‘Hold your horses, boy,’ says Satan, putting his cigarette out on the tabletop. ‘You owe money to a casino in Dugguvogur and some Satan wants to collect from you? Is that right?’
‘You’re this Satan guy, aren’t you? I mean, if you weren’t him you wouldn’t be here.’
‘Have you ever seen this guy, the one who’s collecting?’ asks Satan, standing up and walking towards Sæli, who retreats towards the door. ‘Can you tell me anything more about him?’
‘Don’t mess with me, man!’ says Sæli, pale with fear. ‘There’s no sense in messing with me. I won’t stand for—’
Sæli never finishes the sentence because Satan hits him open handed on his left cheek with a blow so heavy that Sæli sees only black and blood starts flowing from both of his nostrils. He leans against the wall and tries to remain upright but the pain is so severe that he’s forced to sink to his knees.
‘Yes, I am Satan,’ says Satan, spitting on the top of Sæli’s head. ‘And Satan doesn’t bother with minnows like you. Simply having to hit such a kitten makes me choke with contempt and shame. I don’t collect debts for anyone but myself and I don’t threaten any fucking families with anything!’
‘I don’t understand…’ mutters Sæli, trying to wipe the blood from his face, making it even worse by spreading it around.
‘Who phoned you?’ Satan squats down beside Sæli and grips his throat tightly with his right hand.
‘He said his name was Satan,’ says Sæli, sniffing blood up his nose. ‘I never saw him, but I saw his car. It was a big BMW, maroon.’
‘Fucking hell!’ says Satan, letting go his hold and standing up. ‘We’re being fucked around, my boy.’
‘What do you mean?’ asks Sæli as he totters to his feet, coughing.
‘I’m not the guy who phoned you, the guy who’s collecting the debt,’ says Satan, lighting a cigarette. ‘That idiot is pretending to be me, or else he doesn’t know who I am. Shit! You get old fast in this business. After ten years you’re a dinosaur in the eyes of beginners. And then you’re suddenly stuck on a ship that’s sailing with you straight to hell.’
‘I don’t understand. If you’re not the Satan who phoned me, then who is?’
‘What package were you supposed to fetch?’ Satan blows smoke from his nostrils as he shoves the half pack of cigarettes and the gas lighter into his left pocket, on top of the sock with the shells.
‘I’m supposed to smuggle a package home from Suriname. Probably drugs. Something from Colombia. To pay part of my debt, you know?’
‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ says Satan, fishing Jónas’s cheque from his pocket. ‘We’ll just keep that package and also buy as much coke as we can. Haven’t you got some currency or a credit card or something? Here, take this cheque as security. You get hold of a pile of pesetas or shillings or whatever they use down there and I’ll sniff out the cocaine and buy it. You hide the stuff, I’ll sell it in Iceland and we’ll split the profits. We’re talking tens of millions here! What do you say?’
‘But…’ Sæli murmurs as he takes the cheque. ‘This package – it’s not mine. And this Satan – the other Satan – he threatened my family and he’s home in Iceland and—’
‘There’s only one Satan! Just so that’s clear,’ says Satan and he pats Sæli on the left cheek, which is still bright red and throbbing with pain. ‘And your family is safe until the package is delivered to these guys, right?’
‘Yeah, I guess,’ says Sæli uncertainly, then he folds the cheque in two and sticks it in the pocket of his overalls.
‘But as long as I’m your pal, your family is safe from cradle to grave,’ says Satan with a cold grin. ‘I’ll see to this BMW prick the minute I set foot on our fucking island. He’s as good as dead, you see? He’s dead but he just doesn’t know that he is dead!’
‘Yeah, okay,’ says Sæli. ‘But there’s just one thing I still don’t understand. What are you doing on board this ship?’
‘That’s a good question,’ says Satan, his grin disappearing. ‘You could say I’m here because of that guy who phoned you and threatened your family. When he made so bold as to call himself Satan he probably set off a course of events we still can’t see the end of. But to my mind it’s first and foremost because I didn’t fuck two little girls I wanted to fuck. I hesitated…’
Satan takes a drag, shrugs, then goes to the open window and flips his glowing cigarette out.
‘Now I really don’t understand,’ Sæli says with an embarrassed half-grin which freezes on his lips, turning into a frightened grimace when someone rattles the doorknob forcefully behind him.
Satan whirls round to see the door open and three armed men force their way into the cabin.
In the lead is Methúsalem, who handles his rifle as if it has a bayonet on it, and behind him are John and Rúnar, who have no idea how to behave, so they are more like hunters lost in the woods than armed housebreakers.
Satan bends over to stretch his right hand quickly but coolly towards his revolver in its holster but Methúsalem aims the rifle at him, his finger tightening round the trigger, so Satan decides not to show his trump card. Instead he calmly straightens up and runs his fingers through his greasy hair almost casually.
He’s been in worse situations. These guys are just amateurs carrying guns too ridiculous for conflict in such a small space.
‘I’m sorry, I’m… they…’ Sæli steps to the side and looks back and forth between Methúsalem and Satan, who don’t take their eyes off each other.
‘You!’ says Methúsalem, aiming his rifle at Satan’s breast. ‘Don’t move! Don’t even scratch your nose!’
‘Sæli!’ says Rúnar, letting the barrel of his shotgun sink to the floor. ‘Look at you, boy! Did he do that?’
‘Yes, but look…’ Sæli says, looking at Satan, who gives him a wink and a crooked smile.
‘You fucker!’ says Big John, tightening his hold on his shotgun, which he clutches to his chest and points at the ceiling.
‘He won’t be slapping anyone else during this voyage,’ says Methúsalem, nostrils flaring. ‘And he certainly won’t be sabotaging this ship any further. Mark my words, you motherfucker! You’re not going to see daylight again until we get to Suriname. We’ll make sure of that!’
‘Methúsalem!’ says Sæli hoarsely. ‘He isn’t who I thought he was. He—’
‘You’re scared of him, Sæli,’ says Methúsalem, without taking his eyes off Satan. ‘And I can understand that. This is a dangerous man and he’s just thumped you. But that’s over now! He’s coming with us and everything will return to normal. Understand?’
‘Yes, but…’ Sæli looks desperately at Satan, who returns his gaze and shakes his head gently back and forth, as if to tell Sæli that it’ll be all right, that he shouldn’t get himself in trouble on Satan’s account; that their agreement will remain their secret; that he’s not afraid of these men nor what they’ve got planned for him, that…
‘No buts!’ says Methúsalem emphatically.
‘Okay,’ says Sæli, hanging his head.
‘You just go up to the bridge,’ says Methúsalem, glancing briefly at Sæli and nodding his head towards the door. This movement – the glance and the nod – lasts less than a second.
But that’s all the time Satan needs, and more.
The moment Methúsalem takes his eyes off Satan he grabs Sæli and pulls him close, jumping behind him in the same movement. He hooks his left arm around the front of Sæli’s neck, locking his left fist around his own upper arm and his right fist around the back of his neck, so Sæli is stuck in a deadly wrestling hold.