by A. N. Yard
“Did you figure out who took it?”
“No, I mean it’s rat poison. Who would take that but someone who wanted to get rid of some rats.”
“Do you know that Monsieur Toole’s lions were poisoned with it?’
Going pale at the information, Dr. Cobbs said “No I did not.
“Does Mr. Toole have some enemies that you know of?” asked Eric.
“None that I know of. I heard Monsieur Carole calling him names and saying that he was not really a man,” said Dr. Cobbs.
“What does that mean?” asked Eric.
“Monsieur Carole used some derogatory phrases when describing Mr. Toole.”
Words like what?” said Eric getting annoyed with having to constantly get Dr. Cobbs to finish his sentences.
“Words like faggot and queer,” said Dr. Cobbs.
Watching him, Eric wondered if the red blush that covered his face as he was saying the words were an indication that he had used them himself.
Eric remembered when he first met with Mr. Toole and how he thought that there was something about him. He wondered if he had been recognizing someone from his own tribe standing in front of him.
Eric left Mr. Cobbs and went to the ticket booth to get tickets for tonight circus performances. He needed to see again their performances maybe it will help him figure out if Monsieur Carole did poison the lions and if did how he manage to shoot poisoned darts without anyone seeing it.
Eric sat in the darken tent staring as Mr. Toole lions jump through hoops again and roared.
Eric eyes surveyed the arena. His eyes moved through the many rolls of seats trying to seek out anything that will give him a clue as how the lions were poisoned. Eric’s eyes skimmed the arena where Monsieur Toole was and Eric bent forward his elbows on his knees and he saw a curtains on the right move. It was Monsieur Carole he was staring at Mr. Toole as he performed with his lions. Eric looked to the left of the arena and nothing. Eric’s eyes were drawn back to Monsieur. Carole and he noticed how he looked at Monsieur Toole. His face was twisted and he stared at Monsieur Toole with hate. His eyes were darken and blazed with contempt.
Eric had a sinking feeling in his stomach and watched as Monsieur Carole turned his body so he was positioned behind Monsieur’s Toole’s back and he started coughing. Eric had a thought and rushed out of his seat stumbling over the other patrons. As he got to the end of the row, he hurried down to the arena. “Monsieur Toole,” yelled Eric tackling Monsieur Carole to the ground. The blow dart gun fell out of his hand and on to the ground.
Eric turned Monsieur Carole around so that he could get his hands around his back.
“Let me go,” shouted Monsieur Carole.
Security ran up and Eric told them to call the police.
After Monsieur was arrested, Eric went to talk to Monsieur Toole. He told him that Monsieur Carole hated him.
“But why?” asked Monsieur Toole.
“In general as he put it he hates fags. He said Evelyn Bramble told him she had a crush on you, but you told her that you weren’t interested.
“And based on that I am gay,” said Monsieur Toole.
“In Monsieur Carole’s mind yes. I guess he took it as an insult to his girlfriend.” Eric stared at Monsieur Toole and said, “Are you gay?’
Monsieur Toole looked at Eric for a moment before he said, “What I prefer is mine privacy.”
Eric nodded his head, “Monsieur Carole used poisonous darts that can dissolve in the skin. So it was easy for Monsieur Carole to just do his coughing and poison the lions,”
Monsieur Toole asked, “Is Madame Bramble part of it?”
“She knew what he has done. I remember when she was talking to Monsieur Carole in front to me. I thought maybe she said, “your cough is bad today, but what she said you are cough is giving you away,” said Eric. “I wondered what that meant and when I saw Monsieur Carole cough while staring at you with such hatred I knew he done it.”
Later on that night Eric was watching as snowflakes fell from the sky once again and remembered about what his uncle said to him once, “Why don’t you stay in the closet?”
For Eric he did not see any point and he thought about Detective Steele and realized he had to move on. Whatever he was seeing, he didn’t want it, and he had to respect that, thought Eric walking over to pick up a copy of the biography of Henry James and settling down for a night of reading.