This is an excerpt from a short story where a detective has been chasing a criminal mastermind for years with no real evidence, but a gut-feeling that Mortimer Lantana is playing games, always one-step ahead, until now. The detective has cornered the mastermind and for once is winning the battles of will – or so he thinks. A crime that is committed in plain sight and in the most public of scenes is the hardest to solve. Mortimer is the flaneur of every soirée, the comedian at every event, who mingles congenially smiling and observing the ones who are worth knowing and the ones who are not – well in his opinion.
The party guests have disbursed and leave the trail of their hedonism in their path, the world is quiet outside, but the noise is deafening in the detective’s mind, the clues and failures all start to slot into place and he confronts the one who always haunted the loudest and outrageously scandalous parties, never alone but always distant, plotting his next move in plain sight.
The party to end all parties…
The street lights stand tall and bold in the night sky, steam from the restaurant bar chokes from the chimney and entwine with the pollution of the world they inhabit. Lies and destruction trap every individual in this town; every smile forced and distorted.
A bar with upturned stools lay unattended and lifeless. A dim, spinning fan humming neurotically above the two men inside, a hostile energy is being emitted from both parties.
“I know you did it!” an inspector; middle aged and tired occupied one of the stools.
He slams his purple, bruised knuckles melodramatically on the red stained bar top. The wrinkles of age and alcoholism seeps out of his pores with every breath he takes. Another day he ages and his melted, wax skin; like a figurine left in the sun after a child has become bored of such commodity, droops. Another man, deceivingly young with the kindness of youth and charm mummifying his skin. He smiles, tapping his chiselled finger nails to the red, exhausted surface of the bar.
“I shall tell what you want to hear – inspector – only…” he takes a breath like a lie bubbling, but it stops.
For once the truth; pure honesty blossoms in a hellish, dismal environment of lies. An actual truth…no lie.
The inspector’s eyes gleam with hope, that one last piece of a jigsaw, the years of heartache and damage inflicted on his life, he will finally have that self satisfaction that he was right.
“Go on, I must know how you murdered those party guests?” A thick slur of unintelligence and anxiety quivers from his lips.
The other man whose face contorts into something those great artists, who are framed so delicately in art galleries, would fear to paint. With purple and green hues painting his skin, the faint line of stubble. His lips part. The words he speaks next curl around his lie stained teeth and melt away from his venomous tongue.
“First have a drink” the man’s lips close again, like cast iron gates, banning any man who dares enter. Secrets were something the Lantana family construct their reputation upon, the highest bidder wins.
Another genetic charm was their ability to manipulate ones weakness and crush them slowly. With every sharp intake of breath another squeeze on their prey. Some fear them and quite rightly as they bear the coat of arms of snakes and deadly flowers, Lantana is an unusual family name, feared by many. Those who decide to interfere in Lantana affairs tend to be greeted with a flower. Just one and that’s enough. Lantana is a deadly, poisonous flower – the family dedicated decades to perfecting poisons which held this flower. They found the most effective way to administer this was in a small amount, frozen in order to do the most harm and leave no trace.
The green eyes of jealousy infuse every bone, every nerve ending of Mortimer Lantana as he shakes the bottle of unrecognisable liquid. Beads of sweat melt off the inspector’s pale skin, as every drop of life blood begins to deliquesce. He nods. He cannot deny alcohol, anything to calm his nerves. A grunt of satisfaction escapes Mortimer’s dry, dismal lips. The humming of the fan begins to drum even louder, the traffic outside fades away so gently, quietly like nothing else in the world matter except answers to questions probably long forgotten to the world, the news, but not to the inspector. A man who lost his position in a well respected detective agency – one question – one tiny detail missed by everyone. Only one man knows the true answer; unfortunately the Lantana’s are not a sharing family.
“Before I start…” Mortimer claws his hand through his hair, his lips snarl with animalistic nature.
“Would you like ice with that?” A thick, haunting laugh returns to Mortimer’s face.
Again the inspector nods with all the might he can muster. A hanging picture of the Titanic dangles helplessly from behind the bar and catches both the inspector and host’s attention.
“It’s funny how such a small chunk of ice can bring down such a huge vessel” each word emphasised by Mortimer growing in height.
The reflection of this scene about to erupt crackles in the windows that encase the small bar. The juxtaposing characters that are opposite each other, one, cutting and venomous and the other weak and helpless feeding off Lantana’s every word, like a drug. The humming of the fan continues louder and roaring in the inspector’s ears. Ice one by one drowns in the still unrecognisable liquor, stale, unforgiving. The liquor smiles at the inspector as the snake of a man slides it viscously over to him. The inspector’s nerves emulate in his manner of aggression to the glass. A tight and tired grip snatches the glass, his tongue fighting for dominance of the liquor. His breath hitching as the liquor is drowned without a second thought in his aching desire for answers and knowledge. He looks down at the empty glass – the eerie silence, except the drumming of the fan. Mortimer smiles knowingly.
The ice had dissolved.
That missing piece of jigsaw scratches into place like the Titanic hitting that minuscule bit of solid cold water. So much damage from something so trivial.
Scarlet stains the inspectors collar…his breath tightens. Another squeeze, another chocking second passes.
“The ice? The poison is in the ice?!” The inspector stands lifelessly. He locks eyes with the snake and his purple, sausage-like fingers extends as far as he can. Lantana acknowledges him and shakes his hand.
“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, sir.” Mortimer’s voice drops to a whisper with his hand still firmly clasped around the inspector, his words are enough to chill “I have to admit. You were always so close, yet blinded by your failure to break the rules.” A smile stretches like a monster.
Finally, the jigsaw interlocks as the world around the inspector becomes slow, dark. He falters in stature, crumbles so bitterly to the icy floor of regret and shame that he was once again outwitted by a piece of ice. Mortimer stands over the inspector, his true form of strength revealed and casts a demonic shadow over the inspector. He whispers again to the inspector as he chokes and gasps on the floor.
“What they can’t see, can never hurt them.” A shrill laugh exploded so bitterly from deep inside Mortimer that a chorus of cats join into his screeching.
…
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