkness behind the light. Røed had told him everything, up to how he wiped his penis on the boy’s duvet before tiptoeing back to the first floor.
‘Thanks!’ the boy said, his voice sharp. One light was switched off and he stepped into the light of the other. He had pulled his trousers up, was fully dressed. He was holding Røed’s phone and tapping something into it.
‘Wh-what are you doing?’ Røed moaned.
‘I’m sharing the last video recording with all your contacts,’ the boy said.
‘You... recorded it?’
‘On your phone. Want to see?’ The boy held the phone up in front of Røed. On the screen he saw himself, a portly man well into his sixties, pale, almost white in the harsh light, lying on a dirty mattress with an erection, going slightly to the right. No mask this time, nothing to hide his identity. And the voice, slightly thick with excitement but clear as a bell at the same time, eager for the other man to hear the words. He noticed that the clip was framed so that a viewer couldn’t see his hands and feet were bound to the bedposts.