King Acid

9- THE BLIZZARD-BLUE DEMON (PART 3)

                                             *****

And then he opened his eyes. The morning sun betrayed itself shyly through the stretched-out clouds on the scarlet horizon beyond the stone balustrade, but the Earth was still a dark enigma, wrapped in a cobalt veil splashed with fainted stars. The sunbed felt comfortable, comfortable enough to keep him asleep overnight under the cover of the sky on that terrace. To his left, an empty chair and a table with a sunshade. And on it, a glass, a half-empty bottle of rakia, a phone, and a Davidoff cigar of the '76 Mille Series, dying slowly on the side of an ashtray.

He didn't move a muscle. For the first time, he felt naked, fully at the mercy of the outside. His fear turned to panic when he heard steps behind him, getting closer to his left until they became a shade wearing camouflage pants and a black thermal long-sleeve t-shirt, sitting on the chair. He managed to just make that out before he shut his eyes and pretended that he was still out cold.

"You think you can fool me?" spat the man with veteran indifference.

Skyler suddenly noticed crushed ice rather than blood running through his veins. He decided to keep his stance. The words could have been aimed at another person, he wanted to believe, but that tone betrayed experience. Too much of it.

"Hey, sleeping beauty, shall I give you a kiss?"

"... over my dead body."

Skyler sat up with the arrogance of a revolutionary sent to the firing squad, only to see, sitting in the chair, a tall, portly man in his forties, brown-haired, barely hiding his sharp, dominant features behind his rough beard, looking grimly at the horizon with icy blue eyes and the Davidoff cigar between his firm fingers. He was born an intrinsic carrier of assertive traits, such as marked tendons and veins on his hands, closed into fists almost by default, or the fierce and wide jaw, hallmark of a fighter, held upright in a perfect balance between trust and pride. His breathing power projected a powerful aura of vital affirmation all around his own self. In contrast, the snowy pallor of his complexion, characteristic of the tranquility of his blood, manifested self-restraint. It therefore constituted an unmistakably masculine man, in the most classically Apollonian sense.

"René Hinault, I suppose," commented Skyler.

The man gazed off at the landscape and then turned to Skyler, who noticed suddenly the sameness in their blue eyes, like still reflections of water.

"You suppose?" he asked menacingly.

The man turned his chair and sat inches away from Skyler's face. A faint outburst of unbegotten rage streaked through Skyler's spine as the man framed his eyes with more perspective, betraying his identity before he spoke another word.

"No longer remember your brother, Sky?"

"You're... Atticus?"

"Fifteen years no see, right?"

"Yeah, sure... Fifteen," he replied without conviction, trying to collect himself. Now he was sure he hated the man. As sure as he didn't know why. "But wait, who's René Hinault?"

Atticus put his fingertips to his forehead.

"Yeah, of course. Nevin Wagner and René Hinault. Both are me."

"What?"

"It's just a defense mechanism to hide me from my enemies."

Skyler shook his head quickly.

"But the two groups were on the brink of a shootout tonight."

"That's because they don't know who I am. I use intermediaries I trust to address my different armed groups, so none of them gets to see the face of their boss. If they don't know me, they can't betray me."