Spectacle of Death
Chapter 1
by Scarlet Eve
Friday
6:23 am
Dorothy Catalonia-Bocharov stepped out of the backseat of her husband's Mercedes-Benz, the heel of her shoe promptly sinking into the grass. The ground was soft and muddy because of the incessant rain. Even the car's wheels were beginning to sink into the ground. Ahead of her, Bocharov's Spectacular Show sprawled out over the fairgrounds, the tents sagging under the weight of the water. The show would probably be cancelled, unless the blasted rain let up. Dorothy pulled her coat around herself tighter, and lowered her hat's brim to better keep the rain from her face and hair. She threw a look over her shoulder at the driver.
"I should only be a moment."
A phone call had come an hour before, waking Dorothy from her sleep. The ringmaster told her over the phone in a shaky voice that they'd found her husband, Bartok Bocharov, dead in the big top. He gave no other details, and Dorothy had not asked. She told him not to call the police just yet, then dressed and woke her driver.
And here she was, balancing on the toes of her shoes to keep her heels from sinking through the grass, walking towards the big top. The ringmaster and a few performers stood at the open tent flap, waiting for her.
Dorothy slowed as she approached, staring down the ringmaster. He was badly bending his hat in his hands out of nervousness. She ignored him and the performers, and stepped through the tent flap. Lamps were lit inside the big top, and the rank smell of wet straw wafted up her nose. Dorothy held her gloved hand up to her nose to block the smell, filling her senses with leather instead. A spotlight in the middle of the tent was on, and as she approached, she could see her husband.
He was hanging from the flyer's bar with his knees, his arms outstretched over his head. From her vantage point, she could see that his legs were tied to the bar, to keep him from falling. There was a deep red gash in his neck, and the blood had dripped down onto the hay and dirt below, at least until his blood ceased to flow through his veins. His shirt had come untucked and the pasty white expanse of his belly was exposed to the glaring spotlight.
Dorothy glanced at the ringmaster, who'd followed her into the tent.
"Take him down and bury him somewhere. Don't call the police," she said. The ringmaster paled.
"Are you sure? The police should know…" he began to say, but Dorothy shook her head.
"I'll take care of it," she replied. Her eyes met the cold green and cold blue of a pair of siblings who worked on the circus - an acrobatic clown and a knife thrower, but their names escaped her. She gave them a curt nod and made her way back to the tent flap and stepped outside in the rain. She stood for a moment, taking in the smell of the rain and the wet earth, erasing the memory of wet straw from her olfactory memory. Without a backwards glance, she walked on her toes to keep her heels from sinking into the soft ground, reached her car and climbed back inside, signaling the driver to take her home. Before the view of the circus left the back window, Dorothy wiped a tear from her cheek.
Friday
10:30 am
Heero Yuy, private investigator, leaned forward on his desk, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. His head was throbbing in the worst way, and his vision refused to clear. It was a hangover of the worst kind, and while he might have stopped for a pint of whiskey on his way into work, he found his wallet empty. All that had been left in his coat pockets was a crushed pack of cigarettes and a few sheets of paper with names and addresses. Work had been slow lately, though he should have realized that it was partly his fault. Perhaps if he actually solved a case once in a while…
Just as he was about to drift to sleep, there was a heavy knocking on his office door. Heero sat up with a jerk and shook his head, trying to stop the spinning. "Come in!" he called, and took a drag from his cigarette. It was mostly ash by now, but there was still enough left to give his brain a little jump start. He straightened his button down shirt and ran a hand through his tangled, unruly hair.
The door opened and a tall, blonde woman stepped inside. She wore a wide-brimmed hat that covered most of her face, and a long black coat. Both were wet from the rain still falling outside. Inside the overly warm office, she looked uncomfortable, and almost had that "drowned rat" look to her. But that was until she removed the hat and coat, hanging them up on the coat rack beside the door. Underneath the coat was a dark blue sheath dress, which appeared to be made of velvet, or something like it. The hem dropped to her knees, and the front was viciously low cut. Heero had to blink several times before remembering that he was supposed to be professional. The woman stepped up to the chair on the other side of the desk and sat down, her blue eyes leveling on Heero.
"Can I help you?" Heero managed to say. Through he told himself he wouldn't chain smoke, this woman had thrown him off balance. He reached inside his desk drawer and pulled out another cigarette and lit it with a match from a matchbook he'd lifted from some grody motel he'd once stayed at. Before the woman spoke, she snatched the cigarette from his fingers, took a long draw, then stuck the cigarette back between his fingers. He blinked at her.
"My name is Dorothy Catalonia-Bocharov," she said, "since you haven't asked me yet." Heero managed to pull himself together enough to draw a notebook in front of him and picked up a pencil. He jotted down her name at the top of the page. He stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and met her eyes.
"And what can I do for you, Miss Catalonia-Bocharov?" he asked. For a moment, he thought the woman was going to smile, but instead, her face crumpled a bit more, though to Heero, it almost looked contrived.
"I need you to find the killer of my dearly departed husband," she said, lightly touching her cheek with a gloved hand. Heero blinked. A gig and it wasn't even noon! Heero nodded solemnly.
"Have you called the police already?" Heero asked. Dorothy shook her head, a few loose strands of blonde hair brushing her cheeks and ears.
"I'm afraid they're not going to be able to do anything," she said. "My husband has many business arrangements, and digging out those skeletons will only jeopardize my own safety." She paused, her eyes still staring Heero down. He knew that most people who referred to "business arrangements" were dealing with the mafia. "I need someone who can be discreet."
Heero could be whatever she wanted him to be. He nodded. "Of course, Mrs. Catalonia-Bocharov," he said.
"Please, just call me Miss Dorothy," she replied.
"Uh, sure. Miss Dorothy. Can you give me the details of your husband's murder?" She nodded, and from where, Heero couldn't be sure, she drew out a handkerchief and began to recount the story of the big top at the circus, occasionally dabbing at her eyes with the little square of fabric. Heero listened, occasionally jotting down details on the notepad that he thought might be relevant later. Heero shuddered at her retelling of his body hanging from the big top, and the fact that the blood had eventually stopped dripping from the slice in his neck. She spoke at length about his various business deals that could get him in trouble, including ties with the Dioli family, the local chapter of the mafia in the city.
She dabbed her eyes one more time and the handkerchief disappeared to whence it came. She rose and leaned forward over the desk, keeping her eyes locked with Heero's. Her breasts were dangerously close to making an unscheduled appearance.
"Will you take the case?" she asked, her head tilted to the side. Heero nodded, afraid to say no. Besides, he needed the cash. A slow smile crossed Dorothy's lips, and she pulled herself back up to her full height. She turned and stuffed her hand inside a pocket of her coat and drew out an envelope. It was thick and sealed. She dropped it on the desk in front of him. "Here's a retainer. And a little extra for your promise of silence." Heero hand smoothed the envelope, feeling the thick stack of bills inside. He didn't dare open it until she left.
"You have my discretion," he said. "I'll need your contact information as well." Dorothy pulled a white card from her purse and handed it over. Her name was written in curling script at the top, along with her home and office phone numbers and an address. Heero had never seen a woman with business cards.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Yuy," she said, and leaned over his desk once more and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Heero's stomach twisted, and he felt his face heat up. He sat still until Dorothy had taken her things and disappeared from his office, leaving behind the money, her business card, and the lingering smell of her flowery perfume.
-SE
