Who Unkilled Johnny Murder?-3
977 Words
The first thing I noticed about Quinto Starbulk was his cologne. It was strong and sweet and thick like the smell off a fresh-picked daffodil mixed up with antifreeze, and it kind of made me sick.
It hit me before I even saw him, while I was talking to Madame Destine in Jackson Square...though I swear he had it on so heavy he might’ve been a couple blocks away when I first caught a whiff.
Madame Destine--real name Dolores Schellhammer out of Madison, Wisconsin--was just telling me she’d seen a guy who looked like Johnny Murder down at the casino an hour ago. I was just about to ask what she’d seen Johnny doing at the casino when I got a snootful of that daffodil/antifreeze and noticed Madame D. looking up behind me.
Before I could turn around, I heard a deep, smooth voice like a radio announcer’s or a boxing match emcee’s. “What was Johnny doing when you saw him at Harrah’s?” said the voice, so close behind me it made me jump. I’d smelled the cologne, but hadn’t heard a single footstep on the bricks when whoever was back there had walked up to me.
Madame Destine clammed up at the stranger’s question. Twisting around, I got my first look at the screwy sonofabitch who was about to make my life more miserable than it already was.
He was tall--six-three easy, maybe six-five--and muscular as a Teamster. A tweed jacket with suede patches at the elbows hung off his broad, boxy shoulders, and under that he wore a black turtleneck and gray wool trousers. I thought he was nuts, dressing like that in New Orleans in June, but I couldn’t see a patch of sweat on him; in fact, the whole time I knew the guy, I never saw him sweat, not even a little.
He had a face like a cross between a movie star and a football player, with chiselled features and a square jaw atop a thickly muscled neck. His wide, dark eyes matched his jet black hair, which was slicked back from a sharp widow’s peak and graying at the temples. About the only flaw on him was a tiny, dark mole right smack between his eyebrows, reminding me of a jewel on the forehead of a swami.
“Excuse me,” I said as I stared up at him. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of invitin’ you in on our little conversation here.”
“I don’t mind,” said Daffodil/Antifreeze with a giant smile. “No need to stand on ceremony when there’s work to be done.”
I figured the guy was a tourist who’d happened to overhear my talk with Destine...and I was getting annoyed. “What work you think you’re doin’?” I said. “Other than not mindin’ your own business, that is.”
Daffodil/Antifreeze cleared his throat and looked grim all of a sudden. “Solving the murder of Elizabeth Deschanelle and tracking down the zombie scum known as Johnny Murder.”
I must admit, he threw me for a loop with that one. “Well, now,” I said, pushing myself up off the folding chair at Destine’s table and turning to face him. “I don’t think I caught your name.”
The guy gave me a funny look. “Quinto,” he said, extending his hand. “Quinto Starbulk. I’ve been hired to look into this case.”
“Hired by who?” I said, holding off on the handshake.
“Miss Deschanelle herself,” said Starbulk, pushing his hand toward me. “Before she died, she hired me to track down Murder. Though she’s dead, I fully intend to complete the assignment in honor of her memory.”
Staring him in the eyes, I pushed my hands in my pockets so there’d be no misunderstanding about my not wanting to shake. “That’s real nice of you,” I said, “but we’ve got it under control. No need for you to stick around.”
“I never walk away from a case until it’s solved,” said Starbulk. “Just ask Eighteen Wheeler or Fussbudget Bunco or the Pheromonials.”
“Just ask what?” I said, frowning.
“Lowlifes I’ve crossed paths with,” said Starbulk. “They learned the hard way that I always finish what I start.” Smiling, he dropped his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I can tell you’re the same way, Gerald. We’re going to make a fantastic team.”
“What the hell?” I said, jerking my shoulder out from under his grip. “Where’d you come up with ‘Gerald’?”
“Let’s just say I did my homework before I got here,” said Starbulk. “You’ll be happy to know you passed the background check with flying colors.”
“‘Background check’?” I said, getting angrier by the minute. “My background’s none of your business!”
“Au contraire,” said Starbulk. “As it turns out, your background is very much my business! In the course of my research, I found the two of us have something in common.”
“Like what?” I snapped.
“A father!” said Starbulk. “Gerald, I’m your long-lost half-brother!”
I glared at him, imagining my fist wiping the smile off his movie star face. “Bullshit,” I said. “I’m an only child.”
“Not anymore! Your father--our father--had a son by a woman in Kansas City named Bianca Furrier. I am that son!”
Starbulk fanned his arms out excitedly, as if waiting for an embrace, but I just stood there with arms folded across my chest and stared. A thousand questions leaped into my mind, a thousand ways to shoot down his story...but I didn’t want to waste my time.
I couldn’t see the slightest resemblance in him to me or my father or anyone else in the family. His story didn’t hold water, because my father had never mentioned going to Kansas City or having another son. Starbulk had come up with my given first name, which I kept to myself, but it wasn’t exactly a secret; it wasn’t like he’d told me something only a relative could know.
There wasn’t a chance he was my long-lost half-brother. Frankly, even if there had been, I wouldn’t have wanted to know about it.
He was irritating enough as a stranger. I’d only known him about fifteen minutes, and already I wanted to get the hell away from him.
Without saying another word about our supposed brotherhood, I turned to Madame Destine. “So what was this guy looked like Johnny doin’ in Harrah’s?”
“Poker,” said Destine. “In the high stakes room.”
I nodded. “Thanks for your help, Destine,” I said. “Let me know if you see or hear anythin’ else.”
“I will,” Destine said soberly. “Please be careful.”
“Thanks,” I said, and then I turned and charged past Starbulk, marching off through the light Tuesday tourist traffic in front of the cathedral.
Starbulk, of course, followed close behind.
- Writer
