Authors: Draven Madpen
“Look at this! I read it but
couldn’t believe it!” Ellington juts a piece of paper toward me. By the looks
of the sheet, he’s printed a news article off the internet. The headline reads…
oh my god! They’ve already released this?
Local litigator found dead – two
more corpses discovered nearby.
Wait, two more
discovered?!
Who
else!
“Fairfield what is this? Two
mo—“
“I bet his own ruffians took
him out after all his botcheries!” he cackles.
Still maintaining a serious
façade I reach out and grab Ellington by the collar almost instinctively. The
next thing I know I’ve got Ellington pulled right up to my face. My voice is a
harsh, threatening tone.
“Fairfield! Did you handle the
deed last night?”
He makes no attempt to free
himself. He hardly seems perturbed at all. In fact he’s laughing at me. He’s
laughing at me right in my face. I see his mouth opening wide, so wide I’m able
to count every one of his gold, decaying teeth. Didn’t dentist do away with
that years ago? Maybe he’s a reject of the rap fad and thought they were
stylish.
“Johnny! Don’t worry about
it,” he says between guffaws. “I handled it just like you said. Not a single
hitch! The hitman is probably coming to right about now, haha! But guess what I
did! Haha!”
My grip loosens, allowing
Ellington to upright himself, still laughing.
“Fairfield…” I say, but he’s
hardly listening. “Fairfield… What did you do?” The headline detailing
two
more bodies
has my interest piqued.
“Well you see Jericho. I mean,
I did what ya asked. I peppered the hitman’s drink just like you wanted. And he
went right to sleep, you know?”
“I don’t know, but you can
tell me!” I say bitterly.
“Yeah, I will. He goes to
sleep and I did like you said, I drug him out into the back alley. And I was
about to toss him into the dumpster, like you wanted. But I don’t know what
came over me.”
He pauses.
“What
did
come over
you, Ellington?”
“I, uh, well,” he’s
stuttering, buying time. “I didn’t like all the racist shit they were, him and
Cromwell you know, were doing. Something came over me. Just a hatred I guess,
you know? Anyway, so I guess I sort of… kind of… well basically I started
pummeling him as he was unconscious. I beat his head around a bit. And just,
well I don’t know why, something came over me…”
“Yes, what else?” I demand.
“Well I did some like uh… you
know, what they do to men in prison, that kind of thing.”
“What do you mean like they do
in prisons?”
“You know, the deviant stuff.”
“What the fu—“ I’m stunned by
his admission. I don’t even know where to begin. It’s an unredeemable
conversation… “And then?”
“Well not much. I tossed him
into the dumpster and went home. Nobody saw me, I’m sure of that.”
“Okay, you didn’t kill him did
you?”
“No of course not! He was
still breathing and whatnot. I didn’t hurt him that badly.”
I think it’s better to move on…
at least he did his end of the job. I can count myself lucky, luckier than
Ducard at any rate. Ellington’s massive hands have held onto me before, I know
the strength in them. The thought causes me to shudder.
“Now Ellington,” I say,
extending a hand outward, “did you notice anything
peculiar
about Mr.
Cromwell?”
“Peculiar? Haha! Like what?
The man was a racist scumbag out for my blood! Isn’t that peculiar enough?”
“No, no. I mean…
Peculiar.
In a social sense, perhaps?”
“Social peculiarities, huh?
Hmm, not that I noticed. Aside from consorting with white supremacists!”
Ellington chuckles and chuckles and chuckles.
How could this fool not know?
Wasn’t he stalking Wilmer for Christ’s sake! Well, he didn’t even seem to know
about the Asian man. Perhaps he’s not the first rate snooper I assumed. There’s
nothing more I can gain from Ellington at this point. Somehow between the
chuckles, I manage to tell him to keep quiet, to say nothing about our doings
to anyone, ever. He agrees through the intermittent laughs, shortly thereafter
leaves the office, still in hysterics. Ellington must have heard quite a good
joke.
39
Several days have passed since
the murder of Wilmer Cromwell. I haven’t been accosted by the pesky detective
since the first encounter. You might say that means I’m off the suspect list. A
real bonus – even though I knew as much would happen. My plan was flawless,
after all.
Percy Sullivan returned
immediately when news of the death reached him. He magnanimously gave me the
rest of the week off. So here I sit at home, snuggled in my comfy chair,
reading the evening paper. I’ve been waiting all week for this moment. The
release of Cromwell’s murder details. Police reports came out this afternoon.
And the headline delights me immensely. It reads: LIONEL DUCARD SUSPECTED OF
MURDER-SUICIDE OF EMINENT LAWYER WILMER CROMWELL AND LOVER.
Lover?
What? This part throws me for a loop. I do a double take on the
paper. Yet, there it is in black and white. I’m in for a real doozey with this
article… I wonder what other fantasy the blundering police have come up with –
if they think Ducard killed Wilmer AND a lover, hah. Wait… murder-suicide?
Ducard is dead?! Did Ellington really give him that big of a thrashing? He’s
dead?! The fool! Jesus christ, my life is over. This whole thing is going to
come apart at the seams. Ellington will spill the beans. He’s far too weak and stupid
to hold his tongue. G-D-it! I’m a duncepot! I’ll be in prison within the hour…
Well, at least I can read this article in the meantime. Let’s see what I’ll be
accused of.
The first portion of the text
refers to Lionel Ducard, mentioning his past convictions and rather recent
release date. Enrolled in the help-a-con program… blah blah. Who cares, when do
I come in! Here they mention Ducard’s past involvement with Wilmer. Their brief
court in case those years ago when Cromwell helped put him behind bars. Eyewitnesses
place Lionel Ducard at a local bar on the night in question, heavily
intoxicated and appearing as belligerent as always. Well, this sounds promising
so far.
Woah, what’s this? Apparently
Ducard was jumped outside the bar and given a hefty beatdown (I guess they
don’t know this is Ellington’s doing), with elements of sodomy suspected! It is
believed a known member of the gay rights activist group was involved in the
assault. Here the police are at a loss for both the reason and the following events.
What they know is a slightly bloodstained, typed paper with information
regarding Mr. Cromwell’s whereabouts and schedule was found on the body of Mr.
Ducard. The article asserts the assaulters mistakenly dropped this during the
savage beating of Mr. Ducard – at which point, after waking, Lionel discovered
the paper and recognizing the name, tracked down Wilmer at his house some time
during the night.
This is where it gets really
crazy. Evidently Wilmer was home with a secret lover of his, a Mr. Wong.
Wong!
The Asian man! It’s beginning to all make sense now… I recall hearing the knock
on Cromwell’s door as I was leaving. Police mention a rear window being smashed
in as the point of entry. His watch had been found lying nearby! What a stroke
of luck! They did find it! But that doesn’t explain how every one died… Let’s
keep on reading… Ducard supposedly broke in the back window and surprised
Wilmer and his lover. At this moment a scuffle broke out in the home, spreading
across several rooms, leaving a trail of gore and debris. Ducard gains the
upper hand – he dispatches of Mr. Wong with a kitchen knife. Wilmer apparently
put up a bit more struggle, as evidenced by the defensive wounds, but sadly, he
too was overtaken by the madman – falling victim to his own blade.
Well, that’s two down. Now how
did Ducard bite the dust?
It is suspected while in his
intoxicated, rage filled, and now thirsty state, that Ducard rummaged through
the fridge and cupboards hoping to find another beverage to sate his thirst. A double
homicide would leave you a bit parched I suppose. He stumbled across the muscle
shake containers – and most likely being attracted by the brightly designed
labels, decided to mix himself up a batch. This was his downfall. As it is
believed Mr. Ducard drank roughly one gallon of water along with heaps and
heaps of the substance. He most likely suffered from an unfortunate allergic
reaction from the powdered shakes. Hah! Yeah, that’s rich. An allergic
reaction! This is pure speculation on the part of the police, but roughly 99.9%
confirmed. However, due to budget cuts no toxicology report can be issued.
Thank god for government! Mr. Ducard’s body was found crumpled on the floor of
Mr. Cromwell’s kitchen – the bodies of the two other men only feet beside him.
Dear god! It’s… it’s a
masterpiece! The perfect murder! And thanks to the shoddily run government,
there won’t be any future reports! They’ve no money to examine the bodies
further, muhuhaha! Ellington, you damn genius. What a foolhardy move he pulled.
And yet, it has served me wonderfully. Well, perhaps the Asian man didn’t need
to take a knife to the gut, but casualties of war are to be expected.
I’m off scot-free! And as an
added bonus, you wouldn’t believe it! Another incredible turn of events. One
I’m actually happy to see. Apparently this has caused quite a stir in the
community. The old biddies are concerned for their safety. Old bags and
worrying mothers the city over are rallying behind a cause to revoke the
release-a-con program! Terrific! Yes, blame those filthy degenerates. These
vile scheming rodents who plague society to no end! The square nosed, tattooed,
alcoholic and morally depraved scumbags must be stopped! I have never seen a
more iniquitous or perverted man than Lionel Ducard. And I’m sure the thousands
like him are no better! Lock up the odious miscreants and throw away the key!
Imprisonment! Execution! Whatever it takes! Dispose of the rotten, shameful,
villainous rabble!
AFTERMATH
A man plots to murder his boss
one day… the reason is completely absurd. A clanking glass bowl? The story is
so unbelievable that no true crime collection will include it in their pages.
The murderer cackles gleefully to himself…
The beautiful Natasha is
walking down the hall. Her hair is flowing freely, as if being blown by a
heavenly breeze. She’s wearing a blood red blouse and short black skirt. It’s
exhilarating. Intoxicating. Besotting. I assume she will continue walking by,
ignoring me completely as always… but that’s not what happens.
She does something entirely
uncharacteristic. Natasha stops. Not only that, but she stares me straight in
the eye – like a tiger observing its prey. There’s a condemning look on her
face as if she knows what I’ve done. Yet, I’m certain she couldn’t possibly. My
tracks are covered. There is no trail. Perhaps she suspects? Oh well, it
doesn’t matter now. All the players have been taken care of. Death befell all
those who deserved its final judgment.
As far as the goon squad goes?
Well, Ellington Fairfield hasn’t breathed a word about our adventure to anyone.
And I’m sure it will remain as such. He is a new man. With Wilmer out of the
picture the ol’ paranoid nut has nothing to fear anymore. Except for Percy
Sullivan’s new partner… that’s for another story.
Fatheaded water jug man, Todd
Storton, completely forgot about the errand I had him run. The beautiful but
vapid Georgia has effectively erased his memory (what little he had to begin
with). This was a most unseen, yet fortuitous event. I couldn’t have planned it
any better.
Percy Sullivan informed me
he’d be taking on a new partner – some new guy coming in tomorrow. I met him
once, nothing to rave about… This means my position will be evaluated and the
decision of whether to keep me on or not lies solely in their unscrupulous
hands. I couldn’t care less at this point. I’ve committed the perfect murder.
Nothing can bring me down off this high. Go ahead and try. But be careful, you
might just end up being my next victim!
Sexkitten69 sends me a
message. She’s requesting a game. I accept, lean back in my chair and begin to
play. A perfect day. My opponent sends out another a message. However, before I
am able to read her comment… a strange thing happens. I hear a noise.
Clip-Click.
Clip-Clack. Clip-Click.
It’s a sharp, piercing, and
continuous sound. Like daggers being stabbed into my ears.
Clip-clack. Clip-click.
My head throbs from the pain.
The desk and room become blurry. I can’t even see the monitor screen any
longer. Not again… What is this infernal racket! Where is it coming from!
A flash of motion catches my
attention. I throw my glance upwards – and what I see makes no sense. It is
merely Natasha sashaying her way through the hall. The hellish sound seems to
coincide with her footsteps. Each time her foot lands, there is a distinct
Clip! and when the next foot hits the floor I hear a Click! or a Clack! She
passes by the office door, as I unknowingly shift my gaze to her feet. There’s
a pair of red high heeled shoes on them.
Clip-clack. Clip-click.
The
End…