Part Two
You can read part one of this story by following this link.
Blood, Melvin thought, Why would I be dripping blood from my sleeves?
He touched his finger to his wrists, and a trenchant smile overspread his face. Of course there’s blood on your sleeves, you fool.
Melvin walked to the sink and removed his shirt. He thoroughly washed both of his arms up to the elbows. After grabbing a towel and drying off quickly, he walked into the living room.
I never should have accepted that drink, he said to himself as he looked at the lifeless body on the floor. As if the thought had just occurred to him, he picked up the phone and dialed, struggling to find each number.
“Hello, Miss Callafucia?” His voice was suddenly suave and collected.
“It’s Garrell here. It was just like you thought. He gave me some drug, I’m not sure what it was, but I got the job done just the same. Ruined my suit, though.”
Melvin paused as his eyes swept the room, taking in the sunken divan, the dingy carpet, the cheap oil painting of a farm and a field at harvest time—and the unavoidable dead man, dressed in a five dollar suit, with a grimace on his still livid face and an ivory handled knife sunk deep in his chest.
Melvin Garrell sighed. “It’s a tough business we’re in, Miss Callafucia. If you can dig me up a change of clothes, I’ll meet you in a half hour at the Grand Okonomis, room 512.” After hanging up the phone, Melvin pulled the knife from the body and carefully wiped the blood onto the towel still slung over his shoulder. With a focused look in his eye, he walked slowly around the room, rubbing a handkerchief over the phone’s receiver, the rim of a tumbled-over highball glass and the doorknob leading into the bathroom.
“Must be thorough,” he muttered to himself, as he pocketed the knife, threw the towel over the dead man’s face and walked out of the two-room house. He was relieved to see his car just where he had left it, across a weed-filled dirt road and pulled halfway into a boulder-strewn meadow. He grimly dropped the blood-stained shirt into the trunk of his car.
Within five minutes he was speeding along a twisting two-lane highway that hugged the roiling ocean. The sun on his left was sinking into the horizon, casting its last luminous glow onto the mountains rising far above him on the right.
I’ll look strange enough entering the Okonomis in just my undershirt, he thought—but I don’t have time to worry about appearances right now.
And, just as quickly, he swerved into a cobblestone drive. Through the glaring sun, he saw an imposing red-brick building perched on a promontory hundreds of feet above the raging surf.
As he pulled into the porte cochere, the doorman looked at him dubiously. He practically growled, “Welcome to the Grand Okonomis, sir” as he held open the brass and glass door for Melvin. But Melvin’s mind was solely focused on making it to the elevators, and to room 512, as quickly as possible.
He almost leapt when he felt a tap on his shoulder halfway through the lobby.
“Why, Mr. Garrell, this is quite a casual look for tonight’s entertainment. Is it the trend now among you fellows to come to my balls looking like common laborers?”
“Please excuse me, Mrs. Horshore. I was the victim of an unfortunate accident earlier in the evening, which caused my outfit to be unwearable. But I was planning to hurry directly to my room, where I will once again become presentable.”
Melvin made a motion to continue toward the elevators, but Mrs. Horshore had hooked his arm.
“Oh, no need to run off so quickly, Mr. Garrell. I can brave your dishabille, for I have a particular question I would like to ask you.”
The thrilling part three will be found on The Midlothian Campaign!
Blood, Melvin thought, Why would I be dripping blood from my sleeves?
He touched his finger to his wrists, and a trenchant smile overspread his face. Of course there’s blood on your sleeves, you fool.
Melvin walked to the sink and removed his shirt. He thoroughly washed both of his arms up to the elbows. After grabbing a towel and drying off quickly, he walked into the living room.
I never should have accepted that drink, he said to himself as he looked at the lifeless body on the floor. As if the thought had just occurred to him, he picked up the phone and dialed, struggling to find each number.
“Hello, Miss Callafucia?” His voice was suddenly suave and collected.
“It’s Garrell here. It was just like you thought. He gave me some drug, I’m not sure what it was, but I got the job done just the same. Ruined my suit, though.”
Melvin paused as his eyes swept the room, taking in the sunken divan, the dingy carpet, the cheap oil painting of a farm and a field at harvest time—and the unavoidable dead man, dressed in a five dollar suit, with a grimace on his still livid face and an ivory handled knife sunk deep in his chest.
Melvin Garrell sighed. “It’s a tough business we’re in, Miss Callafucia. If you can dig me up a change of clothes, I’ll meet you in a half hour at the Grand Okonomis, room 512.” After hanging up the phone, Melvin pulled the knife from the body and carefully wiped the blood onto the towel still slung over his shoulder. With a focused look in his eye, he walked slowly around the room, rubbing a handkerchief over the phone’s receiver, the rim of a tumbled-over highball glass and the doorknob leading into the bathroom.
“Must be thorough,” he muttered to himself, as he pocketed the knife, threw the towel over the dead man’s face and walked out of the two-room house. He was relieved to see his car just where he had left it, across a weed-filled dirt road and pulled halfway into a boulder-strewn meadow. He grimly dropped the blood-stained shirt into the trunk of his car.
Within five minutes he was speeding along a twisting two-lane highway that hugged the roiling ocean. The sun on his left was sinking into the horizon, casting its last luminous glow onto the mountains rising far above him on the right.
I’ll look strange enough entering the Okonomis in just my undershirt, he thought—but I don’t have time to worry about appearances right now.
And, just as quickly, he swerved into a cobblestone drive. Through the glaring sun, he saw an imposing red-brick building perched on a promontory hundreds of feet above the raging surf.
As he pulled into the porte cochere, the doorman looked at him dubiously. He practically growled, “Welcome to the Grand Okonomis, sir” as he held open the brass and glass door for Melvin. But Melvin’s mind was solely focused on making it to the elevators, and to room 512, as quickly as possible.
He almost leapt when he felt a tap on his shoulder halfway through the lobby.
“Why, Mr. Garrell, this is quite a casual look for tonight’s entertainment. Is it the trend now among you fellows to come to my balls looking like common laborers?”
“Please excuse me, Mrs. Horshore. I was the victim of an unfortunate accident earlier in the evening, which caused my outfit to be unwearable. But I was planning to hurry directly to my room, where I will once again become presentable.”
Melvin made a motion to continue toward the elevators, but Mrs. Horshore had hooked his arm.
“Oh, no need to run off so quickly, Mr. Garrell. I can brave your dishabille, for I have a particular question I would like to ask you.”
The thrilling part three will be found on The Midlothian Campaign!
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