It was nearly a week before Siggy could begin working on the centerpieces of his dual portrait. The hides were near completion, but still supple and slightly moist. The particular tanning method he used resulted in an off-white skin, not unlike the color of canvas. For the time being they were stretched and mounted on two boards which Siggy had moved to his drafting table.

He finally opened the box from Amazon and smiled at its contents. It contained a tattoo gun with interchangeable heads and a large variety of colored inks. Siggy picked it up and moved it around in his hand to find the most comfortable fit. When he was satisfied, he retrieved the photos he had taken of his subjects as well as a rapidograph filled with black ink with which he intended to sketch the initial portraits prior to tattooing them into the skins.

As always, before work began, he chose his music. It took some time for him to make up his mind. He finally selected the soundtrack of The Threepenny Opera, one of his favorites. He cranked the music up.

Oh the shark has pretty teeth dear
And he shows them pearly white
Just a jackknife has Macheath dear
And he keeps it out of sight

When the shark bites with his teeth dear Scarlet billows start to spread
Fancy gloves though wears Macheath dear
So there's never a trace of red...

He studied the photos intently before selecting the ones he intended to use. For Jack's likeness he chose an image in which the young man was looking upward with an angelic look upon his face. For the Predator, he selected one where the beast's face was scrunched in anger, mouth slightly open with eyes squinting and dark.

It took Siggy about three hours for the initial sketches. He made some corrections until he was satisfied with the result. He stood and stretched, deciding to take a short break prior to beginning the tattooing. It was a lovely day out and fresh air seemed like a good idea. Siggy turned off his music and exited the workshop, moving to his porch for a quick beer and a welcome respite.

Refreshed, he returned to his desk and plugged in the tattooing gun. He selected his first color for Jack's portrait. He turned his music back on.

What keeps mankind alive?
It's his compulsion
To steal and cheat and kick
his fellow man in the face.
We have to eat the shit without revulsion
And turn our back upon the human race
You have to be a sinner to survive
It's wickedness that keeps mankind alive.

Slowly and meticulously, Siggy built up the portrait. Time slipped away and ceased having meaning. It was always this way when he worked on his art. He looked on the results of his efforts with satisfaction. The face, though Jack's, was no longer Jack. It was Lucifer, looking up toward God in regret. It was the pained expression of a doomed soul with no path to redemption. It was not yet complete, but the tattooing was done. He again stretched, paused his music, and stepped outside for another break.

Upon his return, he repeated his ritual. He picked up the second skin with the Predator's image outlined upon it. He took a deep breath, turned on his music and began.

By noontime the dock
is all swarmin' with men,
comin' off of that ghostly freighter.
They're movin' in the shadows
where no one can see,
and they're chainin' up people
and bringin' them to me,
askin' ME, "Kill them now or later?"
askin' me, "kill them now or later?"

Moon by the clock,
and so still on the dock
you can hear a foghorn miles away.
In that quiet of death, I'll say,
"Right now."
And they pile up the bodies, and I'll say,
"That'll learn ya!"
Then a ship, the black freighter,
disappears out to sea,
and on it is me.

He was accustomed to the process of tattooing by now and as a result, worked faster and with more confidence. Little by little, the portrait emerged. It was no longer the Predator, but the Devil himself, glaring with remorseless anger. The two faces were better than he could have hoped for, lifelike despite the medium, powerful.

He was not entirely done with them. The final shading would be applied over the tattoos with acrylic paint once the drying of the skins was complete. It would be a day or two. In the meantime he would complete the box and lay out the artifacts that would fill it, that would surround the faces of Lucifer and the Devil.

Siggy felt great satisfaction and utter exhaustion. He unplugged the tattooing gun, cracked his knuckles and stood. This was enough for today. He was about to turn off his music, but waited for the song which was playing to finish.

What keeps mankind alive?
What keeps mankind alive?
The fact that millions are daily tortured
Stifled, punished, silenced and oppressed.

Mankind can keep alive
thanks to its brilliance
In keeping its humanity repressed
And for once you must try
not to shrink from the facts
Mankind is kept alive by bestial acts.

A tear came to his eye. There was so much injustice. The world needed beauty and it needed a conscience. It was his calling to give it both. He needed a nap.

The next day Siggy drove to Durham to meet Adrianna. It was bright and sunny, the world seemed beautiful again. They had arranged to meet at a popular local bistro with outdoor seating. He looked around until he spotted her and when he did, approached with a broad grin on his face. She saw him and returned the smile, anxiously waving him over. He sat down.

"I'm glad you could make it," she said brightly.

"I wouldn't have missed it."

The waitress came over and took their drink order. They both decided to wait before ordering lunch. When the waitress left the table, Siggy looked Adrianna in the eye and chuckled, "Wow, this is like a real date."

"It is, I have to admit, it's been awhile."

"We'll, I suggest we make the most of it. I'll start. Tell me about yourself. Have you always been with the museum?"

"Goodness no," Adrianna answered, "My degree is in psychology. I started as a therapist specializing in creatives with block issues... artists, writers. You'd be surprised how many artists hit a creative wall."

"I don't think I would be surprised ," Siggy said, "I've dealt with creative inertia myself." He smiled and asked, "So, are all artists crazy?"

Adrianna laughed, "Not all, I've heard rumors that some of them are quite normal... and the technical term is 'nuts'."

Siggy returned the laugh, "I've heard that rumor too, I think they ride unicorns. So... what are the commonest disorders amongst us artists?"

"Where do I begin... paranoia, impostors syndrome, narcissism... I could go on. What about you? Anything I should know about?"

"I think you've pretty well covered it. So how did you end up at the museum?"

"I got tired of trying to fix the unfixable, but developed a deep love of art. It seemed a natural progression."

The drinks arrived and they ordered their lunch. They made small talk about movies, music, and the Carolina weather. Lunch was tasty and the couple were both pleasantly surprised by how well the date was going. The conversation shifted to Siggy when dessert arrived.

"So what would you like to know?" he asked.

"Hmmmm," she paused, "maybe an art-related question. How is it you decided to be a political artist? All your work seems to be socially themed."

Siggy raised his hand in mock protest, "I'm not a political artist. Political art, no matter your ideology, is basically propaganda. It tries to direct your thinking. I create ethical art. The difference is simple. For example, communist art tries to convince you capitalism is evil, something you have to think hard about. I highlight things like human trafficking, murder, starvation... things we already know are morally incorrect and I just try to remind the viewer to remember they should be outraged."

"So it's like a visual conscience?"

"That's a pretty good description. Not all my work, mind you. Some of my stuff is more narrative, convoluted and less straightforward, though. I like symbolism," Siggy smiled, "I sound like a prig and a self-important schmuck, sorry."

Adrianna laughed, "Don't be silly. You sound thoughtful... that's a good thing. Speaking of your art, how's the portrait going?"

Siggy perked up, "Really well. I've got all my components, now it's just a matter of assembly," he searched his phone and handed it to Adrianna, "Take a look, here are the main parts. I'm doing a diptych, a metaphorical one called The Evolution of the Devil."

Adrianna scrolled through the images, her eyes widened, "These faces are amazing! I thought you told me you weren't much of a representational painter. These are so... intense, wow."

Siggy lowered his head in embarrassment, he wasn't good at taking compliments. He answered shyly, "Thanks, I'm really pleased with the results and excited to lay out the rest of the narrative in the boxes."

"What is this medium? It's so dimensional?"

"Tattoo ink and acrylic on leather. I've never done anything like this."

"Trust me Siggy, it's powerful. I love it so far and I don't doubt it'll be even more so when it's complete."

"That means a lot, thank you," he changed the subject, "did I mention they picked up my other pieces to take to New York?"

"You are on your way." Adrianna smiled, "Don't forget me when you're rich and famous."

"That could never happen," Siggy said softly, "anyway they might hate my stuff up north."

Adrianna leaned across the table and cupped Siggy's hands in her own. She looked deeply into his eyes and smiled, "If they don't love it, they're just plain stupid... even for Yankees."

Siggy returned her gaze. Life is good, he thought.