Gotilda Salamander's purple hair was spiked like the fanned crest of a displaying Guianan Cock-of-the-Rock. She had her share of body-piercings too: right ear, one delicate gold ring; left ear, one gold ring and two diamond studs; left eyebrow, a gold stud; nose, a small silver ring; and in her navel, a gold replica of a fish hook while her perfect left breast swelled beneath a colorful tattoo of a #6 Royal Coachman similar in style to the leaping rainbow trout that was the basis for the tramp stamp on the small of her back.
She was working sport gel into her hair and sipping a coffee and smoking a Marlboro Light and admiring the golden hair under her arms when her iPhone 3GS rang. The caller introduced himself as Inspektor Tonsoffun. He had some news for her that he thought would be best delivered in person and asked her to come to police headquarters in Hudiksvall ASAP.
Salamander said she'd be there when the mood struck her.
When she was finished spiking her hair and drinking her coffee, she cinched her black rivet belt above her black chinos, pulled on her mid-length black leather jacket over her tight black T-shirt with I MEET OR EXCEED EXPECTATIONS stretched across her breasts in large white type, and stepped out of her apartment at number 19 Iveforgatan. Three members of The Gavleborgs Motorcycle Club stood in a circle around her BMW S1000RR. The one with the most pimples rested his elbows on her motorcycle's saddle. "Well, if it isn't the freakiest fucking chick north of Stockholm," he said.
Salamander seemed to enjoy his comment and smiled her perfect smile. "Get off my bike, you fucking meatball."
"Meatball?" one of the other hoods laughed as he began to circle and taunt her. "What's that all about?"
"We're in Sweden, remember?" Salamander said, and dropped him with a knife hand blow to his temple. Before the second hood could react she blinded him with a two-finger strike to his eyes followed by a Moorup Cha Ki to his groin. She watched him collapse on top of his friend and continued to smile at the man leaning on her bike. "And now, how about a Dwi Cha Gi to your Adam's apple?"
"A what?" he said, just before she spun and kicked him in the throat with the heel of one of her heavy Doc Marten boots.