by Matt Troy
I flapped my hands in the air for a bit, but realised I was going to have to resort to words after all. "I need to talk to you. Without the others around and listening in."
Now Kate was definitely looking concerned. "It must be serious," she commented. "Shall we head out and grab a coffee while we're at it?"
My stomach chose that moment to remind me that it was now prepared to resume normal function, and I clutched at my middle as it seemed to suddenly collapse in on itself with a loud gurgling noise. "That could be good," I answered calmly, pretending that nothing had happened.
There was definitely a smile not far away from Kate's features, but she still managed to keep up the compassionate expression. "I guess we can grab something to eat too. Come on, I know just the place."
Taking a firm hold of my arm, lest I should suddenly realise I was effectively declaring my idiocy and want to run and hide from potential mockery, Kate propelled the two of us out of the door with the determined expression of someone who's been dealing with us screw-ups for far too long. Keeping up a brisk pace, Kate didn't so much as glance at me until she'd safely sat me down at a small table in the coffee house. Then she fixed me with a forbidding glare. "Stay," she commanded sternly and I meekly complied, too intimidated to point out that I was not a pet dog. I had the feeling she wouldn't believe me in any case.
Kate strode off to the counter and soon came back armed with two extremely large cappuccinos and the assurance that she'd ordered me some food which would be over shortly. Then she paused long enough for me to sprinkle a further helping of chocolate over my coffee before resting her elbows on the table and leaning forwards expectantly. "So, you needed someone to talk to," she remarked. "Is there any chance whatsoever that this isn't going to involve Callum Norrington?"
I blinked at her for a moment before sighing and shaking my head. "But I don't think the problem's exactly what you think it's going to be," I protested.
Kate processed this. "Oh. So you're not absolutely mad about the guy and are now concerned with how you can stop him commit a murder, which in your opinion, he isn't even going to do in the first place."
"No," I objected purely on habit. "Well, that is it. But only sort of. It's more complicated."
Another look from Kate caused me to subside into a small grumbling heap as she interlinked her fingers and watched me closely. "Blake," she said at last. "Do you have any proof that Callum isn't our suspect other than the fact that you seem to be striking up quite a friendship with him?"
I rallied at that point. "I have a theory," I claimed, stabbing a finger onto the table for emphasis. Kate raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and I leaned forwards. "Think about it, Callum does indeed seem to be the perfect suspect to us as outside observers, but why would the people around us think any differently? If someone wanted to murder William, they wouldn't need to worry too much about it as they've got the perfect victim to line up and frame for the crime. What cop is going to bother hunting down a murderer when they've got Callum right there and glowering?"
Chapter 3
Kate leaned back in her seat as she took a slow drink of coffee, obviously considering my idea. "It would explain the short length of the novel," Kate mused aloud. "But then we're back at the initial problem of finding the killer and attaching a motive before the deed actually takes place." She glanced at me as she replaced the coffee cup. "So what gives me the feeling that you're about to throw forward another suspect?"
I beamed at her, pleased that she seemed to at least be listening to my idea. "You know me too well," I complimented her. "The suspect occurred to me at exactly the same time as the framing plot."
We broke off our conversation then as two huge grilled sandwiches showed up at our table and I fell upon the food. While I shovelled the sandwiches into my mouth with rapid efficiency, Kate stared into the distance, no doubt ruminating further on the identity of the killer. Focusing back on me once my pace began to slow to something closer to acceptable table etiquette, Kate tugged thoughtfully on one of her long blonde braids. "You're going to have to help me out here, Blake. I'm still drawing a blank. We began by working on the assumption that William's killer would be someone close to him, but your theory could be used to point the finger of suspicion on just about anyone. We only have a limited knowledge of the people not directly connected to William, and even less idea about motives."
I took a swig of coffee to wash down the last of my sandwich and shook my head as I swallowed. "The motive bit is simple. Just looking at William is enough to tell you that he really is somebody without any skeletons in the closet. So aside from some dark secret in his past which is evil enough to cause homicidal rage, what's left for a motive? His money. And let's not forget the further sum he's in line to collect as Norrington's heir."
Kate looked at me for a moment in puzzlement. "Well, yes, but it's not like the money's going to be up for grabs." Her eyes widened for a moment as she suddenly realised what I was getting at. "You suspect Naomi?" she asked incredulously. "But she's the main character!"
I refused to budge from my standpoint. "And?" I asked. "Why does that give her immunity?"
"Blake, she's the one who's supposed to solve the murder," Kate explained with a note of exasperation. "How is she going to do that when she knows she's the culprit?"
"Because she's not going to solve the fucking murder!" I hissed, leaning forward and dropping my voice in case anyone was listening in. "All she's going to do is flounder about until she finds enough stuff to pin the crime on Callum, then she gets away scott free leaving him to serve the time." Another thought occurred to me and I leaned even further forwards to make it. "And keeping with the money theme, framing Callum makes even more sense. He's the only potential rival for that fortune; remember? She eliminates the competition and presents the police with an obvious suspect in one step!"
Kate still looked doubtful to say the least. "Aren't we getting a little complicated here for a throw-away trashy novel?" she enquired. "This is the sort of thing you read in airport lounges, not some great work of high literature. Why bother with some complicated narrative twist like that?"
I rocked back in my seat in frustration. "Will you stop thinking about it in terms of the bloody book for one minute!" I yelled, before realising our location and looking around at the other customers who had naturally turned to regard this impromptu piece of theatre. Turning back to Kate I gave a pointed glare that warned her to go along with whatever I said next. "Regardless of whether the elves are supposed to be at Helm's Deep or not, the Two Towers is still a fantastic film!" I continued loudly.
Kate looked torn between anger at my initial outburst and being impressed by my improvised saves, but decided to help me out this once anyway. "You start messing about with vital plot points of great works of literature like that and where does it end?" she demanded. "Murder novels with no victims?"
Touché, I thought admiringly. "It's more humane," I pointed out. "Plus you eliminate that whole element of voyeurism. Thwarting a crime is surely much more rewarding than solving one previously committed and provides just the same amount of tension."
"But then what genre would you class such a book in?" Kate asked me. "Can a crime novel be a crime novel when no crime is committed within its pages?"
"As long as some of the characters are aware that a crime will be committed, yes," I decided.
"Self-awareness of their genre perhaps? Aren't we getting a little post-modern here? And once again a little too clever for a piece of pulp fiction."
"Everything written these days are post-modern in some sense or the other," I responded. "When the style has no rules to follow, then there are no criteria to be met."
Satisfied that attention had successfully been turned away from us; we learned in towards one another again and continued our earlier discussion in lower voices. "Seriously Blake," Kate muttered. "Naomi? Have you seen how she acts around William?"
I shrugged. "Look, I never said she wasn't good at pulling th
e wool over everybody's eyes. After all, the Norringtons have probably encountered more than their fair share of gold-diggers in the past."
"Wouldn't she be going after Norrington Senior, then?" Kate continued, determined to get me admit defeat in some capacity. "I thought the whole point of gold-diggers was that they went after old men. And even if she was mainly interested in William's money, why not just stick with him? He's not exactly hard on the eyes."
I was not to be dissuaded here. "Maybe there's a pre-nup or something that only lets Naomi get everything if she outlives William. Or maybe she just doesn't want to take the chance of having him find out a few years down the line and leaving her divorced without a cent."
Kate looked at me for a long moment and then sighed, running her hands over her face. "Look Blake, for whatever reason you seem to have developed an attachment to Callum. It's only natural that you don't want to think of yourself as someone who falls for criminals on a regular basis."
I frowned at Kate. "I'm the only person who has spent any time around Callum at all. Regardless of what I think about him, why won't you admit that I am at least in a position to know a little more about his personality than the rest of you?"
Kate shrugged. "Okay, so it might not be a pre-meditated deal. Maybe he and William get into a fight over the inheritance or whatever and things get out of hand. Is an accidental death more believable to you than cold-blooded murder?"
"You're forgetting what little of the book we did read," I pointed out. "The blurb in particular stated that dark forces were plotting to bring down William. I don't think a spontaneous fist-fight is going to fall under that category."
"The book was also called 'The Killer Wore Black'," Kate reminded me. "And Naomi wears bright colours; I haven't seen her in anything remotely dark."
I snorted. "Maybe she only wears black when in Assassin Fiancé Murdering Mode?" I suggested with more than a hint of sarcasm. "And anyway, knowing that our culprit is going to be wearing black hardly narrows down the list of suspects. Okay, Callum tends to wear a lot of black, so what? So do most teenagers. Keiran wears black; I wear black; Carly wears black, even you're not free of that particular shade."
Kate sighed again. "Look Blake, we told you to find evidence to back up your theories. Do you actually have anything to prove this hunch or are you just going on instinct?"
"Well there's the way they treat Callum," I started. "He's hardly a cherished part of the family. And then this morning, Naomi tried to get me to stay away from Callum. Surely if the black sheep of the family starts to act like a human being you encourage it, not try to send him back into self-imposed isolation."
Kate groaned, letting her head fall into waiting hands. "And that's why you suspect Naomi? Because you think she's trying to protect herself by keeping her scapegoat suspicious?"
"Give me another reason for her doing that," I challenged.
Kate looked up at me wearily. "Carly asked her to, you plonker. She told Naomi that she was worried you were neglecting the rest of us and were only going to get yourself hurt again."
For a moment I simply gaped, not knowing whether to be surprised or pissed. I settled for slumping down into my seat and folding my arms sulkily across my chest. "Well fuck," I announced. "But that still doesn't mean my theory might not be right."
Kate pulled out some bills to leave as a tip. "If that's the case you're going to have no problem coming up with something that proves us Callum is innocent or Naomi guilty. And fancying Callum doesn't count."
I blushed. I couldn't help it. "I don't fancy him," I muttered. "I think it might be something a bit more serious than that."
For a beat or two Kate had no answer for me. I looked across at her and could visibly see her debating whether or not hitting me would help the situation any. Instead she let her head drop back into her hands again with a groan. "Honestly Blake," Kate complained. "Why do you always have to make things so difficult for everybody?"
I had no answer for that. I was sort of wondering how myself.
THE END
(FREE BOOK)
THRILLER
KILL OR BE KILLED
The Erotic Flashback.
He was certainly a mercenary, he had this particular swagger, this incredible poise, even when crossing the river banks or hacking through jungles sweating out his guts.
Captain ‘Killer’ Kelly had followed him for six miles through the night. Across the river bank, through a section of the Singha Raja Forest; now he was resting, getting his breath in short, gasping snorts preparatory to traverse the home stretch.
Home of Praba, the Satan of war, the vicious terrorist whose religion was taking lives, the shedding of blood, the stirring of maniacal passion in men who would be far better off home screwing their wives, tilling their fields drinking their Palmyra palm toddy, loving their children.
The mercenaries were the left hand of this fanatic who loved war above everything and who lived in ultimate comfort and protection and seclusion among his fellow fanatics deep in the jungle.
It was captain ‘killer’ Kelly’s job to bring the man out from his jungle lair. To topple the mad men. To eliminate the rebel group, to educate the mad-man’s followers or kill them, to bring peace once again to Elephant pass and peace to the northern province.
Captain Kelly’s job for the moment was to topple Selva a petty chief and the eastern province war lord.
As a highly trained commando his mission was to penetrate deep into the jungle where the terrorist were taking refuge and also terrorizing the innocent indigenous people living there. His job as a sniper was to bring the leader of a small group of terrorists from his jungle lair.
To eliminate this despot. His superiors threw the challenge on their faces and as none was prepared to volunteer, captain Kelly, like the ass hole he was volunteered least expecting that the mission would be a one man show. If he had known what he learned, he probably wouldn’t have spoken too soon, but now it was too late. He knew he had a great deal more to learn, all of it bad, he was to live off the land alone and confront a small group of terrorists armed to the teeth. What he didn’t know was how many were there in this particular group. He was dropped off at the edge of the jungle and from there he was on my own.
In his camouflage kit he increased his pace, sweating like a eunuch with an erection trying to find cover quick. He checked his weaponry. He had his AK47 hanging lose by its strap around his neck along with a long barreled sniping rifle with a silencer fixed, there were a couple of grenades, there was a Rambo knife strapped on the inner side of his left thigh almost touching his testicles a long machete on his hip and a somewhat primitive weapon, a small but sophisticated cross bow and arrows. In short he was a walking arsenal.
With stealth he penetrated the jungle and stood near a trail, behind some low grown trees, keeping an eye out for his unseen foes. He saw a shadow of a moment and stood dead still and saw a terrorist, he was so sure of himself he did not bother about stealth, he acted as if it was his domain. Kelly let him pass him and trailed him about one hundred yards behind. He was making his way towards a small mud thatched house of one of the indigenous people.
There was a feminine scream that rent the quite jungle night, it told him one thing, and only one, and the indigenous old man had a daughter. The terrorist knew about her. He had stopped for fun and frolic, and she was not interested. The terrorists advances had failed to charm the lass.
Kelly gripped the crossbow tight and dashed noiselessly towards the house; He armed the crossbow with an arrow. Time was important, but silence was vital. There was a whole group of terrorist lurking in the area. One shot and the sound would bring the whole damned lot on his trail. Screams, especially feminine ones, did not send them crashing out of their jungle hideout. Feminine screams had been rather commonplace in this vicinity.
They would never become commonplace with him. His batman had told him once, “Sir, you will never fall prey to the real enemy. You will get yours, sir, on the trail
of a woman’s skirt.” The women he played around with, he visualized one woman with whom he had spent a week back. Kelly had met her at the officers mess, after a few rounds of drinks the lady had invited him to her home, which he accepted gladly. She was the wife of another officer who was engaged in the combat area. Since the reason for the invitation was quite obvious no sooner than Kelly reached the lady’s home, her name being Judy. Kelly pulled Judy to him and undid the band at her waist slipped her dress over her shoulders and let it slip to the floor. She gasped and bent down. Kelly thought she was going to retrieve her dress instead; she was fumbling with his pant.
She was in some kind of urgency to get it off. Kelly felt that she was really starved for sex. As a matter of fact, she really was. For almost two long months she has had no sex with a man, she had been masturbating throughout.
Kelly let her drop his pant to the floor and take his organ in her mouth. She sent her mouth in and out and got his prick erect. Slowly he raised her, placed his mouth on her breasts and sucked her boobs. Because of her haste, he slowly lifted her face and placed a long kiss on her lips, taking time to slide his hands to her pulsing clit and rubbing it.
Her sexual hunger was so profuse that she was already wet in her pussy. Kelly was getting a hard on himself; he pressed his stiff penis against Judy’s crotch and let her fondle it with her hands. Judy took his tool in her hands and tenderly pushed the foreskin back and felt his knob he too was emitting a minute amount of seminal fluid, which was wetting Judy’s hands.
She was moving her hands forward and back, enjoying the feel of a hard cock after so long. She had his cock pressed against her belly button hard. Kelly was giving attention to her clit. He, after giving her clit a good rub spread her labia wide and entered her vagina with his fingers. He sent his fingers in steadily and slowly and felt his hands getting wet with her clitoral juices. He kept his fingers turning and twisting inside and felt Judy convulse in ecstasy. As she was getting her initial orgasm, she moaned and pressed her body hard against Kelly.