Under the Soil
1617 Words
The night maybe had been too much pure, too much quiet. I didn’t know, I wasn’t there to enjoy it.
I was in the closet, it was always a big comfort zone for me. Whenever I used to scared, I went to the closet. The closed space was my dark Narnia.
Was I scared? I couldn’t say. I couldn’t think of anything straight.
Abiel Montero. A small town bank investor. A giant shark. He was killed, brutally. Why? By whom? Nobody knew. And, that ruthless killer left a letter to me, just to make me look like an accomplice. Maybe still nobody wouldn’t think that. But they wouldn’t rest that possibility aside.
I could have slept in the closet, like a short nap. But I needed some lead, something to work with. I should start with that, Abiel was a big bad guy.
I got out from the closet. Narnia would have great if my neck wasn’t on the line.
I went to the kitchen. I needed a coffee cube before getting out.
Suddenly I heard a knock on my door. It was surprising.
I opened the door, it was agent Micah.
I hadn’t had any visitors in my home for like three years, so it was kind of awkward to have any guest in this messy state. I asked, ‘Good afternoon, agent Micah.’
She nodded, ‘Good afternoon. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.’
Would she leave if I said yes? No, so I said no, ‘I was just having my afternoon coffee.’
This was awkward. For the absence of visitors in many years, I had forgotten the normal etiquettes for hosting. So I tried to remember being a host, ‘Would you like to come in?’
She wasn't even reluctant, ‘Yes, I would really appreciate that.’
And there we were. In my own home, I was with the person who literally had my job. Quite an irony!
I showed him the guest room, ‘You can sit here. I'll be back with coffees. And please ignore the environment here. I am generally not used to have guest for a while.’
She nodded, and I was relieved to leave her there and to come back to my coffee.
This coffee cubes were getting too much pale. But yet, the taste was impeccable. I grabbed out two more cubes from the refrigerator. Maybe she would like some latte cubes.
Why was she here? To investigate me? Maybe. To see if I had any lead? I didn’t think so.
The cubes made an interesting noise in hot kettle. Opposites always interact with each other in a very exciting way.
‘Is this the hell's kitchen?’
I was startled by the voice behind. But I remembered, I had a visitor on the house.
She went up to the kitchen, suddenly. I wasn’t expecting her here, ‘I thought you are sitting in the guest room.’
She laughed, ‘I assumed that you wouldn’t be a psychopathic killer. I took a risk.’
This girl was nuts.
She looked around, ‘You would really be a sloppy killer, leaving the murder scene messy as hell.’
I put off the fire, ‘I hope you like latte.’
I knew she would nod. Talkative people normally have an attraction towards everything in light color, like latte.
I poured some in a cup, and gave it to her. She took a sip of delight, ‘Do you always keep some extra lattes?’
I took a sip from my cup, ‘The world is full of latte-loving people. I like to be cautious.’
She laughed like a kid. How would a kid laugh? Maybe in an innocent and awkward way.
I tried to divert, ‘So, I think you are here other than complimenting about my home.’
She pulled out a file, and put the bag aside, ‘I need some help with this case. I need an extra pair of eyes.’
I looked away from the files, ‘You can get John. I know he is too much excited and emotional all the time. But he has a great way of observing. Besides, my involvement could compromise the case. I am still a prime suspect.’
She looked at me, the looks weren’t like a detective. Those were like a friend who would care for me. But I barely knew her.
She said, ‘I wrote my first report on the blood pool case. Nobody could have that instinct; it was an instinct of an unbiased man. I know I sometimes sound like a dumb admirer, but I know this wasn’t any unbiased work.’
Damn! This was ridiculous. Did she know about Abiel, who he really was?
She continued, ‘I looked into Abiel. He seemed like an innocent poor cash handling guy, but I know he is more than that. My instincts are also of a detective.’
Well, bravo to her instinct, but I couldn’t say anything. I had to keep this investigation of mine a low profile. No, not for the sake of people, just to find the killer, who was after my lone wolf reputation.
She added, ‘Do you know anything about Abiel? I don’t think you knew him. He was alone, in fact he loved to be alone.’
I nodded to him, ‘Okay, thank you for trusting me. But I don’t think I want to work this case. And if I do, I will do it alone, within the limits and regulations for suspension.’
She seemed quite upset, ‘I really wanted to work with you. I am not exactly in homicidal. I was assigned here temporarily, for just leadership purpose. But I wanted to join you in any work.’
This was too much awkward, ‘You know you are saying this loud, right? I mean I think these are your thoughts, mistakenly coming out from your mouth.’
Man, I felt bad. Those words were harsh. I could have put that delicately, could have rephrased in a less insulting tone.
But she wasn’t offended, ‘Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. I am not a good detective. I should work on that.’
She finished her coffee, ‘But I could give you some advice.’
I looked at her, she was more talkative than she looked.
She took her overcoat, ‘Just try organizing your rooms once in six months.’
She opened the door, and went away. I was there, standing with an open door and a messy home, confused as hell.
Did I make any mistake? Maybe, but it wasn’t a good time for investing myself in that. I had some errands to run.
The Break-A-Beer was one of the least popular bars in Illinois. The reason? The people who drank here. It was a celebrating harem for snitches and losers. It was great coming here after more than two years. This place hadn’t changed a bit, totally. There was a brothel back in the bar, I hadn’t gone there ever, so I couldn’t guess how much that had changed. But this gossip tables, the pool corners, those were as I saw them before.
I went to the stand, it was a new bartender, ‘Hey, can I get a glass of hand brewed root beer?’
He looked at me, ‘You seem like an old customer. Nobody wants that now.’
Nobody wanted that because nobody could handle the roughness. George couldn’t, I could remember.
We would come here every weekend. We would celebrate our accomplishments. Mine was mostly how many classes I skipped for the piano practice, and his would be about how many girls he was handling. It was unnecessary and meaningless, but it was fun, it made us the brothers we were.
I asked the bartender, ‘Did George come here today?’
He was startled, ‘Umm, G-George who?’
He knew George, I could tell, ‘George Renovese. Is he here?’
He was afraid, ‘N-No, I don’t know anyone by that name. Here's your beer, sir.’
I spoke in a calm voice, ‘No need to panic, I am not any enemy. Just blink if he is now in the pool corners. I didn’t hear from you, relax.’
He blinked; I was assured. I walked up to the pool corners.
Pool was our amusement. We would hit a corner every time we came here. He was perfect protégé in pool. I remembered, he once cleared the table in just one and a half minute, the poor chap, who was his opponent, had no turn. He didn't miss any ball. We sometimes would play against each other, and I never shared the scores with anyone. If we counted our win comparison with population and I was United States, he would be India, surely.
I didn’t need time recognizing him. Same old goatee, a pale leather jacket, old sweatpants. He was exactly like before; it was like I never left. I slowly walked up to the table.
He was aiming for the black ball, the last one. He took his signature shot; the double reflects. The cue ball hit the cushion twice before bagging the black ball. The shot was wonderful, all around him were amused, not me though, I relieved this moment hundred times.
I went behind him, and whispered to his ear, ‘Troppo atteggiamento, bastardo.’
It meant ‘Too much for an attitude, you bastard', and he knew who would say that.
He looked right at me. I was confused. Was it a look of joy, or a look of wonder?
He dropped his cue stick, ‘Lazio?’
I confirmed his assumption, I nodded.
He suddenly hugged me. Man, I was bad with emotion, and stuck with my brother in a twenty-two-year-old hug.
He was sobbing, I could feel the tears dropping on my shirt. But I didn’t mind. Sometimes we could negotiate with life, for tears of joy.
- Writer
