The Case

by Leopold Borstinski

  “Would you say the resentment towards Theresa began when she started in PB’s bed or when the schedule for the show got rearranged?”

  “Hard to tell, bud. The two things happened within a day or two of each other, right?”

  Louis looked at the others and they all nodded in agreement.

  “Thanks. You’ve been a bunch of swells,” and I exited stage left followed by a bear.

  For a second, I took a step back and considered what I’d got so far. There were two horse lovers - Theresa and Hercules - as well as the rest of the circus and anybody who walked past the place and had it in for horses. The final group were an unlikely source and, even if the perp was from outside, I’d never be able to find him. PB would need to call the cops out.

  My best guess was the motivation was jealousy because of Theresa’s relationship with PB or due to the extra time her act was getting. Or both. If Hercules would kill a horse, surely he’d strangle it with his bare hands and not find a bottle of poison and assassinate the ass that way. The easiest way to check him out was to visit him and that’s where I went next.

  THERE WAS NO-one in Hercules’ tent so I smooched round and asked a bearded lady if she’d seen him and she pointed to an enormous tree of a man the other side of the tents. Now, you might think if there was a bearded lady, this place was far more a freak show than a circus. And you’d be right if it wasn’t for the fact she happened to have too many hairs sticking out of her chin. Menopausal women of the world: be warned.

  Trudging over to Hercules, I watched him lift a car onto its side and over onto its roof. He’d done this many times before because the bodywork was beaten badly and no-one else was acting like anything was out of the ordinary.

  “Hi there.”

  Hercules stared at me like I was shit on his shoe. Probably how he looked at most people most of the time. The guy didn’t appear to be the life and soul of any party.

  “How’s it going?”

  A stare and he rolled the car back onto its tires.

  “I am listening.”

  “Okay ... I’m talkin’. Who d’ya think did for the horse?”

  “Not for me to say. Not at all.”

  “Does that mean you know something and don’t want to say?”

  “Not for me to say.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I am only the strong man here. No-one wants to hear what I say.”

  “I do. I’m asking for you to say what you think. So what do you know? What have you seen?”

  “There is unhappiness in the circus.”

  “Why?”

  “Most of us have lost show time.”

  “Since Theresa turned up?”

  “Around that time but it is not Theresa’s fault. She is a beautiful addition to this show. She is a light in the dark of the night.”

  “So whose fault is it then?”

  “Not for me to say.”

  “And who’d be so angry about it they’d kill a horse over the matter?”

  “A crazy man. A crazy jealous man.”

  “Do you know who that man is?”

  “Not for me to say.”

  I sighed. Reticence is a mighty fine attribute but constantly pleading the fifth was another matter entirely. I played twenty questions.

  “Was it a show member?”

  Hercules nodded, realizing I had changed tack.

  “Were they female?”

  A shake of his head.

  “I have to go now,” and with that, he walked away from me, leaving the car where it was and me with my hands in my pants pockets and a quizzical expression on my face.

  “What the f...?”

  A woman strolled past wearing a silver leotard with a jacket over her shoulders. The contours of her body, of her breasts - were more than visible to anyone who turned their head in the right direction. And my head turned. She was hot.

  She ignored the fact I was gawping at her like a Hanna Barbera character and carried on into a tent. I continued to stand there like the fool I was for a few minutes and then I wandered around the tents trying to find someone to interview. I had lost all my concentration with one look at those nipples, whose contours were visible through that silver material. Man, oh man.

  WITH NO CLEAR idea which way to go, I walked from one tent to another, hoping to find someone interesting to talk to. Half an hour later, I found myself stood right in front of the tent, into which that silver leotard had disappeared.

  Before I unzipped the entrance flap, I could hear a variety of noises coming from inside. No imagination was needed to work out what was going on the other side of the tent wall, but I opened the door, anyway.

  Sure enough, there were two bodies on a bed. Lying on the floor between me and the bed was a silver leotard and the jacket I had seen hanging over those shoulders. Between the sheets were an unbelievably hairy back and broad shoulders in the form of Hercules and the unknown woman herself. At least, she was unknown until Hercules moaned: “Oh Theresa!” several times. Being an arch detective, I realized those nipples I’d imagined touching from earlier on belonged to PB’s girlfriend.

  Then there was a stronger realization that Hercules was humping PB’s girlfriend, and this was not the situation I should stand and watch.

  A cough escaped from the back of my throat and Hercules turned his head round to see me staring at him.

  “Don’t stop, you hairy fucker!”

  Theresa had yet to notice my existence and who could blame her? There was a beast of a man thrusting inside her and she was enjoying it.

  Because the strong man had shifted his position on the bed, the sheet slipped off and landed on the floor. Theresa’s legs were wrapped around her lover and her breasts were jiggling in front of me. All’s I could do was stare at those nipples, wobbling under Hercules’ hirsute torso.

  Once Theresa’s head stopped leaning back in absolute ecstasy, she spotted me in the corner of her eyes and shouted: “Get out of here you voyeur! What the hell do you think you’re doing, you freak?”

  As I swiveled on my heels to leave, I saw her fighting with Hercules to grab the covers to hide her embarrassment. The nipples vanished behind a pillow and, even though Hercules had got off her, I still couldn’t catch sight of her bush. That second pillow was now my arch enemy.

  39

  THIRTY SECONDS LATER, Theresa came out of the tent, leotard on, jacket buttoned all the way up. Her cheeks were red, at least the ones on her face. I tipped my hat and introduced myself.

  “What do you want, you peeping tom?”

  “Does PB know about you and Hercules?”

  “No idea. And it’s none of your business, anyway.”

  “You’re right you two screwing each other is of no concern of mine - unless it has something to do with Marty’s death.”

  “This has nothing to do with Marty. How could it?”

  “Don’t ask me how. That’s not my problem. I’m just trying to figure out who did for the nag. And the best way to work that conundrum is to work out why the nag had to die. Any ideas?”

  “I loved that horse. He was steady and soft to the touch. If you think I had anything to do with it, you are so wrong. My act has a gaping hole at its start.”

  Not the only gaping hole we’ve seen in the last five minutes, I quipped to myself.

  “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to scupper your act then?”

  Theresa had calmed down and, judging from her expression, she was prepared to contemplate the answer to my question.

  “Not off the top of my head. I mean, there were quite a few people whose noses were out of joint because my act had gained four minutes and theirs had lost time. Do you think that had something to do with it?”

  “Hard to say for sure, but annoyed people end up doing bad things. Is there anyone who was particularly annoyed by the change in the timings?”

  “Not that I was aware, but most of the other acts won’t talk to me.”

  “Because you were
sleeping with PB?”

  “Kinda. Mainly because I was also with Hercules and they think PB will go bat ape shit when he finds out.”

  “Are they right?”

  “Probably, but I’m having fun on the rollercoaster until the train derails.”

  “True. Makes sense but when you piss people off, they’re bound to react, right?”

  “Yeah. I don’t bear them any grudges. They’re just following their hearts, same as me.”

  “But your heart has quite an appetite, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s quite a mixed metaphor, but I know what you mean. I am insatiable. Always have been, always will. I hope.”

  “So do you reckon the murderer was jealous of your extra four minutes?”

  “Most likely, yes.”

  “And would you say the best way to get back at you was through the horse?”

  “Why not? I loved that horse.” A tear appeared in the corner of her left eye and I believed Theresa.

  “But surely, there are easier ways than poisoning a nag. I mean, you’re on a high wire. Isn’t there a cable that could be weakened to exact a revenge on you, you know?”

  “What a gruesome thought. Yes, most of the acts at this circus face death every day: there’s a lot of risk in what we do. But there’s an unwritten law. Circus folk don’t attack other circus folk. We don’t do that.”

  “But you’d happily kill a ride?”

  “Not happily, but murdering Marty would have been an option for someone.”

  “I see. And how do you know the jealousy was aimed at your extra four minutes of fame and not, say, because you were putting out with PB and Hercules?”

  “I have appetites that need sating. Don’t judge me.”

  “I’m not judging; I’m merely enquiring. You’ve said you reckoned Marty bit the dust because of the extra time, but how do you know there isn’t a lover scorned in this circus instead?”

  “Well, now you put it that way, I don’t suppose I do know that.”

  A whole world of possibility opened up to me. A vast expanse of unknown was engulfing me and I needed a break. So I looked down to see if I could catch a glimpse of those nipples, but Theresa’s jacket was still firmly buttoned up. The only thing the material revealed was her overall, curvaceous shape, but no specifics. Nothing I could attach to my imagination for later. Shame.

  MY EYES RETURNED to Theresa’s face.

  “Like what you see?”

  I felt an intense embarrassed glow overtake my cheeks.

  “Sure do. Another time and another place and who knows what might have been, but I’m working now and that’s the end of it.”

  Theresa licked her lips and put a thumb and finger ever so gently onto either sides of my left jacket lapel.

  “When this is over then, don’t forget I’m here. I do have an appetite that needs to be sated...”

  Insatiable. Literally.

  While this conversation was helping me get in the sack with Theresa, it was doing nothing about uncovering who killed Marty. I tipped my hat and walked away from the tent with its sweet stench of sex behind me and the alluring hips of that hire wire temptress.

  Meantime, Hercules was nowhere to be found. He’d thrown on his breeches and run out the door without even flipping a look in Theresa’s direction. For a guy as strong as cheap cologne, Hercules wasn’t living up to his namesake.

  Best course of action I could figure was to skirt round to PB and see what he made of all that was going on in his circus.

  Back in the main ring, PB was directing traffic as acts came, rehearsed and left. I sat on a seat and watched the show for free. What I had added up to close to bupkis, but the piper deserved to hear the tune I’d written.

  “Jake, how’s it going? Found anything for me yet?”

  “Not quite, PB.” I stood up and ambled over.

  “I’ve been discovering all sorts about the circus, but I’m not sure I’m any nearer to finding Marty’s killer.”

  “What you got?”

  “This place is a seething mass of jealousy, that’s what. Wherever you turn, there’s someone else looking to stab you in the back. How do you survive here?”

  “You get used to it, Jake. These people are show people and that makes them mighty special.”

  “I’ve also found out some info on Theresa.” I let this news trail off, because I felt the guy should know about his girlfriend, but I wasn’t keen on being the one to tell him. Over the years, I’ve noticed how people shoot the messenger when it’s bad news and ignore him when the news is good.

  “Has she started back with that gorilla, Hercules?”

  “You knew?”

  “Given the amount of noise those two make, who doesn’t know?”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Course not. I hired her because she has a great ass and a fabulous pair of tits, but I doubt if one man will ever hold her attention long enough to keep her. The way I see it: I share Theresa with Hercules and whoever else she fucks in the cast and crew. Chances are we are not the only ones. That girl has appetites, you know.”

  “Sure thing. Trouble is the motive for the killing is either your relationship with Theresa or because you gave her four extra minutes and the other acts have suffered.”

  “Listen carefully, Jake. The other acts haven’t suffered. If I didn’t add more time to Theresa’s act then we’d have less money in the till. People have been lining up to see those tits and that ass soaring above their heads. If Theresa goes then this place is done for. Have you any idea how hard it is to keep a circus alive nowadays? Everyone stays home and watches TV.”

  “Have you told the cast what you’ve told me?”

  “Yeah. It’s only fair they understand what’s going on. We’re all trying to scratch out a living.”

  If PB was being honest with me then the extra four minutes had nothing to do with Marty’s death. And if that was so then the motive was about getting back at Theresa.

  Fate stepped in to relieve me of the burden of thinking. A lion dashed through the ring, chased by his handler and then a crew member with a rifle. My money was on the guy with the rifle.

  Sure enough, a single shot rang out, and I saw the lion collapse on the spot with a tranquilizer dart embedded in his torso.

  The handler, whose name I later found out was Bruno, had wrapped his arms around Clarence and was sobbing at the lion’s fall. Then he stood up and rushed at PB, who punched him squarely in the jaw. Bruno plummeted to the ground and stayed there, howling in paid and clinging his chin with both hands. PB could handle himself.

  What had this to do with fate and Marty? Simple: when PB took Bruno back to his tent to make him take a rest, there was a spare bottle of poison visible to anyone who wanted to visit the tent.

  This was the source of the problem. No-one had visited Bruno in a long time and when Theresa appeared in the show, she paid Bruno much attention and popped by one evening a week or so ago. Unfortunately for the pair, Bruno had been unsuccessful in satisfying young Theresa due to her enormous libido and, more significantly, because he failed to get a hard-on that night.

  Bruno was an old-fashioned gentleman, who hailed from West Germany or Austria. He was far from pleased when Theresa finished herself off in front of him, left his abode and refused to speak with him since that night.

  ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold’ was Bruno’s motto, and he lived that dream. In his befuddled brain that meant Marty had to die.

  Good news was that PB paid me even though he solved the crime. Two days later I went back to Coney Island to see if I could get a piece of Theresa’s ass, but the circus had left town and her silver leotard had gone with it.

  PART SIXTEEN

  LOS ANGELES 1953

  40

  THE SOLUTION TO Marty’s death fell straight into my lap, but there was one occasion when I was paid to commit a murder, not solve one.

  Alice Lechuga entered my office looking like a million dollars or rather so
meone who had been short-changed a million dollars. The hem of her dress was unraveling and you could sense the general tiredness that permeated the very material of her clothes. There were no bruises, but her expression looked as though she had been pummeled repeatedly over several years. I thought this before she opened her mouth.

  Her story was a typical sad affair. Alice got married young and regretted the decision within weeks of the ceremony. The husband was not a violent man, despite my expectations, but he was not a faithful man either and this was the cause of her problem.

  Axel had a wondering dick, and he’d spend night after night away from home, sleeping with the single women in the neighborhood. This generated many a marital argument because soon after he strayed from his marital oath, tongues wagged.

  Soon, the gossip was flying back to Alice, who confronted Axel about his extramarital encounters. To her surprise, he didn’t deny her accusations, but reveled in them, proud as anything. Axel reminded Alice they were married and she couldn’t get out of it and, no matter what she may say or do, he wouldn’t agree to a divorce. Either she accepted how he behaved or she didn’t, but he wasn’t changing his ways for her. She didn’t satisfy him enough sexually and that was the end of the matter. Or so he thought.

  That was four years ago and nothing had changed. Now Alice had suffered in silence but she would not take it any more. She knew she’d burn in hell for an eternity, so she thought, but if she couldn’t get a divorce then he would have to die.

  At this point in the proceedings, Alice pulled out a large manila envelope from her bag. Inside the bag was a large amount of cash. She had saved money from her housekeeping allowance and, quietly and secretly, had stashed it away until there was nearly five hundred dollars. Enough for me to buy a new ride.

  “What do you want me to do in exchange for that money, Mrs. Lechuga?”

  “Call me Alice. And I want you to kill my husband.”

  “Alice, do you understand what you have just said is a criminal act and you could go to jail for a very long time?”