1. Cruel month. Sharp mists float round river banks. Mutts scour trash. Winds drone. Weary music plays after hours. Gloom rises. Night falls.
Awful human cries.
2. “Hello, Chief.”
“Crime scene?”
“Along there. Empty street.”
“Noted. Shoot.”
“Knife wound, fatal, quick.”
“Heart?”
“Aorta. Hence blood surge.”
“Print check? Teeth marks, semen, hairs?”
“Zilch.”
“Leads?”
“Usual crowd: bogus vicar, crack fiend, angry medic, local creep. Poets.”
“Nasty world. Smoke?”
3. Early lunch. Pizza, pasta, lousy steak. Lager. Latte. Phone rings.
“Sorry, Chief.”
“Again?”
“Fresh stiff. Found below train lines.”
“Kaput?”
“Worse. Cleft.”
“Twain?”
“Roger.”
“Clues?”
“Words.”
“Words?”
“Scrap paper, inked, drawn. Funny stuff.”
“Which words?”
“ ‘Quoit, dryad, azyme, nymph, alack. Okapi, mambo, aeons, phyla, sough. Excrescences, all of them. Gangrenously indefensible. Damn them straight to hell.’ ”
“Weird.”
“Crazy times, right?”
4. Shops close. Tired, ratty folks mosey about. Foggy chill. Faint miaow.
“Hello, Chief. Third death.”
“Natch. Gimme.”
“Toxin. Maybe venom.”
“Where?”
“Spicy prawn gumbo.”
“Yikes. Snack joint?”
“Shady place. Grits, chili, booze.”
“Owner?”
“Heavy party named Chuck Glass. Moron. Earns extra dough tying flies. Limps.”
“Lover?”
“Olive Smith, forty-three. Widow. Twice.”
“Doozy?”
“Tough broad. Kinda lofty. Super smart.”
“Gabby?”
“Shtum. Total.”
5. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Names?”
“Olive Mercy Smith.”
“Alias?”
“Daisy Hazel Baker.”
“Fixed abode?”
“Sixty-seven Lower Maple Drive.”
“Daily grind?”
“Sales clerk. Shoes.”
“Hobby?”
“Tried doing haiku. Prose poems. Short novel.”
“Tried?”
“Trash.”
Pause.
“Alibi? Think, Olive.”
“Dance class.”
“Samba? Rumba? Waltz?”
“Tango. Seven until eight.”
“Dance buddy?”
“Never.”
“Truly?”
“Girls alone.”
“Tripe. Spill, Olive . . . Olive?”
Chaos. Furor. Crash, smash, thump. Olive grabs piece, fires, yells aloud:
“Motherfuckers! Verbalist dictators! Lexical-patriarchal neo-imperialists! Five-letter fascists! Scum!”
“Sorry, Olive. Word not in list. House rules.”
Shots again. Olive drops, moans. Dying, emits quasi-sighs:
“Genius . . . magnificent . . . impressive . . . splendid . . . great.”
Eerie peace. Rains above. First light dawns, ghost-quiet.
“Final words, Olive? Speak.”
“Phew.” ♦
