by Tad S. Torm
“Meaning?”
“Tonight I learned about gravity. I was under that huge mountain of lard, sinews and muscle.”
“… and blood.”
“And lots and lots of blood … and I could not move a finger. I could not breathe. Had I died, it would not have been Geronimo who killed me.”
“Mike”
“Not Mike, but the theory of gravity.”
“Killed by a theory.”
“How ironic.”
“The mountain Geronimo did not budge easily,” Mark said. “And also to be noted is how I dropped that thin, dapper individual from twenty-five yards with a pistol while he was on the move and ready to jump off the wall.”
“That was not the law of gravity. That was the law of dice.”
“Meaning?”
“From time to time you have to roll an ‘all sixes’ if you want to stay in this business.”
They drove quietly for a while.
Then the silence was interrupted by Caro’s sigh.
“What is it?” Mark asked, with concern in his voice. “Don’t you feel well?”
“We lost the contract.”
“You never know. Right now, we are riding the crest of the wave. Let’s try again. Maybe we’ll have better luck. What the heck?”
They entered the parking lot at the exact moment when a very wet but still elegant couple carrying a huge umbrella was coming out of the main entrance of the BLUE ROYAL HOTEL.
Caro thought they looked familiar, but she approached them, just to make sure.
“All sixes,” she muttered.
“What’s up with the professor?” Mark asked.
“A shooter from Topeka. Ten years ago, he killed Mr. Silvestre’s first wife and his kid in a botched assassination attempt on his life. He’s been hiding ever since. A few years back he started again to accept contracts. Bad habits die hard. It was unavoidable Mr. Silvestre’s machine will get to him sooner or later.”
“OK, you’ll take charge of the lady. You had enough for one night,” Mark decided for once and was surprised when Caro acquiesced.
“Shoot from a distance,” she said. “The military pistol gives you this advantage. Once you get too close to him the odds turn in his favor.”
“I didn’t imagine you thought so little of me.” He gave her a peck on the cheek.
“See you in a bit,” she said closing in.
She took aside the high-maintenance lady with the fox fur stole draped around her shoulders, and led her to her elegant red Italian two-seater.
They both took a seat in the car.
“Don’t look outside, Lola, try to avoid the grief!
“Mr. Silvestre loves you very much.”
Lola sighed.
“You don’t even realize to what extent.”
Lola tried to hide the tear forming at the corner of one eye.
“You made him suffer terribly. When he found out that you were cheating on him, he did not know what to do. He was desperate, overtaken with grief. He thought of taking his own life.”
“Was that right?”
“No.”
“He didn’t think so either. He was torn. He reconsidered. He mulled it over. He consulted a lawyer, a priest. He consulted a rabbi. Can you guess what decision he finally made?”
Mrs. Silvestre looked at her with terror in her eyes.
“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. Catch a tiger by the toe …”
Two shots were heard in quick succession in the parking lot, quickly muffled by the howling wind.
Caro took a look outside the window and sighed; then she tucked the gun into her belt.
“Go home, Lola. Go back to your husband who loves you.”
Chapter 7: the open road
“The money was deposited this morning into our account,” Caro’s nimble fingers danced over the notebook’s keyboard.
“They honored the contract?”
“Totally. And I have a little something extra for you.”
She moved closer to Mark. She cupped his head in her hands and planted a deep, languorous kiss on his lips.
“Now I only hope, on this occasion, that somebody does not get too big for their britches.”
Mark tried to maintain his nonchalant attitude, but it was obvious for both of them that you were now talking about a very happy puppy indeed.”
“Why don’t you put some music on? I want something Latin, hot, crazy and full of rhythm. A samba. A bossa nova maybe.”
He turned on the radio. The local news station came on. The voice of the newscaster came through the airwaves with a smile on the face:
“This just in. Hey, guys, I hope this is not a hoax. We have just been informed that a patrol car called in by neighbors wishing to remain anonymous who reported hearing loud voices and shots during the night has discovered what appears to be a medieval sexual torture chamber in a semi-abandoned house belonging to sheriff Dermont, the main contender in this fall’s mayoral race. Four youngsters, prominent in the community, among them the sheriff’s son, Joey Dermont Jr., have been found dead in and around the property. There are speculations that this might bring some clarification about the fate of the six young women who have disappeared in the last ten years from our community. It is unclear whether the four had been engaged in kidnapping, rape, sodomy and murder, or were simply the victims of circumstance (an issue that will undoubtedly figure prominently and be decided by election time), but a first examination would seem to indicate that, in this case, the tables have been turned and the prey turned and exacted a dreadful revenge on her tormentors. It might be equally assumed that somebody tried to swallow more than they could chew. The authorities are asking any person with information about this case to contact immediately sheriff Dermont. In another gruesome incident; boy, wasn’t this just a terrible night for our fair city? In what appears to be a crime of opportunity, which took place in the parking lot of the BLUE ROYAL HOTEL, a homeless man attacked and threatened Mrs. Lola Silvestre, the wife of industrialist Aaron Silvestre. A Good Samaritan, Robert Stalks, the coach of the High School Football team, passing in the vicinity heard the cries of help of the young woman and came to her help only to be shot and killed. Coach Stalks will be fondly remembered.”
Mark switched to another station and they were inundated by the sounds of a six guitars mariachi band.
“I had wished for something more South-American, you know, more tender but with devilish tempo, whimsical but with lyrical contretemps, con pasión, con amor, con gusto,” sighed Caro. “But such is the nature of life that you always must be content with your current circumstances.”
They were driving on the freeway five miles over the legal speed limit. At ten o’clock in the morning, the rain stopped and the sun showed above the clouds.
The open road lay ahead.
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All characters and places appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
Copyright © 2011 by M.V. Luca