4.
I’m just having my second hamburger and banana milkshake when Selena walks in with a haughty look. She doesn’t deign the men, who are gawking at her as if she’s the newborn Madonna, to look at her and heads straight towards me. Despite the oppressing temperature outside her body is fully covered by her stylish black pants and red silken blouse that is completely buttoned up. Nevertheless, she still looks breathtakingly sexy. I immediately feel like the ugly duckling next to this beautiful swan.
Vampires can walk outside in the daylight, but they get sunburned more easily than human beings so they have to protect themselves with a high sun protective factor oil, sunglasses and clothes.
She gets to stand next to me and looks disapprovingly at my plate on which the fries are barely noticeable by the amount of ketchup on them.
‘Are you ready? It smells in here.’
‘Yeah, sweet isn’t it? Oil and fries, the smell of nouvelle cuisine.’
I take the last bite out of the hamburger and at the same time stuff some fries into my mouth. I have to suppress a grin. Her disapproval couldn’t be greater.
‘How can you put that trash in your mouth and even do it in the morning. Haven’t you got any self-respect at all?’
I pretend to think about it and take some fries between my fingers as if I’m investigating them. Afterwards I put them in my mouth.
‘No, I haven’t. If I have to choose between respect and these tasty things, I’ve made my choice rapidly.’
I empty my milkshake cup, slurping loudly. Selena looks at me as if I’m a giant cockroach. Normally I don’t behave this coarsely, but she gets under my skin so much. Nah well, it’s still better than feeling her sharp teeth sinking into my neck, making some little holes in it and sucking my blood.
I wipe off my mouth using a paper napkin, put down the necessary dollars plus tip and hop off the bar stool.
‘Now I’m ready.’
She turns around with a tug in silence and I follow her in her tracks. The taxi stands outside with the engine running. Just like yesterday, I take a seat in the back. Without exchanging a word we drive out of the centre of New York.
It was only after we had reached the highway she opened her mouth. ‘The Glock and the blackjack?’
I get them out of my inside pockets with regret, shove them in the plastic bag that’s on the back seat and put them under the seat again.
‘How did it go?’
I get lost in amazement. What the hell is this? She wants to be social all of a sudden or what?
‘It went well,’ I answer. ‘According to plan.’
‘Than… what’s your boss’ name again? I cannot think of his name.’
‘Jabar?’
She nods. ‘Than Jabar will be satisfied.’
I find this sudden switch in behavior odd, but I don’t go into it. Vamps are quite curious creatures with bizarre mood swings.
‘Do you and Jabar do all the work by your own?’
Why do I get the feeling she’s interrogating me?
‘Didn’t you get that information from Ben?’ I answer, a bit suspicious now.
‘Erm… I haven’t been informed about everything yet. Haven’t got the time for it yet.’ She avoids my look and keeps her eyes straight on the road.
‘Than you’ll hear everything from Ben later on.’
‘Yes, of course. You’re right about that.’
I find she’s acting too nice, suspiciously nice. Does she want to seduce me all of a sudden? I can barely imagine that. Vamps especially love vamps. Has to do with blood exchange and stuff, I believe.
It’s quiet for a while, but I notice she sometimes looks furtive at me. I use the opportunity to call Tony. He grumbles about not having enough time to take his chance. I tell him chuckling that if he didn’t bring it off right now, it is a fight for a lost cause.
Thirty minutes later, right before we drive in the airport, Selena asks: ‘Where do you actually live in Belgium? With Jabar? Or do you live on your own? Maybe I can come over and visit you?’
Is she out of her fucking mind? I wouldn’t even let her come close.
‘Somewhere private and comfortable.’
She gets it she won’t get much more out of me and she keeps silent until she parks the cab. We don’t wish each other good-bye. Fine, it wouldn’t be sincere anyway.
It’s one a.m. when I get to my car on the parking lot of Ostend’s airport. A red, little Citroën that’s far beyond his glorious heydays. But it still drives and I’m pretty much attached to it.
I’m cold soon and the chilly temperature isn’t really helping. I cross my arms in front of my chest and walk on rapidly, longing for a warm bed. To my relief the car starts immediately. It wouldn’t be the first time the car would chuck it and I don’t want to give Jabar an excuse to badger. The past year he passionately tried to buy me a decent car. A Mercedes or Volkswagen. No thanks. Classy, expensive cars don’t fit my self-image, I think.
I immediately turn the heating up, but it takes a while before the engine is warmed up. To make the twenty minutes drive to home more pleasant, I turn on the radio. One of my favorite songs chases away my tiredness a little. Hooverphonic’s ‘Eden’. I join in the song and speed up to a fairly acceptable one hundred and thirty kilometers an hour.
Jabar wouldn’t thank me for the umpteenth penalty and I’ve already made too much a mess of it recently. That’s why I don’t mind driving during the night, although I’m not at all a night owl.
I turn off at Jabbeke and not that much later I run in the residential district I live in; Flamincka park.
It’s characterized by ginormic houses with gardens even city parks would be jealous of. Nothing different with the house of Jabar Tahon, my adoptive father.
As a foundling I could have been less fortunate. With the remote control I open one of the two wrought iron gates and drive up the long driveway. On the left of the driveway is a lake with a little isle in the middle of it and on the right is my favorite tree; the weeping willow. I sit a lot under that tree when I worry or when I don’t feel well. The umbrella-like crown gives a protective feeling and I feel much better afterwards. A thought that cheers me up at that moment is for example: light blue skies and green crowns, there doesn’t have to be more to be happy. I don’t know what it means, it only gives me a good feeling, that’s all.
A few meters away from the weeping willow stands Jabar’s private helicopter.
This house was once the coach house where the further down castle’s horse carriages were accommodated. But, don’t get me wrong. After making it fit to live in you can, with its six bedrooms, four bathrooms, two living rooms and library, hardy call it a stable.
The lights are still on in the living room, which means Jabar waits for me. It doesn’t matter whether I already informed him about the hopefully successful outcome of the order and I’m already on my way home. Until I’m in my bed, his mind won’t be at rest.
A second button on the remote control opens the garage gate. I park the car and step out. Between the garage and the living room is the kitchen, equipped with oak-wooden cupboards and a round dining table in the middle.
I’m extremely thirsty and take a glass out of the cupboard. While I’m filling it with tap water Jabar enters.
He’s taller than me, about twenty centimeters and has an outlook that immediately forces you to respect. Black hair at a shoulder length, which he wears as long as I know in a tail. His clothing style is sober but classy; a simple jeans and plain shirt, tonight in hard pink. He’s an elf and one hundred and fifty years old or fifty in person-years. His ancestors originate from an Asian country, which is reflected in his slanting, dark eyes and cream-colored skin.
Jabar has a lot of patience, tons more than I have. It seems as if he’s standing there, being relaxed with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the doorpost, but I know he’s burning with curiosity. That last one is a feature that, according to Diedie, all elves have. I turn towards him and take a sip of the water.
‘Everything went well,’ I say.
‘No witnesses?’
‘No. Luckily he was at home.’
‘Great.’
I hop on the counter and let my legs dangle. ‘He did it to get money in order to buy drugs.’
Emotions can’t be read easily on his face, but I know him. The raising of one eyebrow shows he’s impressed by this announcement.
‘Drugs?’
‘Yep.’ I empty the glass and put it in the sink. ‘I believe he got the message. He’s taking the money back.’
‘Good.’
‘It would be easier if we could just send the police to types like this.’
‘Easier, yes.’
‘I know. The risk that a gift is discovered is greater when an otherkind is interrogated by the police or when he ends up in jail.’
‘Exactly.’
This is the way most of our conversations go. I look like a goddamn chatterer in his presence.
‘Are you tired?’ Jabar asks.
I shrug my shoulders. ‘The ride home wakened me.’
I heave a deep sigh.
‘It’s your own choice, Manon,’ he says in a soft tone.
Yeah yeah, I know. I’m stupid and stubborn. According to Jabar, I don’t need to work because I work for him. But I don’t see the rapping on otherkind’s knuckles as a fully-fledged job. Above that, how do I have to explain it to others? Oh, yes, I certainly work, but it’s a secret job?
I let myself down from the counter. ‘I have to make some money somehow, don’t I?’ It came out harsher than I wanted to.
‘I can pay you for your orders,’ Jabar proposes.
‘I want to have a real job too,’ I say sharply. ‘A job I can talk about with others.’
‘Okay.’
I walk past him into the living room and flop down on the blue, leather Chesterfield. The hearth is still smoldering and the warmth gives me a sluggish feeling. Jabar takes a seat in the armchair.
The living room is as big as a two-room flat. In it stands a three-meter long antique dining table with chairs around it of which the leather shows some old-age cracks. Further on a shiny black grand piano on which I desperately try to play. To Jabar’s displeasure I don’t get a lot of decent tones out of it, despite the amount of private lessons I got raised with. On one side of the living room, which is at least five meters high, are three big dome-shaped windows with heavy, dark red curtains that overlook a part of the garden where the helicopter, a Robinson R22 and a giant statue of Miguel Ortiz Berrocal are located. The statue is my favorite work of Berrocal. On the other side of the living room are French windows that overlook the remaining part of the immense garden. Everywhere are expensive oil paintings of old Flemish and Dutch masters. At a door, which leads to the attic, stands a two-meter high old painter’s easel on which still one of my final examination works for the art academy is displayed. An oil painting of a naked female model.
‘Nightcap?’ Jabar asks.
I shake my head.
‘How was Tony?’
I smile. ‘In my opinion he thought that New York’s women were too self-willed.’
‘Every woman that says ‘no’ to him is too self-willed.’ Jabar's corners of his mouth slightly rise up, his way of laughing.
That brings me to the following.
‘I don’t find the new contact person in New York, Selena, easy to get on with.’
Jabar keeps staring at me for a while and I just want to repeat it, thinking he didn’t understand it well, when I notice a green haze in his eyes.
‘What new contact person?’ he asks.
I suddenly turn ice cold. ‘Selena? A vamp?’
‘This is serious.’
‘What’s serious?’ My voice rises.
Jabar stares into the little flames and over his otherwise so serene face now hovers a dark glow. ‘There isn’t a new contact person.’