Murder on Euripides

by Scott A. Combs

  “Oh—I see.” She left with a swish of shapely hips and headtails.

  “Don’t mind Monique,” said Bartleby. “She’s a good egg. With all the ambassadors on board she’s gotten many unusual requests lately. The least of them is to make a drink by hand.”

  “I hope I’m not too much bother.” Sir Giles watched Monique returning with a silver cart laden with all the necessary items to properly mix a fine drink. Monique’s breasts bobbed up and down as she sauntered to their table between all the other patrons milling about. Sir Giles ogled the fine figure of Monique. Under his breath he mumbled, “If only I were a younger man.”

  Bartleby heard him. “Don’t we all wish. She’s a real beauty. But unfortunately she’s taken.”

  “He must be a very lucky man,” commented Sir Giles.

  “Well, thank you.” Bartleby grinned mischievously. “I like to think of myself as being lucky.”

  Sir Giles chuckled. “I commend you Bartleby. Any man would be blessed with a mate of such a choice. Very lucky indeed. But I hope your luck in cards is not with you tonight.”

  “Don’t count on it Sir Giles. The table always has the advantage.”

  Monique began to assemble the gin and tonic in the proper order. To the Terran’s amazement, she actually watched her chronometer to time the gin soaking up the coolness of the ice cubes before expertly twisting the lime slice. Again he was amazed that she took it upon herself to swizzle the gin and lime a few stirs before spritzing the tonic. She watched Sir Giles intently as she administered the tonic and when Sir Giles nodded she stopped pouring. “There you go, Sir Giles.” She handed him the Delmonico glass. When he held the glass up, Monique dropped the spent lime on top and plunged the swizzle stick in. “You finish the drink the way you like it.” Sir Giles twirled the stick for just a second and handed it back to her. She smiled.

  He took a sip; closed his eyes and remembered a long time ago on a distant blue-green planet called Terra an evening filled with gin and tonics and the company of a fine young lady. He hmmed. “Excellent. That takes me back a few years.”

  Monique pushed the cart to the side of the baccarat table. “I’ll leave everything right here. Have Bartleby queue me when you want more. I’m pleased to mix another.”

  “Thank you very kindly, lovely lady.” Sir Giles saluted her with his glass. “I’m sure I’ll need another very soon.” She left with both of the boys watching intently. Sir Giles sipped again and placed the glass in a drink holder built into the table. “Now Bartleby, let’s have a look at the decks before we match our skills against Goddess Fortuna.”

  Bartleby took his pallet and scooped up the whole stack of shuffled decks and placed them in front of Sir Giles. With nimble fingers, Sir Giles slid the first card and rubbed it between his index finger and thumb. Then he inspected them closely looking for any telltale scuffing or marks.

  “A cautious gambler,” remarked Bartleby. “If you feel there is any need, I can have the decks replaced.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.” Sir Giles returned the card to the deck. “I would like it reshuffled though.”

  “Not a problem.” Bartleby placed the stack of cards into a shuffler and waited for them to be thoroughly mixed. Just for good measure, Bartleby repeated the step and the deck went to the holder. “Are we ready?”

  “Just about,” said Sir Giles. “Do you mind burning the first three cards?”

  Bartleby raised his right eyebrow again. Then he smiled. “A very cautious gambler indeed.” He slipped three cards from the deck and placed them one at a time into the waste card holder. “Now we play?”

  “Now.”

  “Place your bet.”

  Sir Giles had forgotten one very important thing: currency. He patted his pockets and then looked very embarrassed. “It appears I lack the appropriate funds. I’m totally, flat broke.”

  Just then a tentacle slid around Sir Giles’ shoulders while another tentacle laid a vial of U238 pellets on the table. “I’ll bank Sir Giles the necessary money.”

  Sir Giles recognized the tentacles. “Nobleflim Glounce.” He turned to greet the Flimian and found Ambassador Pi was accompanying him. “Ambassador,” he said indicating Pi. “I seem to be light and welcome a little cash infusion. Let’s say, if I lose I owe you everything I lost and if I win, we split the proceeds?”

  “Very amicable. I can’t lose,” remarked Glounce. “I know little of the gambling tables of the Terran System. Baccarat is lost on my feeble understanding. What do you say, Pi? Should we trust Sir Giles with my money?”

  Pi fidgeted. “You have plenty to lose after our card game tonight.” Pi lifted his vial out and frowned at its near emptiness. “I have none to offer.”

  “Cheer up my friend,” said Glounce slithering another of his tentacles around Pi in a warm gesture of friendship. “I’ll split whatever Sir Giles wins for me with you. That can’t hurt now can it?”

  Pi perked up and extended his blue eyestalks. “Yes. Very satisfactory. I’ll be an enthusiastic supporter for Sir Giles’ good luck.”

  * * *

  THE MOONLIGHT DECK—usually crowded—was devoid of any passengers partaking the cosmic views. Roderick had done his job by pulling a few strings to have it closed for maintenance. At the entrance stood Smythe holding a chocolate flavored bouquet of flowers hoping that they weren’t prone to melting. His palms were sweaty. Sir Giles made it plain—as had Roderick—that he was to be waiting for Nanette and what he hoped would be their official first date. He checked his uniform of white shorts and shirt for stains from the flowers. His shiny black shoes had a scuff mark on the toe and he rubbed it with the back of his leg until it disappeared. As a last effort, he scrutinized his reflection in the glass of the door and straightened his cap. Then he noticed a new face in the reflection of the glass. He turned.

  “Miss Nanette.” His voice cracked nervously.

  “Mister Smythe,” she returned. “You’ve pressed your uniform?”

  “I did.” She looked at the flowers and then at him. He looked at her, drawn to the Culotte knit dress which clung to curves usually hidden by a military uniform. She stood just a little shorter than his eye level but he knew her shortness was not a sign of any weakness. After an awkward moment he cleared his throat and handed her the flowers.

  “For me?” She took them and twirled them around to get a good look. “Very—different. Is that the smell of chocolate I detect?”

  “It is. The florist said women can’t resist chocolate, especially chocolate flavored flowers. Do you like them?”

  “I’ve never had flowers before.” She sniffed the bouquet and pulled back with a little smear on the end of her nose. Smythe reached over with a finger and removed the smear.

  “Open up,” he said aiming his finger toward her mouth. She raised an eyebrow. “Really. They’re edible I’m told.” She opened her mouth apprehensively and he swiped the chocolate smear on her tongue. “How is it?”

  “Um . . . not bad considering I’ve never eaten flowers before.”

  “I thought we could take a walk.” He opened the door for her. “I don’t know how Roderick does it, but we have the whole Moonlight Deck to ourselves.”

  She went in and waited for him to close the door and seal it shut. “I was told—emphatically I might add—by Roderick that if we wanted a little privacy I was to lock us in.”

  “Who are we to argue with the all-knowing Roderick? I swear my grandfather and this fellow are as thick as thieves.”

  He chuckled. “They both know how to manipulate a situation. Shall we?” He indicated forward motion. She moved ahead. While Smythe wasn’t looking she pulled her neckline down more to allow a better view of any existing cleavage. He matched her stride and they walked on in silence, both nervous. After a while Smythe braved moving in closer and found her empty hand. To his amazement, he wasn’t twisted into a pretzel or bleeding for his boldness.

  “Are my hands rough?”

  “No,” he respond
ed. He raised her hand for a closer view. “Not rough.” She squeezed him a bit. He winced. “Strong.”

  She smiled. “I’ll try not to hurt you with them then.”

  They walked on admiring the stars. The overhead viewport shimmered and another glorious cosmic spectacle was revealed. This time a gaseous glowing cloud; the next a multi-ringed cluster of planets; the next another wonder of the universe. Streaks of light whizzed past them as they watched a series of comets trail overhead. The Galactic Guild’s Territory was immensely diverse.

  Finally Smythe stopped and looked her in the eyes. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “So soon into our first date?” He looked abashed. “Of course. Ask away.” She smiled to show it had been meant as light-hearted chitchat.

  “I didn’t think SLASP agents had personal lives. Especially ones that involved common people.”

  “So why am I having this date with you?”

  He nodded. “Obviously not normal.”

  “I suppose it isn’t. I can’t tell you why I relented. Actually, that’s not entirely true.” She paused. “It’s embarrassing really. It’s a secret.”

  “I won’t tell a soul.” He crossed his heart.

  “You won’t laugh at me?”

  “I’ll tell you something a bit embarrassing about me first. Then you can laugh at me before I hear your true confession.”

  “That sounds fair enough. I can hear your damning secret and then chicken out telling you mine.” She winked at him.

  He cleared his throat. “Here goes—” But nothing came out of his mouth. She waited patiently for him to open up to her. Finally he gained enough courage and said, “I’m a virgin.”

  She snickered and hid it by coughing. After a moment of intense silence she said, “Really?”

  “It’s true. Never had sex in my life. Oh, there were times when I was close but something stopped me from taking the plunge. Is that bad?”

  “No, I don’t think there are many of you out there. It’s rather old-fashioned to say the least. Sex seems to be everywhere. How did you go so long without indulging? That is if you don’t mind answering?”

  Now that his secret was out he didn’t mind talking about it. “I just felt like I never met the right woman. What’s the point of having sex if you don’t feel that special something for someone?”

  “What happens if you never meet that special someone? Are you willing to be celibate for the rest of your life?”

  “I never said I didn’t meet that special someone.” And he grinned at her with a gleam in his eye. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Nervously she looked down at the bouquet. In a moment of indecision about spilling her secrets about how she felt about him, she bit one of the flowers and swallowed the chocolate bud. “I could eat the bunch.” She handed him the bouquet. “Want to try?”

  He shook his head and waited for her to fulfill her end of the bargain. “You’re waiting patiently aren’t you?” she asked sheepishly. “Well . . . um . . . ” She burped in a most unladylike manner. Then she doubled over and dropped the bouquet of flowers. Her arms cradled her stomach reflexively.

  “What is it? Are you ill?” he asked bending down to hold back auburn hair.

  She nodded, wincing in pain. “My secret—” She restrained regurgitating but a long burp erupted. “I want—” The cramps debilitated her and she went down on one knee. “—to be sick—” And that was all her stomach needed to suggest to it to heave her guts up all over Smythe and his smartly pressed uniform and scuffless shoes.

  * * *

  BARTLEBY TAPPED HIS EARPIECE COMM and responded, “Copy that.” He then reached for a console on his side of the table and pressed a button. The floor under the baccarat table where Pi was standing began to shift away. “Oh, I’m sorry Ambassador Pi. I didn’t realize you were standing so close to Ambassador’s Bobbafeather’s usual perch. Pi snorted and shuffled back while the floor gave way and a padded t-bar perch rose to tabletop level. Sir Giles smiled at Pi’s apparent displeasure. Glounce made a rude noise that burbled from his ingestion tube at the mention of Ambassador Bobbafeather. Then Ambassador Bobbafeather flew in and ungracefully landed on the t-bar nearly overshooting his approach.

  The fat little alien reeked of alcohol and millet and looked very much like a common park pigeon. His head bobbed and wobbled as he cooed a slurred greeting. “Evening everyone.”

  Glounce rolled his many eyes. “Bobbafeather! Isn’t it well past your bedtime? And have you been drinking again?”

  The beady eyes darkened and tried to focus on the speaker. “Well—yes to both questions.”

  Sir Giles thought the odd looking alien was one of the strangest creatures he’d ever encountered. It perched on two legs with four toes on each talon covered in scaly rough skin. Further up, its body bore grey and dappled feathers. His neck had a ring of darker feathers and the avian face was pudgy with a tapering hooked beak. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” spoke Sir Giles. “Nobleflim Glounce, will you do the honors?”

  Glounce looked put out but relented and one of his tentacles rose and pointed to Bobbafeather. “This feathered-flying-nuisance of a friend is one of my committee members on the Board of Galactic Guild Planning; Ambassador Bobbafeather from Columbidea.”

  Bobbafeather bobbed his head and hiccuped. His cheek feathers ruffled all the way up to the top of his head. “Call me Bobba, please.” His head extended out on a very flexible neck while all his feathers fluffed, giving him a prehistoric look. Then he defecated, dropping his waste onto an insta-sanitizer tray mounted under him on the t-bar. His feathers resumed their normal sleek look.

  Glounce, overlooking the distasteful habit of Columbidean bodily functions, shifted his pointing tentacle to Sir Giles. “Bobba, this is the famous Terran detective, Sir Giles Thackery.”

  Bobba extended a wing to Sir Giles, his blood feathers bunched up for a handshake. “Nice to finally meet you.” Sir Giles shook the feather grouping and nodded. “I wondered when I’d get the chance.” He hiccuped again. “This business with a murderer on board has really ruffled my feathers.” He realized he made a joke and giggled. “But really, I need another drink. Bartleby, the good stuff please.”

  “Should you Noblebeing Bobba?” asked Bartleby. “I’ve been told you’ve had more than you usually partake.”

  “Nonsense!” roared Bobba. “I’m honoring our late friend, Toesle. Certainly we should give her a proper farewell salute? Isn’t that right, Sir Giles?” Bobba gave Sir Giles the stink-eye. “I heard you were present when she died, unable to stop the murderer?”

  “Yes.” The aggressive look on the Columbidean face did not go unnoticed by the sleuth. “It was most disturbing, her being taken from us.”

  “Then,” began Bobba, “I suggest we give her our fondest send off with a festive drink. You too Glounce and Pi. Will you drink to our loss?”

  “If you insist,” responded Glounce. Pi nodded approval. Monique was called and arrived with a dusty bottle of Dom Pérignon 2553. She held the bottle up to Bobba who bobbed acceptance. The cork popped emitting a cloudy vapor and the smell of mellow grapes filled their nostrils. Flutes were distributed to each and she placed the mostly empty bottle in a hammered copper ice bucket.

  Bobba raised his flute in a talon as far as he could considering the delicate balance needed on the t-bar. The rest of them chinked their flutes to his. “To a vain and beautiful Podiatron, Toesle; may her toes forever shine among the stars.”

  “Here, here!” they all roared and then drank deeply.

  “I will miss her incessant fussing.” Bobba drained his flute. “There, now we can get down to playing cards. Anyone up for a competition?”

  Glounce shook his head. “I’m not worthy of being much of a baccarat player and neither is Pi. That is if Pi doesn’t mind me speaking for him?” He looked at Pi who agreed. “But Sir Giles seems to know the game very well.”

  Sir Giles shrugged and gave a wry smile. “What
manner of competition are you suggesting?”

  Bobba hiccuped, clearing the bubbles from his beak. “We Columbideans are fierce competitors; rabble-rousers really. I think we should play baccarat, me being the Banker and you being the Player. Bartleby can deal the cards and hold our wagers. To make it more interesting I suggest no table limits.”

  Sir Giles’ eyebrows rose. “I came unprepared tonight for a card duel. Besides, Nobleflim Glounce would have to agree to the stakes since he is backing my financial efforts.”

  Glounce put up a couple of his tentacles to mask his whispering voice as he bent down close to Sir Giles’ ear. “Don’t underestimate Bobba. He drinks like a fish, but never gets drunk. He’s a real card shark. Do you want to risk losing a fortune to this pompous flying rat?” Sir Giles measured up Bobba who had the appearance of being soused. He didn’t like the gibe that Bobba made about him not stopping Toesle’s murder. He nodded. He would put the avian alien in his place.

  “We agree,” said Glounce. “No table limits. Bartleby mark the funds and verify their authenticity.”

  Bartleby reached over and took Glounce’s vial, then received a similar vial from Bobba that must have been tucked under a wing. Bartleby then counted the pellets and inspected them. “Ambassador Glounce has forty pure solar standard U238s while Ambassador Bobbafeather only has thirty eight pure solar standard U238 pellets. For this competition to be equal I will remove two from Ambassador Glounce’s vial before dealing. Is that acceptable?”

  Glounce nodded and so did Bobba.

  Pi clapped. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

  * * *

  MANY HANDS OF BACCARAT went equally between the two players for the first hour. Back and forth the betting never gained much for either’s advantage. Sir Giles felt that the Columbidean knew the game very well, maybe as well as he did. But as they played, Sir Giles counted the cards and knew the hand that would yield him big winnings was due to surface. The time was right to go big or go home. So he told Bartleby to burn a card to break the shuffle. “Wagers please.” Then Bartleby drew from the deck and held it face down.