Murder on Olympus

by Robert B Warren

“No, he was mortal, a human,” Chrysus said. “He died of old age.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It is, as you say, ancient history.”

  I sipped my drink. “Do you date a lot?”

  Chrysus laughed softly. “No. Like you, I also have trouble finding a balance between work and relationships. Some men don’t appreciate a career-driven woman.”

  “You think you’ll ever settle down again?”

  “Eventually. And you?”

  “Eventually.”

  She grinned.

  I raised my glass. “Here’s to eventuality.”

  55

  Chrysus and I ordered more drinks. Don’t ask me how many. All I knew is that by ten o’clock my head was in the clouds, and I was seeing double. Chrysus wasn’t faring any better.

  Apparently, her body wasn’t as resistant to alcohol as Gods and Demigods. A flush colored her cheeks, and she’d become more talkative. We played skee-ball, pool, and a few rounds of air hockey before calling it a night. I would’ve done the gentlemanly thing by allowing her to win, but there was no need. She spanked me in everything.

  “Are you ready to depart, milady?” I asked.

  “I believe so.”

  We left Diamond Earl’s and went back to Chrysus’s mansion. I walked her to the door.

  “Thank you for a wonderful time,” she said, her voice mildly slurred.

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  We stood on the doorstep, looking into each other’s eyes, not saying a word. Chrysus glanced at the door. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Sure,” I said, before even thinking about it.

  Chrysus led me into the living room. I settled onto the couch while she took her bouquet of roses to the kitchen. She came back and sat beside me.

  “Would you like to watch some television?” she asked.

  Not really. “Okay.”

  Chrysus grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV. There was a cooking show on. We watched in silence until the commercial break, at which point our gazes drifted toward each other. As soon as our eyes met, it was on. I leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed me back. Her lips were soft, her tongue a silky wetness in my mouth.

  I slid my arm around her waist and pulled her closer. I kissed her on the neck and trailed my tongue upward to her earlobes. Chrysus moaned deep in her throat, squirming against me.

  “We shouldn’t do this.” She started to unbutton my shirt.

  “Why not?”

  Chrysus removed my shirt and tossed it aside. She ran her tongue along my chest and traced circles around my nipples. I pulled her onto my lap so she straddled me. My hands squeezed her ass.

  She kissed me hard and then broke away, breathless. “Gods, it’s been a long time,” she whispered.

  I pulled down her dress straps, to reveal breasts that were large and round and perfect. I buried my face in them. Chrysus gasped.

  My cell phone rang. We both froze. I felt the white-hot urge to curse. But more than that, I wanted to kill the caller, whoever it was.

  “Are you going to get that?” Chrysus asked, still out of breath.

  I lifted her off me and took out my cell phone. I glanced at the caller ID, expecting to see Hermes’s number. But the caller was unknown. I hesitated to answer. It was probably a wrong number.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Plato Jones?” The voice on the other end belonged to a man. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “Yes,” I said uncertainly. “Who is this?”

  “Someone who wants to help you.”

  “With what?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I don’t have time for this.”

  “Don’t play dumb,” the voice said. “I know you’re hunting a God-killer.”

  My heart all but stopped. I stood up.

  “Surprised?” the voice asked.

  “Are you . . . ?”

  “The killer? Well that depends on which murder you’re talking about. If your referring to the murders of Eileithyia, Hephaestus, and Enyo, the answer is no.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “I can be your best friend or your worst enemy,” the voice said. “The choice is yours. See you soon.”

  The line went dead.

  Chrysus was standing up now. She had restored her dress straps. Her cheeks, neck, and chest were flushed, and her blond hair stood out at odd angles.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  I stuck my phone in my pants pocket. “I wish I knew.”

  We avoided eye contact. Silence filled the space between us—the kind that descends when a mood is broken beyond repair. There was nothing left to do but go home and take a cold shower.

  “I should probably go,” I said.

  Chrysus returned a quick nod. “I think that would be wise.”

  “We should go out again, sometime.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “How about next Friday?”

  Chrysus smiled regretfully. “I would love to, but I have plans.”

  “Work?”

  “Afraid so.”

  I tried not to look upset, despite my frustration. “Some other time, then.”

  I put my shirt back on and Chrysus walked me to the door. After an awkward good-night kiss, I got in my car.

  Driving home, all I could think of was how close I came to getting Chrysus out of that dress and onto the living room floor. I still smelled her perfume on my skin. Damn that caller, whoever he was. Next time, I’d have to put my phone on silent.

  56

  My hangover was ruthless. Nausea, headache, sensitivity to light—the whole nine yards. But somehow I managed to make it through work.

  I got home just as the streetlamps began to light up. As I reached into my pocket for my keys, I noticed my door was slightly ajar. The knob hung askew, broken. My senses went on high alert. A burglar. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

  I drew my gun and flattened against the wall next to the door. Three break-ins in less than two years. That had to have been some kind of record for this part of town. The first thief got away with my laptop and MP3 player. The second didn’t fare as lucky. He ended up in the ER with a bullet in his kneecap. Served him right.

  No sounds issued from inside the apartment. Maybe the thief had gone. Or maybe he was lying in wait. Unfortunately, there was only one way to know for sure.

  I counted to three and shoved open the door. I aimed my gun at a shadowy figure on the couch.

  “Don’t move!” I shouted.

  The figure raised his hands. “Oh no. You’ve caught me. Whatever will I do?”

  I kept my gun trained on him as I hit the lights. “Ares?”

  “Welcome home.”

  I put away my gun. Ares lowered his hands.

  “So you’re Plato Jones, huh?” he said. “I expected you to be taller.”

  “You owe me a new doorknob.”

  “You weren’t home when I got here. I didn’t feel like waiting outside.” He glanced around the room. “Your place is a dump.”

  I closed the door and placed a chair in front of it. Though in truth, it might have been safer to leave it open. The God of War didn’t look particularly threatening, but that was just an illusion. He was tall and athletically built—like a professional swimmer—with crimson eyes and a charming smile. His leather jacket, white T-shirt, and jeans added to the cool vibe. Lines of red streaked his shoulder-length black hair.

  “What are you doing in town?” I asked. “I thought you and your band were on tour.”

  Ares grinned his famous rock-star grin. I�
�d seen it on TV a few times before. “You follow my band?”

  I shook my head. “Saw you on TMZ.”

  Ares nodded. “Got any beer?”

  “What? You didn’t ransack the fridge while I was out?”

  He returned a sly grin. “I didn’t find any.”

  “I’m all out. Sorry.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “You’re telling me.” I walked past him and sat on my recliner.

  “I heard you’ve been screwing Aphrodite.”

  “You heard wrong.”

  “I guess so,” Ares said. “You’re still sane, after all. At least as far as I can tell.”

  “Is there a reason you’re here?” I asked outright. I was out of patience with the Gods.

  “Actually there is. You met with my father. He persuaded you to investigate the recent murders.”

  “Persuaded. That’s funny.”

  Ares got up and sauntered around the apartment. “I’ve come to help you.”

  “Help me?” Just then, something clicked in my head. “Wait a minute. You’re the one who called me last night.”

  Ares took a bow. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Thanks to you I missed out on what might have been the most exciting bust of my career.”

  “I’d like to apologize.”

  “Doesn’t help. But thanks, I guess.”

  “I said I’d like to apologize.” Ares smiled. “Not that I was going to.”

  I sighed. “You mentioned something about helping me.”

  “Indeed I did. I want to join your investigation.”

  “No way,” I said, shaking my head.

  Ares stopped walking around the room and turned toward me. An amused grin played on his face. “Excuse me?”

  I went into the kitchen. I wanted to put as much distance between us as possible. “Look, I appreciate the offer,” I called across the kitchen bar, which opened into the living room, “but the answer is no.”

  “You seem to be confused. This isn’t a request.”

  Instinctively, I checked the refrigerator for beer. Still out of stock. “Call it whatever you’d like. The answer is still the same. You can’t join me on this case.”

  Ares’s eyes shone with laughter. “You’re a bold little mortal, aren’t you?”

  “All I’m saying is that a case this sensitive requires a gentle approach.”

  “I can be gentle.”

  I smirked. “Somehow I doubt that. I’ve heard stories about the things you’ve done.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Does the word Troy ring a bell?”

  Ares winced. “A bit of a low blow, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Troy was a long time ago. I’ve changed since then. I’m a new man, so to speak.”

  I believed him to an extent. He was a far cry from the psychopath I had read about in history books, but that wasn’t saying much. He was still bat-shit crazy, and letting him tag along would be an invitation for disaster.

  “Sorry,” I said. “It’s still a no.”

  Ares came into the kitchen and stopped a few inches away from me. He was no longer smiling. His crimson eyes stared me in the face. I fought the urge to look away.

  “I need to find the person who killed my siblings,” he said in a low, even tone. “I need to make them pay.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from, but there are certain procedures that have to be followed when conducting an investigation.”

  Ares smiled. It was one of those dazzlingly white Hollywood smiles. But there was something slightly feral about it. “From what I’ve heard, you were never one to play by the rules,” he said.

  “People say a lot of things about me.”

  “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He eyed me up and down, as if measuring my capability. “If you find this God-killer, how exactly do you plan to take him down?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “I could help you.”

  “True.”

  “But you don’t want my help?”

  I smiled. “Bingo.”

  Ares examined me the way someone looks at a mosquito seconds before squashing it. Then he laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, you win. I’ll let you do things your way, for now. But if you don’t find this killer soon, I launch my own investigation.”

  The notion sent a chill down my spine. Ares would rip the city apart to find the killer, and leave a trail of bodies a mile long. I couldn’t allow that.

  “How much time do I have?” I asked.

  Ares shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. But don’t worry. I’ll give you a heads-up.”

  “I suppose I should thank you.”

  “That would be wise.”

  “In that case, thanks.”

  Ares nodded and turned to leave.

  “Ares,” I said.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “Watch your back out there. The killer might come after you at some point.”

  Ares’s grin broadened into something sinister. “I hope he does. It’ll save me the trouble of hunting him down.”

  57

  At 1:34 p.m. I got a call from Uncle Magus. Travis Martin’s, a.k.a. Collin Stone’s, order had arrived. I drove to the Ammo Crate and parked across the street. A half hour later, a blue Saab pulled onto the curb in front of the store. Collin stepped out. He must have gotten rid of the BMW so as not to draw attention to himself.

  His brown sweatshirt, shades, and cap hid most of his features. I wouldn’t have recognized him if I weren’t looking for him. I watched him enter the store. Then I crossed the street and ducked into the alleyway between the Ammo Crate and the store next door. There, I waited and watched. No need to get Uncle Magus involved any more than I already had.

  Collin came back outside carrying a huge cardboard box. I drew my gun and held it under my shirt. Collin set the box on top of his car and took his keys out of his pocket. As he unlocked the door, I sneaked up behind him and pressed the gun barrel into the small of his back. He froze.

  “Hello, Travis,” I said.

  Collin turned his head just enough to glance at me from the corner of his eye. “Jones?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to get in the car and take us somewhere private.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “I put a bullet in you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re bluffing.”

  “Maybe. You want to risk finding out?”

  Collin didn’t answer. I pressed the gun harder into his back. He flinched.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I warned.

  He cursed under his breath. “Fine.”

  He unlocked the doors and loaded the box of osmium rounds into the passenger seat. I made sure we got into the car at the same time, so he wouldn’t try to bail. I aimed my gun at the back of Collin’s seat as he started the engine.

  “Drive,” I said.

  Collin pulled into traffic. He drove us to a rundown motel near the waterfront. The one-story complex featured blue vinyl siding and gray window and door casings. A sign on the edge of the property read SEAMAN’S RETREAT in faded white scroll. Beside the words was a picture of a mermaid wearing a bikini top.

  Collin pulled into the space in front of room twenty-six. Besides his, there were only two other cars in the lot. One of them was on flats and looked as if it hadn’t run in years.

  “Out,” I said. “Leave the ammo.”

  Collin complied. The cramped motel room smelled of cigarette smoke. Stains covered the brown carpet, which was littered with tiny bits of trash. There were no sheets
on the bed. Burn marks and dark-brown stains spotted the king-sized mattress.

  I stood on the opposite side of the room, near the bathroom, wishing I had a bottle of hand sanitizer, as Collin locked the door.

  He turned around with his hands up. “What now?”

  I pointed at the bed with my gun. “Have a seat.”

  Collin placed his keys on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. The old mattress groaned under his weight.

  “Lose the cap and sunglasses,” I said. “I need to look into your eyes while we talk.”

  “Why?”

  “So I’ll know if you’re lying to me.”

  That was partially true. I also needed to know if—and when—he was going to transform into some kind of beastie.

  Collin did as he was told. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept in days. There was anger in them. Fear as well. But more anger than fear. He was definitely human. If not, he probably would have turned by now.

  I went to the door and leaned against it. “Alright, Collin, let’s talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About Enyo.”

  Collin gave me a defiant look. “Screw you, asshole.”

  So much for the civil approach. I lowered my gun and fired a shot into the floor beside his foot.

  He recoiled, scooting further onto the bed and tucking his knees into his chest. “Gods!”

  “The next one won’t miss.”

  Collin eased his feet back on the floor, his hands up. His breath came in sharp gasps. “Okay, okay! What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know what happened between you and Enyo.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  I smirked. “Come on, Collin. Do you take me for an idiot?”

  “I didn’t murder her,” he insisted.

  “Who said anything about a murder?”

  “Shit,” Collin hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Calm down. I’m not accusing you of anything, Collin. But you know something. You knew Enyo, and now you’re hiding out here. So I just want to ask some questions. That’s all.”

  He stared at me for a moment. “Fine.”

  “Recently, you and Enyo had an argument,” I said. “She chased you out of her house and down the street. What was that about?”