Murder on Olympus

by Robert B Warren

  “Just three?” I pulled out my wallet. “No blood or urine samples?”

  He frowned.

  I handed him my driver’s license, social security card, and library card. Baldie held them like a hand of playing cards. He glanced at the cards. Then at me. Then at the cards again. After at least a full minute, he gave them back to me.

  “I apologize for the delay, Mr. Jones,” he said, though he didn’t sound very apologetic. “Please, come in.”

  “Thank you.” Prick.

  The inside of the restaurant was gorgeous, with cream walls, hardwood floors, crystal chandeliers, and the biggest chocolate fountain I had ever seen. Pieces of gold-rimmed china were arranged neatly on each table, and classical music drifted through the air. Nothing looked out of place.

  Baldie escorted me to a dining room on the second floor. It was identical to the one downstairs, minus the chocolate fountain. He seated me at a corner table. My seat granted a clear view of the stairwell, so I’d know if someone was trying to eavesdrop on the interrogation.

  Baldie held out his hand and cleared his throat. I took a piece of peppermint candy out of my pocket and placed it on his palm. He stared down at it.

  I patted him on the shoulder and sat down. “You’re welcome.”

  He sneered and walked off.

  Aphrodite arrived ten minutes later. She was short and model-thin, with a narrow face and a pointed nose. Her white camisole clung to small but shapely breasts, and matching pants flowed down lean legs. A big-rimmed sun hat, flip-flops, and large sunglasses completed the outfit.

  I had never been able to figure out why the world was so obsessed with her. I realized that she was the Goddess of Love, Sex, and all that good stuff, but she simply didn’t do it for me. Don’t get me wrong. She was good-enough-looking, just not the bombshell everyone made her out to be. Maybe there was something wrong with me . . . Nah.

  I stood up and shook her hand. Her skin was among the softest I had ever touched. I was careful not to squeeze too hard. “I’m Plato Jones.”

  “Aphrodite. Pleased to meet you.” Her voice was deep and breathy—attractive voice, but too big for such a small woman.

  I pulled out a chair for her. As she sat down, I caught a whiff of her perfume. It smelled out-of-this-world good. Was it lavender? Rose? Citrus? I couldn’t tell.

  I sat back down. “Thanks for coming.”

  Aphrodite nodded. “It’s my pleasure.” She removed her hat and sunglasses and placed them in an empty chair. The pixie-cut style of her auburn hair struck me as an attempt to look cool and edgy. But any edge she might’ve gotten from it was dulled by her eyes. They were large and innocent. Doe eyes. Their greenish-blue color reminded me of seawater.

  The blond waitress came up the stairs and hurried to our table, her smile huge and bright. A pair of menus trembled in her hands. From the start, all her attention focused on Aphrodite. I might as well have been invisible. But that’s alright. Thanks to Herc, I was used to being ignored in the presence of celebrities.

  “G-good afternoon.” The waitress’s voice squeaked, as she placed the menus in front of us. “Ca-can I start you off with s-something to drink?”

  “A raspberry tea would be nice,” Aphrodite said, examining her fingernails instead of looking at the waitress.

  “G-great choice. That’s my favorite too, by the way.”

  Aphrodite smiled. I couldn’t tell if it was genuine. The waitress seemed to think so. She giggled like an idiot, then looked at me.

  “And for you, sir?”

  I could’ve gone for a stiff drink. But that wasn’t an option. Being around the Goddess of Love, I didn’t need anything that might lower my inhibitions. Besides, I was on the job.

  “Water,” I said.

  “One raspberry tea and one water.” Blondie nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  She hurried to the bar area and returned moments later with our drinks. She put the glasses on the table and looked to Aphrodite with stars in her eyes. “Are you ready to order?”

  “I think so.” Aphrodite pointed at something on the menu. “Is the Kobe burger good?”

  The waitress returned an eager nod. “It’s really good.”

  “I’ll have that, medium rare, with a side of sweet potato fries.”

  I arched my eyebrows, surprised by Aphrodite’s selection. I was sure she was going to order the fanciest item on the menu. Funny, I’d have never pegged her as a meat and potatoes type of girl. Still, it was refreshing to see an Olympian choose something as mundane as a burger—even if it was Kobe beef.

  The waitress took out her notepad and scribbled down the order. Then she turned to me. “And you, sir?”

  I opened the menu and raised an eyebrow at the prices. “Can I see the kid’s menu?”

  She blinked. “Um . . . we don’t have a . . .”

  I held up a hand. “I’m just kidding.”

  Aphrodite laughed. The sound reminded me of tiny silver bells.

  The waitress laughed too. She sounded like a goose that had just smoked a carton of cigarettes.

  “You’re a funny man, Mr. Jones,” Aphrodite said.

  “I try.” I closed the menu and glanced at Blondie. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  The waitress nodded. “Two Kobe burgers, medium rare, with sweet potato fries. Got it.” And she scurried downstairs.

  Aphrodite smiled. She had beautiful teeth. Straight and white. “Mortals are so adorable.”

  “You seem to be in a good mood,” I said.

  “I am.” She reached for her drink. Her fingers wrapped elegantly around the glass, one at a time starting with her pinkie. Her nails were painted red. The color looked nice on her.

  “Aren’t you the least bit upset over your husband’s death?”

  She sipped her tea. “I was. But I’m over it.”

  “That’s some fast recovery time.”

  “I can’t change the fact that Hephaestus is gone.” She shrugged. “What’s the point of worrying about it?”

  She made a good argument. I nodded and moved on. “I heard you two were having marital problems.”

  “Problems?” Aphrodite laughed, her large eyes sparkling. “Oh no, Mr. Jones. There were no problems between us. Hephaestus and I had an . . . understanding.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

  She smiled at me as if I were a puppy that had just sneezed. “I married Hephaestus on Zeus’s order. I never loved him. I had no intention of ever loving him. He understood this. He hated it, but he understood.”

  “So he let you cheat on him?” I asked.

  “He had no choice.” Aphrodite took another sip of tea and licked her lips. The wetness made them look softer and fuller.

  My throat tightened. I gulped my water. “Where were you on Saturday night?”

  “I was at home,” she said without hesitation.

  “Were you alone?”

  Aphrodite shook her head. “I had friends over.”

  “Would these friends be willing to corroborate your story?”

  “Of course.”

  I was interested in hearing what she and her friends had been up to that night, though I already had a pretty good idea. “Can you think of anyone who’d want to kill your husband?”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  “Is it possible that one of your lovers got jealous and decided to take him out?”

  Aphrodite giggled. I had no idea why. “It’s possible, but very unlikely.”

  “What about Eileithyia?” I asked. “Anyone have it out for her?”

  “Hades was never fond of her.”

  That made sense. Hades and Eileithyia were polar opposites. He was the God of the Underworld—the personification of death—and she was the Goddess of Childbirth. Their very natures put them at odds.
<
br />   “When was the last time you spoke with Hades?” I asked.

  Aphrodite pursed her lips in thought. She looked like she was puckering up for a kiss. My palms began to sweat. I blotted them on my pants.

  “About a hundred years ago,” she said.

  “So you don’t know what he’s been up to lately?”

  “I’m afraid not. I would suggest you ask him yourself, but I’d hate to see something bad happen to such a handsome man.”

  The compliment caught me unaware. I grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Thanks for the concern, but being a detective means exploring every avenue, even ones that may lead to dead ends.”

  “You’re a brave man, Mr. Jones.” Aphrodite smiled approvingly. “I like that.”

  30

  After lunch, Aphrodite and I stood in the restaurant lobby, waiting for her limo to arrive. A horde of paparazzi gathered at the main entrance, snapping photos of us though the glass door.

  Unlike Herc, Aphrodite embraced her fame. Her image graced the covers of countless magazines and tabloids, and she held the number two spot on People’s “25 Most Intriguing,” just below Zeus. Big surprise there.

  And speaking of the president, I wanted to question Aphrodite about him. Earlier, I had decided to put the matter aside. But my curiosity refused to die. It was trying to drive me into dangerous territory. It urged me to discover the truth, no matter the risk.

  Fortunately, common sense intervened before I could open my mouth. I realized there was nothing I could’ve said, no question I could’ve asked, that wouldn’t have sounded condemning. Aphrodite seemed nice enough. But she was still an Olympian. Any questions I asked, any comments I made around her, would almost certainly reach Zeus’s ears. I couldn’t risk that happening.

  “You seem anxious,” she said.

  “I get nervous around photographers,” I lied.

  She smiled. “They probably think you’re my new boy toy.”

  “Fine by me. So long as they don’t know what’s really going on.”

  She looked at me with those big sea-green eyes. I could see my reflection in them. “I want to thank you, Mr. Jones.”

  “For what?”

  “Picking up the check. It was very gentlemanly of you.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  We were silent for a while. The shouts of the paparazzi filled the silence between us, muffled by the glass door. Aphrodite was looking toward the exit. Sporadically, I found myself glancing at her from the corner of my eye. She had a great profile.

  “I understand you used to be an OBI agent,” Aphrodite said out of the blue.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Why did you quit?”

  I hesitated. My history with the OBI was not something I liked to talk about, especially with people I didn’t know very well. But Aphrodite had given me a suspect in the form of Hades. The least I could do was answer her question.

  “A few years back, my team and I were sent to Belgium to locate an Anti-God terrorist cell. Our orders were to capture the leader and his followers. Intelligence reports led us right to their base of operations.”

  “What happened next?” Aphrodite asked.

  I didn’t mention how the base of operations was a two-story house in the suburbs, or how the so-called terrorist cell leader was actually Paul Rousseau, a public access radio host, whose only crime was criticizing the government for treating mortals like second-class citizens. His alleged cohorts were his wife and two young daughters.

  As Rousseau’s show gained more and more popularity, a bunch of pro-human radical groups started popping up throughout the nation. Most of them were nonviolent. But a few took their radicalism to another level, sending threatening letters to government officials and planting car bombs. Whether or not Rousseau was to blame, I’ll never know. But the bigwigs on Olympus labeled him a threat to national security, and sent OBI to bring him to justice.

  But I didn’t tell any of that to Aphrodite—because I didn’t know what she’d do with that information.

  “We apprehended the terrorist leader. Then we radioed HQ to report our success. We all thought the mission was over, but command told us that there had been a change of plans. We were ordered to eliminate the terrorist and his followers. Murder them in cold blood. I refused. But that didn’t matter. My teammates were more than willing to carry out the order. I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t. When we got back to New Olympia, I turned in my badge. And here I am.”

  Aphrodite stared at me, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled and said, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

  I nodded. For some reason, I felt as though her opinion of me had changed. But if she thought less of me for disobeying Zeus, that was her problem. What I did in Belgium, I did for the right reason. No one could convince me otherwise.

  “I have something for you.” She pulled an unmarked envelope from her handbag and gave it to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “A copy of a letter. It’s from my husband. I received it the week before he died. It might help in your investigation.”

  “Did you show this to the OBI?”

  Aphrodite nodded. “They couldn’t make sense of it. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

  “Thanks.” I opened the envelope and went to pull out the letter.

  Aphrodite put her hand over mine to stop me. “Not now,” she said. “Let’s try to enjoy our time together.” Her hand lingered before she pulled it away.

  I slipped the letter into my coat pocket.

  Again, Aphrodite had surprised me. Before meeting her, I thought she was going to be a sex-crazed lunatic, obsessed with turning me into one of her thralls. But it seemed I was wrong. Maybe there was more to her than just pretty eyes and scandals.

  “I may not have loved Hephaestus, but I didn’t want him to die,” she said. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “Promise me you’ll bring his killer to justice.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Outside, a white limo pulled up.

  “That’s my ride.” Aphrodite put on her hat and sunglasses. “I enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Jones, though I wish it could have been under happier circumstances.”

  I smiled. “Ditto.”

  “We should do this again sometime.”

  “Yeah.”

  She waved goodbye and left the restaurant. The sea of paparazzi made way for her. A million flashbulbs went off.

  I watched her as she walked past them and got into the limo. For the Goddess of Love, Sex, and all that, Aphrodite was astonishingly reserved. Nothing like the sexual dynamo featured in the media.

  She did have a nice ass though.

  31

  I waited until the paparazzi had dispersed before leaving the restaurant. I drove to the Ammo Crate, a store located in one of the older parts of town. Squeezed between a barbershop and a hardware store, it specialized in antique weapons. The owner, Magus, was a family friend. After my dad passed away, he assumed the role of father figure. Whenever life had me in a chokehold, I could always count on Uncle Magus to help me out.

  I opened the door and went inside. Weapons filled the walls and display cases. An antique cannon sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a velvet rope. The sign next to it read, “Do Not Touch. Owner Is Not Responsible for Decapitation.” In the corner of the store, swing music crackled from an old record player.

  Magus was polishing a revolver behind the counter. He was tall with dark-brown skin and a cul-de-sac of curly gray hair. He wore a white T-shirt covered in oil stains, and a pair of camouflage pants. Despite his age, the muscles in his arms were lean and sinewy and popping with veins. When he noticed me, he put down the revolver and grinned.

  “Well, if it isn’t PJ.”

  His deep, husky voice made whatever he said sound big and important. I once su
ggested he close the shop and do voiceovers for insurance commercials. He laughed and told me to get real.

  “In the flesh.” I glanced at the revolver. “Nice gun.”

  “Isn’t it?” Magus picked up the gun and handed it to me. “I got this baby from a collector yesterday. Former collector, actually. You see, his new wife has a gun phobia. She’s making the poor guy sell his whole collection. It wouldn’t be me. That’s for damn sure.”

  I examined the weapon. Smith & Wesson Model No. 3, otherwise known as the Schofield revolver. This one was in excellent condition. Not a scratch on it. I wondered if it had ever been fired.

  “They don’t make them like this anymore.” I handed the revolver back to Magus.

  “That’s the truth.” He put the weapon aside.

  “I need to place an order.”

  “Sure. What do you want?”

  “Osmium rounds. Ten boxes.”

  “No problem.” Magus keyed the order into his computer. “I’ll call you when they get here.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Magus inclined forward and rested his elbows on the counter. A sign near his arm advised against leaning on the glass. But when you’re the boss, you can break the rules.

  “So, what’s been going on with you, PJ?” Magus asked. “Staying out of trouble, I hope.”

  I smirked. “Come on, Uncle Magus. I never look for trouble. You know that.”

  “It looks for you, right?”

  I winked. “Exactly.”

  Magus chuckled. “I swear. You’re still the same little hell-raiser I met years ago. You just got bigger and uglier.”

  “You left out hairier.”

  “Thanks for reminding me. So, how’s your love life going?”

  “It’s not.”

  “You’re not still caught up on Alexis, are you?”

  I shrugged. “Just a little.”

  Magus swore. “You’ve been divorced for three years. It’s time you got out there and found a nice young woman to settle down with. Preferably one with an attractive grandmother.”

  “Okay, that’s gross.”