Murder on Olympus

by Robert B Warren

  “It was about the torture parties.”

  “What are torture parties?”

  “Secret get-togethers for immortals, where they mutilate one another.”

  “Why do they do that?” I asked.

  “For fun.”

  “Was Enyo into these parties?”

  Collin nodded. “Yeah, and she wanted me to be into them too.”

  “But you weren’t, right?”

  Collin nodded again. “She convinced me to go to one with her. It was the sickest thing I ever saw. It’s where I got this scar on my face.” He paused.

  “Go on.”

  “After the party, I told Enyo I’d never go to another one. And I didn’t want her going to them either. She said okay, and for the next few weeks everything was fine. Then one day, out of the blue, she tells me that she never stopped going to the parties, and that she was breaking up with me. We argued and things got out of hand. I told her that my wife was a better lay than she’d ever be.”

  I sucked air through my teeth.

  “She didn’t appreciate being compared to a mortal,” Collin continued. “She came at me like a madwoman. I had to run for my life.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “I gave her a few days to cool off. Then I went to her place and begged her to take me back. She did, and we had sex. After we finished, Enyo went downstairs to get something to drink. I stayed in the bedroom. The doorbell rang. About a minute later, I heard a scream. Then crashing noises. I rushed down to the kitchen and found Enyo dead. Her body had been torn in half.”

  “Was there anyone else there?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “What did you do?”

  Collin let out a shuddering breath. “I knew the Gods would pin Enyo’s death on me, so I tried to get rid of any evidence that might place me at the scene. I wiped down everything I had touched. And . . .”

  Again, he paused.

  “You’ve come this far,” I told him. “Might as well go all the way.”

  Collin lowered his gaze to the floor. “Enyo and I had unprotected sex the night she died. There was DNA evidence inside her. I had to get rid of it. I . . . took her bottom half and buried it in the woods.”

  I shook my head. Sometimes I hate being right. “And you bought the osmium rounds to protect yourself against the Gods, if they come after you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to know more about these torture parties. Where are they held?”

  “In different locations. Depends on who’s throwing them. The one I attended was on a yacht. Things got out of hand, and the immortals ended up setting the thing on fire. Most of the guests jumped overboard, but a couple of crazy bastards thought it’d be fun to go down with the ship.”

  “Who was throwing the party?” I asked.

  “Dionysus, I think.”

  “Did you meet him?”

  “Yeah. He was the one who suggested setting the yacht on fire.”

  It seemed that Dionysus had a secret life. If I could infiltrate one of these torture parties, there was a chance he and I might run into each other.

  “How would someone go about getting invited to a torture party?” I asked.

  “The parties are primarily immortal-only. But mortals can be brought along as guests.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Are you going to turn me in to the authorities?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Collin sighed, and some of the tension drained from his expression. He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. If I find out you’re lying, you’ll hear from me again.”

  “What should I do in the meantime?”

  “Keep a low profile, but don’t leave town. And under no circumstance are you tell anyone about the murder. Also, you might want to find a new hideout—one that doesn’t resemble a trap house.”

  Collin returned a jerky nod. “Got it.”

  “Now that we understand each other, I’ll be on my way.” I lowered the gun and opened the door. Before stepping through, I smiled and said, “Oh, before I forget. I don’t want you contacting Bellanca until this whole fiasco is over. She’s been through enough.”

  Collin said nothing.

  I took a step back into the room. “Are we clear?”

  “Yeah,” he sneered.

  58

  Herc and I were having drinks at the Night Owl at three in the afternoon. The booths and close-set tables were all vacant. Besides us, only two other customers occupied the place. They were seated at the bar, laughing and talking. Although I heard their voices, their words didn’t carry over to us, which meant they probably couldn’t hear what I was saying either.

  “Lemme get this straight,” Herc said, holding up his hand. “Ares showed up at your apartment?”

  “Broke in, actually,” I corrected him.

  “What did he want?”

  “Your dear brother wanted me to let him in on the investigation.”

  “A partnership?”

  “I guess.”

  “How’d he know you were looking into the murders?”

  I shrugged. “Zeus or Hera probably told him, not that it really matters.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “No.”

  Herc nodded approvingly. “Good. The last thing you need is his help. That psycho’s as likely to murder you as the killer.”

  “He still might be a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He promised not to interfere with the investigation, but only temporarily. If I don’t solve this case soon, things could get messy.”

  “You want me to take care of him?” Herc offered.

  “No need. He hasn’t done anything yet.”

  “If you say so. But if he gives you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll straighten him out . . . or I’ll try to.”

  I tipped my beer bottle toward him. “Duly noted.”

  “How close are you to finding the killer?”

  “Not as close as I’d like to be. Sometimes I feel like I’m going in circles.”

  “You must have something to go on.”

  I drank some beer. “I do, actually. You familiar with torture parties?”

  “I’ve heard of them.”

  “Ever been to one?”

  “Nope. Not planning to either. Too much craziness for my taste.” Herc narrowed his eyes. “You’re not thinking of going to one, are you?”

  “Maybe.”

  Herc leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. “Gods, Jonesy.”

  “It might bring me one step closer to the killer,” I argued.

  “And one step closer to getting killed. Do you realize how dangerous those parties are?”

  “Thanks for the concern, Mom. But don’t worry. The Aegis will protect me.”

  “What if someone rips it off of you?” he asked.

  I hadn’t considered that. “I’ll improvise.”

  Herc sighed. “You’re not going to change your mind about this, are you?”

  “Sorry.”

  “In that case, let me come with you.”

  I shook my head. “I’d love to, but the party is immortals-only. Last I checked, Demigods didn’t count as immortals.”

  Herc went silent and stared down at his beer.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” I assured him.

  Herc nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced. “If the party’s immortals-only, how are you going to get in?”

  “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

  59

  Argus called me and said he had some information on Dionysus. We agreed to meet at Griffin Park that afternoon. The weather couldn’t have been better. Sunny without a
cloud in the sky. Everywhere I looked there were children at play, moms chatting on benches, joggers running along flagstone footpaths, couples having picnics, and people walking dogs.

  Argus sat on a stone bench near the swings; his massive body took up the entire bench.

  His twins, Amos and Agatha, played nearby. Both children stood over six feet tall, and were carbon copies of their dad—except that Agatha had more hair on her head. When Argus spotted me, he told his kids he’d be right back and then walked over to me.

  “Plato,” Argus said.

  “Argus.”

  I looked past him at Amos and Agatha, who were playing tag with a group of human children. Both siblings were taller than me and towered over their current playmates.

  “Kids seem to be having fun,” I said. “How old are they now?”

  “Ten.”

  “They grow up so fast.”

  Argus laughed. “Tell me about it.”

  “Let’s go somewhere private.”

  We walked to a gazebo near the lake, where there weren’t as many people around. I sat on one of the wooden tables. Argus remained standing.

  “It seems your pal Dionysus has some interesting tastes,” he said. “Tastes he prefers to hide from the public eye.”

  “Does it have anything to with torture parties?”

  Argus blinked all of his eyes at once. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  I smiled. “Lucky guess.”

  “Right. Anyway, my sources tell me that Dionysus has been at a torture party for the past month.”

  “The entire month?”

  Argus nodded.

  “How long do these torture parties usually last?” I asked.

  “Anywhere from a few days to a year.”

  “That’s a hell of a party. Who’s throwing it?”

  Argus smacked a mosquito on the nape of his neck. “Prometheus.”

  My eyes flashed wide. “The Titan?”

  “That’d be the one.”

  Wow, I thought. An Olympian partying with a Titan. I could hardly believe it. The Titans were a race of deities that once ruled the world. Their reign came to a violent end when the Olympians overthrew them. Defeated and shamed, most of the Titans sank into obscurity. To this day, there’s still a lot of bad blood between the two races. Every few centuries, a Titan would pop up and attempt revenge on the Olympians.

  Prometheus was a Titan. Once upon a time, he stole fire from Zeus and gave it to us puny mortals, who, until then, had sat around in the dark, grunting and scratching our nether regions.

  Zeus punished Prometheus by having him tied to a rock while an eagle ate his liver. But here’s the kicker: the liver would regenerate overnight, only to be eaten again the next day.

  In time, Zeus decided Prometheus had learned his lesson and let him go. You’d think Prometheus would still be pissed about what happened. I know I would. His carousing with Gods suggested otherwise. It seemed he had made peace with Olympus. But in my line of work, things were rarely what they appeared to be.

  “You know anything about his personal life?” I asked.

  “I’ve got a little information.” Argus reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew one of his giant cigars. “I’d be willing to part with it for the right price.”

  “Put it on my tab.”

  Argus lit his cigar and took a pull. “Like I said, I don’t have much info on him, but what I do have is pretty juicy. It turns out that Prometheus has a secret lover. An Olympian.”

  My mind went blank for a second. I stared at Argus, my mouth hanging open. “An Olympian?”

  “Yep.”

  “Which one?”

  “Enyo.”

  60

  Two dozen paparazzi were gathered outside Cherine’s, a French restaurant on the Siren Strip. I shoved past them to reach the entrance, where a minotaur doorman prevented anyone from entering.

  I showed the minotaur my ID card.

  He examined it, nodded, and opened the door. I stepped inside and was greeted by the maître d’. He was short and wrinkled as an old bed sheet, with thin gray hair and a pair of small-rimmed glasses.

  “Mr. Jones?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The maître d’ smiled. “Please, come with me.”

  I followed him through the empty restaurant to a table by the window. Aphrodite sat there with her legs crossed, sipping a flute of champagne. Her white tube top and blue-green skirt showed off her athletic figure. Strands of jewelry glittered on her neck. Her skin glowed like polished bronze in the intimate lighting. She smiled at me.

  “Hello, Mr. Jones.”

  “Hi.” I sat down. “You look great.”

  “Thank you.”

  On the other side of the window, the paparazzi snapped photo after photo of us. The glass must have been soundproof because I couldn’t hear the sounds of the camera shutters. But I saw the bulbs flash. I wasn’t comfortable conducting business in front of an audience.

  “Do you want to move to a more private table?” I asked.

  “No, this is fine.”

  “You sure?”

  Aphrodite glared at me with a look that said politely: Don’t make me repeat myself.

  I dropped the subject. “Alright then.”

  The maître d’ handed us our menus and scuttled off. A waiter arrived seconds later to take our drink orders. He was tall, lean, and balding.

  Aphrodite ordered another glass of champagne. I asked for water.

  “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” I said, after the waiter had gone.

  “How could I refuse?” Aphrodite gazed at me with those big sea-green eyes. “I had such a nice time on our last date.”

  “You considered that a date?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you?”

  Before I had a chance to respond, the waiter returned with our drinks. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Give us a few minutes,” Aphrodite said.

  As she examined me, I could sense her energy. It was more curious than anything else. It danced over me like ghostly fingers, feeling, exploring, but not getting too invasive.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” Aphrodite said, tapping my shoe with hers under the table. She gave me a coy smile. “Was our last encounter a date, or am I mistaken?”

  I shrugged. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

  “Good answer.” She sipped her champagne.

  “I have a favor to ask.” I knew there would be a price to pay. The Gods never did anything for free.

  “Certainly. What can I do for you?”

  Looking at her in that tight little tank top, I could think of a few things. But only one of those things would leave me with my sanity intact.

  “Are you familiar with torture parties?” I asked.

  Aphrodite didn’t answer right away. “I’ve heard of them,” she said after a moment. “Why do you ask?”

  “I think there’s a connection between the parties and the murders. I need to get into one, but the only way I can do that is in the company of an immortal.”

  “And you need me to be your date?”

  “More or less.”

  She smiled, her eyes shining mischievously. It made me nervous, and a bit excited.

  When the waiter came back, Aphrodite ordered the seafood niçoise. I got the stuffed mushrooms. The waiter jotted down the orders and left.

  Aphrodite continued to smile at me. “I’m flattered that you came to me with this.”

  “It was either you or Hermes. You’re a lot prettier.”

  Aphrodite giggled, covering her mouth. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re quite the charmer, Mr. Jones?”

  “You’d be the first.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “So, will you
do this for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re quite welcome. I do, however, have one concession.”

  “What kind of concession?” I asked, and took a sip of water.

  “Oh, it’s nothing difficult, I assure you,” Aphrodite said with a wave of her hand. “I’d like you to make love to me.”

  I nearly choked. “What?”

  She held up her index finger. “One time, that’s all.” She sipped her champagne and awaited my answer, her expression calm and self-assured. My entire body felt tight.

  I knew it. I knew something like this would happen sooner or later.

  “When?” I asked.

  “Now.”

  “Where?” I shot a glance at the paparazzi, snapping their photos from the other side of the window.

  “Right here, right now. On the floor or on the table, whichever you’d prefer.”

  “In front of the paparazzi?”

  “Yes.”

  I started undressing her in my mind. Warmth rushed to my crotch.

  “Why do want to have sex with me?” I asked.

  “Simple. Because I want to. And so do you.”

  “How would you know what I want?”

  Aphrodite grinned. “I’m the Goddess of Love. I know what all men want.”

  I guess she had me there. “What about my sanity?”

  “If your will is strong, you’ll keep it. If not . . .” She let the statement hang.

  Beads of sweat popped up on my forehead.

  Oh boy.

  “Do we have a deal?” Aphrodite asked.

  I took a long look at her. She seems harmless enough. Maybe the stories about people going crazy over her were just exaggerations. Lies concocted by the media. I guess I could give her what she wanted . . .

  “No!” I shook my head as if just breaking out of a trance. “I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it.”

  Aphrodite frowned. I’m sure she wasn’t used to people turning her down—especially for sex.

  “That’s unfortunate,” she said.

  “Is there anything else you want?”

  She stared at me, her large eyes reflecting the camera flashes nearby.

  “Perhaps.” She sipped her champagne. “If you won’t give me what I want, then at least give me the next best thing.”