Castle Murders

by John Dechancie

  “They will. They like gestures. They’ll enjoy stoking a bridegroom into the coals, fresh-plucked from his bride’s tender embraces.”

  “God, Clare, that’s awful.”

  He kissed her again. This time their embrace lasted longer. Her body aligned with his and pressed against him, her right leg up over both his. He stroked her thigh lovingly, longingly.

  “I’ll marry you, Clare, if you think it’ll help. God, it’s the least I can do.”

  “Don’t do it for that reason.”

  “What do my reasons matter?”

  He gently pushed her off and got up.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Carney. You still love him.”

  She frowned. “I wasn’t even thinking of him.”

  “I’m not blaming you, Helen. But it has to be full and free, without let or hindrance. No encumbrances.”

  “I said I’ll marry you, Clare. I meant it.”

  “I believe you. But —”

  A resounding crash came from the far pan of the mansion. The floor shook momentarily. Shouts and exclamations outside.

  “God, what was that?”

  “Stay here,” he said, striding out of the room.

  Once out the door, he ran down the wide hallway, and took the steps three at a time.

  On the ground floor he followed his ears through the immense house until he found the source of the commotion in the ballroom.

  A gray Leland sedan had crashed through the big French windows, taking a part of the wall with it. The crumpled hood was inside the room, as was the driver’s door. John Carney was struggling out. There seemed to be a shimmering aura surrounding him. It was prismatic, colorful, but faint.

  Tweel was astounded. “John! Nice of you to drop by.”

  “Happy New Year! Merry Martinmas! The blessings of Bran be on you.”

  Tweel threw his head back and laughed.

  Carney found the bottle under the front seat and upended it in his mouth. He drained it and looked forlornly upon its emptiness. “To the lees. Finished. No more. Nevermore. The nectar of the dogs.”

  “Of the dogs?”

  “Tastes like dog urine. But smooth.” He threw the bottle to shatter against the wall. “Frater ave atque vale. Give my regards to olive-silvery Sirmio.”

  Tweel chuckled. “John, you’re polluted.”

  “Aye, that I be. But do I wake or sleep? That is the question.”

  “You look wide-awake to me. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  “I gotta take a piss. I mean my wisdom teeth are doing the backstroke. You got a facility?”

  “Yeah. Indoors, too. Down the hall —”

  “Wait a minute. Help me with her, will you?”

  “Who you got in there?”

  “Boss!”

  A man with a submachine gun poked his head through the hole in the wall.

  “Boss, he crashed the gate! Like a maniac! He tore through the garden, ripped up the lawn — we couldn’t stop him. Our damn guns wouldn’t fire for some reason!”

  Tweel said, “You think he’d come here with his hand inside his fly?”

  “The damn car had sparks and stuff comin’ off it! You want I should let him have it, boss?”

  “Heel, boy. I’ll handle this.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  Carney was struggling with the not-quite-conscious Velma, trying to lift her out of the car. Tweel helped. They got her upright, and Tweel stooped, letting her fall over his back, and picked her up in a fireman’s carry.

  Tweel patted a well-rounded buttock. “Nice to see you, Velma.”

  Carney said, “You told me, ‘I wanchu to find Velma for me,’ so I did.”

  “You found her all right. Come on upstairs. Helen’s here. We can have a party.”

  “I always hew to the party line. Where’re the dengs, by the way?”

  “They’re around somewhere. What’s going on, John? Is this a social call, business, you selling insurance, what?”

  “The time has come, old Walrus-breath, to speak of many things. Like, what the hell is going on with you and the dengs?”

  “Oh, they’re calling in my marker.”

  “Yeah? I thought so. When?”

  “Midnight. It was twenty-four years ago tonight.”

  Carney looked at his watch. “Stopped. What’s the time?”

  “Not too frigging much. Come on, we have time for one drink.”

  Tweel walked, Carney weaved, out of the ballroom.

  In the hall they ran into Fioretto Roberto “Bobby” Speranza, spat-shoed and dapper as ever. His ski-jump nose was a little red, but he was essentially sober.

  “Your Honor!” Carney said.

  “I wanna tell ya, these dengs are murder,” Bobby said. “You go to one of their parties, and you’re so happy to get home you’re glad you went. Ba-boom. Rimshot. But seriously, folks.”

  Carney said thickly, “Hell of way to treat a mayor of a great metrotopil … metropopol … a big town.”

  “Oh, you’re pumpin’ ethyl tonight, boy,” Mayor Speranza said. “Did you drive here or wash in with the tide? You’re sloshed.”

  “And I intend … excuse me … to get a lot sloshter.”

  “Whew, that breath is dynamite! I’d buy you a drink, but it’s a clip joint and you’d only disappear at closing time.”

  “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “Speaking of cured ham,” Bobby said, gently poking Velma’s rear with his cane. “Velma?”

  “She has a wooden leg, only it’s solid,” Carney said.

  “Clare, seriously now,” Bobby said, “when the hell are they going to let me out of this upholstered cesspool?”

  “Bobby, you got me,” Tweel said, shrugging Velma. “No, actually, the dengs got me. For keeps.”

  “They really going to cash in your chips, huh? Well, take plenty of weenies to roast.”

  “I think they roast other stuff down there,” Tweel said. “What can I say, Bobby? There’s nothing I can do.”

  “They got half of the city council here. Any more and we’ll have a quorum and send out for pizza.”

  “It never was your town, Bobby.”

  “Shit, I know that. But damn it, being the mayor should count for something.”

  “Didn’t you get to cut the ribbon when they opened the sewage treatment plant?”

  “Oh, and I still have wet dreams about it, but I mean, seriously …”

  “It’s their town now, Bobby,” Tweel said, moving on.

  “They can have it! Just let me go home and get a shower, f’crissake!” Bobby watched them walk away. “I’m tellin’ ya, it’s murder. I’m going to refer the whole thing to my lawyer. He needs a good laugh.”

  Whistling, twirling the cane, Speranza strolled off down the resplendent mirrored hallway.

  “How’d he get elected, anyway?” Tweel said. “I can’t figure it.”

  “Didn’t you buy that last election?”

  “Yeah, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”

  As they rounded a corner, a deng leaning against the damask wall straightened up and took a toothpick from his mouth.

  “The Boss wants to see youse.”

  “Tell Ashtaroth I have a date with him at midnight, not before.”

  The deng smiled toothily. “You don’t got much time.” The smile drooped. “Now. Drop the broad.”

  “Drop dead,” Tweel said.

  The deng looked at Carney. “You too.”

  “I’m otherwise engaged, thank you.”

  “Come on. I wanchu to meet a guy.”

  “Well, if youse insist. Who’s this Ashtaroth anyway?”

  “The Boss.”

  “Come on,” Tweel said. “He’s commandeered my office.”

  Tweel’s office was an expanse of blue-and-gold deep-pile carpeting and red leather furniture. A well-dressed deng sat behind the polished walnut desk. His eyes were soot-black, his t
ie whiter than a sacramental host.

  “Come in, boys,” Ashtaroth said, cigarette in hand.

  Tweel laid Velma down on the couch.

  “John, nice to see you,” the demon said, smiling.

  Carney approached the desk. “Have we met?”

  The deng said, “We have mutual friends. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, before I stuff you back into the stinking hole you came from.”

  “Is that any way to respond to an offer of hospitality?”

  “Deng, your leathery ass is heather, and I got Heathcliffe revving up the combine.”

  Ashtaroth puffed impassively. “Really. You’re pretty drunk.”

  “Things are not what they seem. I want you and your minions out of here in one minute, starting now.”

  Ashtaroth plucked the cigarette from his bloodless lips. “Hey, who do you think you’re talking to?”

  Carney reached across the desk and grabbed a lapel, pulled the huge body forward and took the other lapel, brought the deng’s face close to his. Sparks flew from the points of contact.

  “WHO THE FUCK D’YOU THINK I’M TALKING TO, FUCK FACE? THE FUCKING WINDOW?”

  Astonished at Carney’s strength, the deng desperately tried to detach himself. Carney pushed him away and sent him tumbling over the executive leather chair.

  The deng rose, slapping at the tiny flames that had sprung up on the lapels of his shiny gabardine suit. “You’re dead. I don’t care what kinda hocus-pocus you got working, you are one dead cookie, pal.”

  Carney lanced a finger at him. “I want you out of here, out of this town, and down your hellhole, pronto, or you’re going to regret it.”

  The deng came around the desk and strode toward the door. “Get bent. I take no orders from you. Okay, so we can’t get no leverage this time, but we’re taking him — and there’s nothing you can do about that. We got a contract!”

  Ashtaroth left, slamming the door.

  “You guys didn’t seem to hit it off,” Tweel said.

  “Chemistry, you know.”

  “Yeah. Shit, what am I gonna do?” Tweel sat and passed a meaty hand through his shiny black hair.

  “Now you worry. Twenty-four years ago you didn’t worry so much.”

  “What can I say? I was a fool. The power, the glory, the shining chrome on the pussywagons, it blinds you.”

  “Oh, don’t make me puke. You got a brain, why didn’t you use it? You knew you couldn’t win.”

  Tweel held his head in his hands. “I know, I know. Jesus Christ Almighty.”

  “Too late for that stuff. Boy, you really got your tit caught in a wringer this time.”

  “What can I say, Inky? I’m basically an asshole.”

  “I’d say you were an anal opening of the first magnitude. An asshole’s asshole. Not only that, you didn’t R.S.V.P. Dorcas’s invitation.”

  “Shit, I forgot. Tell Mom I’m sorry, okay?”

  “You tell her when you get back to Perilous.”

  “That’s a laugh.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They’re only local demons.”

  “Their Hell is one of the best in the omniverse, I hear. Exquisite refinements. Really, they are very good at what they do.”

  “Hooray for them.”

  “Uncle Inky, what the hell am I going to do?”

  “I dunno. I gotta take a piss first, then …”

  “Ah, enough of this puling,” Tweel rose. “I want to see Helen before they take me.” He picked up Velma again easily.

  Carney said, “Is there a bathroom on the way?”

  Helen was staring into the fire, empty wineglass in hand, when she heard the door open.

  “John!”

  “Hi, Helen. I need a drink or a place to pee, or both, in any order.”

  She got up and hugged him. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Nice to see you. They drag you here?”

  “Sort of. I wanted to come. I knew he was in trouble.”

  “He’s in a pile of trouble.”

  “Is Velma okay?”

  “Yeah, one ruby grape of Proserpine and she was out like a light.”

  “Why are you here, John?”

  “To save this jerk’s butt.”

  “Oh, John, can you do it?”

  “I dunno. I feel it’s possible.”

  She looked up. “John, there’s something like faint flame dancing around your head.” She drew back from him. “In fact, around your whole body.”

  “Aura. You read auras?”

  “Nope. What’s it mean?”

  “It means I’m cooking with gas. I don’t know what the hell it means, but I feel good. I feel positive. I sense the vibrations. I’ve been getting more fiber in my diet. Got that drink?”

  “There’s wine.”

  Carney reached for the bottle and took a drink. “Excuse me,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, “but I have to keep a certain blood-level up.”

  “John, you’ve been drinking. You never drink, very much.”

  “Dutch courage.”

  “There’s going to be a fight?”

  “There’s gonna be a battle of epic proportions. Dionysus meets Godzilla, plus selected foreshortened subjects. I wish I could get you out of here.”

  “Three minutes,” Tweel said, staring up at the clock. He looked extremely worried.

  “You have to do something, John,” Helen said.

  “Take it easy. Want a drink?”

  “No.” She sat on the settee. “He asked me to marry him.”

  “What was your answer.”

  “I said yes. It was a qualified yes, though.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “That’s always the question, isn’t it? It’s a question I can never answer. I wonder if I can love anybody.”

  “You can if you love life. Existence.”

  “Maybe I don’t,” she said. “I’m frightened of life sometimes.”

  “Aren’t we all, sometimes. Videlicet, the present moment.”

  “Maybe I don’t love life.”

  “Well, you can learn. But this is hardly the time for deep discussion.” Carney took another drink, then looked at her. “What are you thinking of?”

  “Being back home, in Illinois. Sometimes I get homesick.”

  “What did you do to support yourself back there?”

  “I worked in a cracker factory. Nights, I sang in speaks. Real dives. In one of them the dancers went bare-breasted.”

  “Cracker factory?”

  “Yes, snack foods, that sort of thing.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was a taste tester. But I quit to come here.”

  He took her chin. “Was this the face that munched a thousand chips and spurned the topless bars of Illinois?”

  “That’s me.”

  “All is gross that ain’t you, Helen.”

  “John.” She kissed him tenderly.

  He said, “One kiss from you and I’ll be Methuselah.”

  “Two minutes,” Tweel said, his eyes still on the clock. Beads of sweat had appeared on his brow, tiny drops, a film of worry and fear.

  The house began perceptibly to shake.

  Carney said, “Sit tight and try not to be scared.” He patted her hand.

  He got up and paced the room, now and then lifting the bottle to his lips. He examined the paintings, the expensive vases, statuary, and other objets d’art.

  “One minute. One minute to live. O gods. Uncle Incarnadine, save me!”

  “Stay calm, kid.”

  Earthquake tremors shook the house. Paintings fell from the wall, vases toppled, and shelving collapsed, spilling fine limited editions all over the floor. Furniture began an eerie dance, shifting positions.

  Carney lifted Velma off the couch and brought her to a corner of the room near Helen. He beckoned to Helen and had her sit in the corner, holding on to Velma. He moved a heavy Chippendale highboy in front of them.

&
nbsp; “Thirty seconds! Gods save me! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to burn in Hell forever!”

  Tweel was on his knees before the clock, fists at the sides of his head, his eyes shut against the terrible moment about to come.

  To the sounds of cracking boards and splintering wood, the floor split down the middle, creating a wide chasm into which rugs, furniture, and lamps plunged. Flames leaped from the abyss. The hole went down to the basement and farther, into a deep pit that was the source of the searing fire. Smoke and sulfurous fumes rose.

  Carney threw the wine bottle into the hole. He stood at the edge and unzipped his fly.

  Tweel was still on his knees, staring with horror into the Avernean depths, mouth agape. The flames lit his terrified eyes, but he could not avert his gaze from what was in the pit.

  “Oh! Is it ugly! Oh, close it up, close it up!”

  The smoke and fire coalesced into a form hideous beyond description, but its human lineaments were discernible.

  The ugly thing jabbed a taloned finger at Tweel.

  “You, shit-breath! Get your ass down here, now!”

  A pale yellow stream arched past the thing’s face.

  “Hey … what the bleeding blazes …?”

  Carney stood in blissful relief, emptying his bladder into the internal conflagration.

  “You, there! Just what in Hades do you think you’re doing?”

  Carney said. “When you gotta go …”

  Thick clouds of steam began to rise from the hellflame below. They billowed to the crumbling ceiling and filled the room.

  “Now, just a damned minute. You just can’t go whipping it out and whizzing wherever your fancy pleases. People live down here!”

  “Yeah, they’re going to be all upset about a little pee water. Spoil their day, it will.”

  “That’s not the point. The point is you don’t casually piss on somebody’s property. What if I came over to your game room and took a dump on your pool table?”

  Carney grunted pleasurably. “You know, when it’s like this, after holding off so long, it’s almost as good as an orgasm. Know what I mean?”

  The steam roiled up in puffy white clouds, obscuring the fiendish apparition. Carney continued his evacuation, playing the stream in fancy filigrees across the chasm.

  At length, he was drained to the dregs. A few last spasmodic spurts, and he was done. He repacked himself and zipped up.

  It took a while for the steam to clear. The flames were gone. Nothing was in the pit but sooty, steaming rock, reeking acridly.