MzPecs:
Hi zikdik

Hello!

CHAPTER TWO

It was unfortunate that room service was not the same everywhere, thought Chase, as he prepared to leave the room of the hotel he had lodged in. The receptionist in this one was a fat, puffy-faced busybody with such large ears that Chase was sure had developed from constantly eavesdropping on the various rooms; wrecking homes, friendships and well-defined plans in the process. He'd have to watch out for her.

He turned over the details of the case in his mind. The victim was the only son of a twisted business mogul who probably lived like hell. The prime suspects on the surface were his not-so-smart pals who challenged him to a sleep-over in a haunted room, whatever that meant. The boy had no close relatives and his immediate household, excluding his father, consisted of a spineless chauffeur, an old butler and a ravishing stepmother who was probably younger than himself.

The stepmother. Chase had not been able to put her out of his mind since the previous night. She was in his veins..in his blood. Her face preyed on his mind like a virus. He wanted some of that beautiful body. A taste of those blood-red lips.

He knew that he was headed for trouble. He was an investigator and he was letting an external factor cloud his sense and prejudice his judgement. Until he found the killer everyone in the scene, including Lorenzo Millar himself, was a potential suspect. It would not do to get affectionately personal with anyone but somehow, he did not seem to care.

There was also the matter of Lorenzo. He wondered what sort of a mess he'd be in if he failed to deliver the killer to Lorenzo or if Lorenzo found out he was trying to fool with his wife. The rat execution talk had scared the living daylight out of him. He was certain that the death of his only son had screwed Lorenzo up in the head.

He had earlier received a small package by means of messenger delivery. It was tagged "Anonymous" and contained the details of the case, including the names and addresses of nearly everyone involved in it. Chase knew it was Lorenzo's "wake-up-to,work" present and felt scandalized, only for a second before he remembered the hundred thousand he had been promised. He thought a bit more about Lorenzo. The man was smart. Tagging the package anonymous and including his name and address in it was an excellent guise, should the package had been intercepted. It occurred to Chase that Lorenzo had taken care up until that moment so Chase could not be identified. The only persons who knew Chase had anything at all to do with Lorenzo were his butler and the Filipino chauffeur.

The explanation would be that Lorenzo was being discreet. That theory made sense just as what it was, a theory. Practically, it sucked. A guy as smart as Lorenzo would make a lot of noise about hiring an ex-serviceman city detective. That would invariably cause the killer to try to cover up their tracks and in turn, overplay their hand. But he was doing the exact opposite. It did not make sense.

Chase had no fear for his own life. He knew for a certainty that the kind of life he led would come to an abrupt end someday. He also was more than capable of taking care of himself. He only feared torture and prolonged pain and that sounded like just the thing a guy like Lorenzo would have in store for someone who tried to screw with him. All the same, he might as well avoid the girl and do the job altogether, he thought, knowing for a fact that he was kidding himself.

He left the hotel and made for the address of Matt, who by a stroke of hard luck was twisted in the whole setup. Naturally, Chase would not have bothered. His lazy demeanour left him usually taking the shortest route to fixing most problems and talking to dunce who sent his pal to a haunted room for a wager probably looked a lot like a waste of time. But since he was one of the last persons in contact with the murdered and a pal of his, it would probably serve a good purpose to source some personal information from him.

He had felt he would chance on taxi in transit since he was trying to avoid contact and conversation as much as possible with the meddlesome receptionist. But after walking for nearly two minutes, he had not found any and was just a good five more minutes away from his location. The realization of how small the town was amused him and he was still brooding over it when he caught the sound of very soft footfalls behind him.

It then occured to him that the sound had been persistent in his subconscious for quite sometime. He kept walking as though he had not noticed, slightly decreasing the sound of his own footfalls. The footsteps became minutely more audible, coming in stops and starts and with considerably speed and stealth, confirming that he was indeed been followed by an expert tailer. He smiled to himself, paused to lit a cigarette and continued to walk a little slower than he originally was. Then, he pulled a witty stunt.

He turned around sharply in a split-second, drawing his pistol in the process and pretending to aim. The sudden movement caused the tailer, whoever they were, to give their away by scurrying for cover as a natural protective response. Chase felt pleased with himself. However that was, he had put a scare in them and that was enough in the meantime. He had a feeling, though, that he had not heard the last from whoever was tailing him. As he got to the porch of Matt's domicile, he made a mental note to watch out for himself in the future.

He knocked on the door and waited a few seconds before knocking again with some element of violence. The door soon opened, revealing a man who looked like he was approaching his mid-thirties, standing at average height, slightly overweight and stinking with whiskey. Chase was disgusted and needed no confirmation to deduce that the muddle of humanity in front of him was Matt. He walked in without pausing to acknowledge Matt's queries and when Matt tried to stop him from gaining further entry, he hit him with a punch that sent him reeling and rolling across the room.

Chase picked him up and nearly felt sorry for him. The death of Vasco had made quite a mess of him.

"Hi drinkey", Chase started as he sat, feeling more sorry Matt the more he saw of him. He really was a wreck.

"Oh, go away", Matt replied. "I cannot make promises but you shall have your money soon".

Chase had no time for drunk talk.

"I hope you're used to pain, drinkey" Chase said, lighting a cigarette before he continued. "Your face could be my ash tray."

"You wouldn't do that", Matt said half in horror and half in hope, "I don't know you are and you have no right to come in here and act like this. Get out", he continued, feeling slightly stupid.

"Go easy on your blood vessels, drinkey. I have always loved the smell of burning flesh. It's a hereditary thing. Everyone in my family tree loves a nice, good barbecue. So, yes, I would. Or, you could start talking smart and we both can get ourselves some nice barbecue after our little romance."

Matt sighed and then resigned to respond, acknowledging the fact with a feeble nod.

"Alright drinkey. Let's be pally. I have been hired to find Vasco's killer. I need you to tell me as much you can about the circumstances around it and whatever else you know that might help. Are you going to help me?"

At that point, Matt reacted as though a jolt of electricity had passed through him. He sat up straight, wide-eyed and began:

"You're a shamus!? Blimey! I thought you had come from the creditors. They have been sending toughs after me since Vasco died, the bloody scums! They would not have dared to come for me if he had been alive, but he is not and I owe a lot."

He sighed and made to pick a bottle of whiskey lying beside him but a glance at the look on Chase's face warned him that it was probably a bad idea. He gulped the considerable amount of spittle that had accumulated in his mouth. The look of excitement jumped into his eyes again and he almost started yammering excitedly but then paused as though he had remembered something.

"I'm Matt. I don't like drinkey much but I don't mind it. You did not tell me your name."

"I don't intend to, drinkey. Save your name for your momma. Now, quit flapping your gob and tell me all you know about Vasco's murder", said Chase, feeling pleased with himself. He thought that was funny, only, Matt was not laughing. He looked hurt.

"Vasco was a good guy. A little youthful but he was not hurting anyone. He had a stream of girlfriends so there is none to pinpoint, really.
The night he died, we had downed a drink or two at the local pub. You know how these things are. There wasn't really anyone out there when we got talking save for a blonde and the bartender. Boy! We talked and kept talking, with a drink or two, of course. I brought up the sleepover idea, a terrible one it turned out to be. Ruined my life, has it not? Jack always said my trap will be the end of me. He might have diviner blood. I should ask about it. Am I talking rubbish? I suppose not. I remember it all clearly. Vasco! Yes, Vasco! Rest his sweet soul! He was dead when we checked up on him the next morning. Blasted a wide hole in his head, whoever killed him. Never seen anything like it. Still gives me the jeepers. I suppose that is all, mister."

Chase nearly hit Matt again. He was now lying on the floor, his eyes out of focus. Looking at him, Chase realized what a waste of time it was to have come there. He had not much life and fight in him anymore. It was only a matter of time. He would probably be in jail the next morning for bad debts. Jack would probably be worse.

Chase stood up to leave when an idea suddenly struck him. He considered it and decided to try. Pulling Matt up, Chase shook him and asked if he knew anything about Mrs Millar. Matt had not opened his mouth to talk when something peculiar happened.

Chase heard a click that sounded very much like a safety catch being released. He fell flat on his face instinctively, a habit he picked up in the military. A second later Matt, who was still sitted opposite where Chase had been, in a drunk daze, was the recipient of steady, rapid gunfire.

Chase drew his gun and fired once, directly at the window from which the shooting had taken place. Whoever the assailant was, they had been listening at the window for sometime and had intended for Chase not to have heard Matt's response to the Mrs Millar question. Chase suspected that it was the same person who had been tailing him. Well, he would take care of the situation.

He slowly approached the door, gun in hand. The killer had not left, probably waiting for a confrontation or trying to spring a surprise. Chase was still in approach when he heard what sounded like footsteps descending in energetic haste down the porch at front door. He rushed mindlessly and pulled the door open before stopping a second too late to realize that he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book; the assailant had rolled a round stone down the wooden porch, mimicking the sound of footsteps and fooling an already agitated Chase. He only caught a glimpse of the tall, lean man before a very hard object hit the back of his head with a crushing force and his world faded to black.

I stopped sharing here because I was doubtful about the follwership. Thanks guys.

CHAPTER TWO

It was unfortunate that room service was not the same everywhere, thought Chase, as he prepared to leave the room of the hotel he had lodged in. The receptionist in this one was a fat, puffy-faced busybody with such large ears that Chase was sure had developed from constantly eavesdropping on the various rooms; wrecking homes, friendships and well-defined plans in the process. He'd have to watch out for her.

He turned over the details of the case in his mind. The victim was the only son of a twisted business mogul who probably lived like hell. The prime suspects on the surface were his not-so-smart pals who challenged him to a sleep-over in a haunted room, whatever that meant. The boy had no close relatives and his immediate household, excluding his father, consisted of a spineless chauffeur, an old butler and a ravishing stepmother who was probably younger than himself.

The stepmother. Chase had not been able to put her out of his mind since the previous night. She was in his veins..in his blood. Her face preyed on his mind like a virus. He wanted some of that beautiful body. A taste of those blood-red lips.

He knew that he was headed for trouble. He was an investigator and he was letting an external factor cloud his sense and prejudice his judgement. Until he found the killer everyone in the scene, including Lorenzo Millar himself, was a potential suspect. It would not do to get affectionately personal with anyone but somehow, he did not seem to care.

There was also the matter of Lorenzo. He wondered what sort of a mess he'd be in if he failed to deliver the killer to Lorenzo or if Lorenzo found out he was trying to fool with his wife. The rat execution talk had scared the living daylight out of him. He was certain that the death of his only son had screwed Lorenzo up in the head.

He had earlier received a small package by means of messenger delivery. It was tagged "Anonymous" contained details of the case, including the names and addresses of nearly everyone involved in it. Chase knew it was Lorenzo's "wake-up-to,work" present and felt scandalized, only for a second before he remembered the hundred thousand he had been promised. He thought a bit more about Lorenzo. The man was smart. Tagging the package anonymous and including his name and address in it was an excellent guise, should the package had been intercepted. It occurred to Chase that Lorenzo had taken care up until that moment so Chase could not be identified. The only persons who knew Chase had anything at all to do with Lorenzo were his butler and the Filipino chauffeur.

The explanation would be that Lorenzo was being discreet. That theory made sense just as what it was, a theory. Practically, it sucked. A guy as smart as Lorenzo would make a lot of noise about hiring an ex-serviceman city detective. That would invariably cause the killer to try to cover up their tracks and in turn, overplay their hand. But he was doing the exact opposite. It did not make sense.

Chase had no fear for his own life. He knew for a certainty that the kind of life he led would come to an abrupt end someday. He also was more than capable of taking care of himself. He only feared torture and prolonged pain and that sounded like just the thing a guy like Lorenzo would have in store for someone who tried to screw with him. All the same, he might as well avoid the girl and do the job altogether, he thought, knowing for a fact that he was kidding himself.

He left the hotel and made for the address of Matt, who by a stroke of hard luck was twisted in the whole setup. Naturally, Chase would not have bothered. His lazy demeanour left him usually taking the shortest route to fixing most problems and talking to dunce who sent his pal to a haunted room for a wager probably looked a lot like a waste of time. But since he was one of the last persons in contact with the murdered and a pal of his, it would probably serve a good purpose to source some personal information from him.

He had felt he would chance on taxi in transit since he was trying to avoid contact and conversation as much as possible with the meddlesome receptionist. But after walking for nearly two minutes, he had not found any and was just a good five more minutes away from his location. The realization of how small the town was amused him and he was still brooding over it when he caught the sound of very soft footfalls behind him.

It then occured to him that the sound had been persistent in his subconscious for quite sometime. He kept walking as though he had not noticed, slightly decreasing the sound of his own footfalls. The footsteps became minutely more audible, coming in stops and starts and with considerably speed and stealth, confirming that he was indeed been followed by an expert tailer. He smiled to himself, paused to lit a cigarette and continued to walk a little slower than he originally was. Then, he pulled a witty stunt.

He turned around sharply in a split-second, drawing his pistol in the process and pretending to aim. The sudden movement caused the tailer, whoever they were, to give their away by scurrying for cover as a natural protective response. Chase felt pleased with himself. However that was, he had put a scare in them and that was enough in the meantime. He had a feeling, though, that he had not heard the last from whoever was tailing him. As he got to the porch of Matt's domicile, he made a mental note to watch out for himself in the future.

He knocked on the door and waited a few seconds before knocking again with some element of violence. The door soon opened, revealing a man who looked like he was approaching his mid-thirties, standing at average height, slightly overweight and stinking with whiskey. Chase was disgusted and needed no confirmation to deduce that the muddle of humanity in front of him was Matt. He walked in without pausing to acknowledge Matt's queries and when Matt tried to stop him from gaining further entry, he hit him with a punch that sent him reeling and rolling across the room.

Chase picked him up and nearly felt sorry for him. The death of Vasco had made quite a mess of him.

"Hi drinkey", Chase started as he sat, feeling more sorry Matt the more he saw of him. He really was a wreck.

"Oh, go away", Matt replied. "I cannot make promises but you shall have your money soon".

Chase had no time for drunk talk.

"I hope you're used to pain, drinkey" Chase said, lighting a cigarette before he continued. "Your face could be my ash tray."

"You wouldn't do that", Matt said half in horror and half in hope, "I don't know you are and you have no right to come in here and act like this. Get out", he continued, feeling slightly stupid.

"Go easy on your blood vessels, drinkey. I have always loved the smell of burning flesh. It's a hereditary thing. Everyone in my family tree loves a nice, good barbecue. So, yes, I would. Or, you could start talking smart and we both can get ourselves some nice barbecue after our little romance."

Matt sighed and then resigned to respond, acknowledging the fact with a feeble nod.

"Alright drinkey. Let's be pally. I have been hired to find Vasco's killer. I need you to tell me as much you can about the circumstances around it and whatever else you know that might help. Are you going to help me?"

At that point, Matt reacted as though a jolt of electricity had passed through him. He sat up straight, wide-eyed and began:

"You're a shamus!? Blimey! I thought you had come from the creditors. They have been sending toughs after me since Vasco died, the bloody scums! They would not have dared to come for me if he had been alive, but he is not and I owe a lot."

He sighed and made to pick a bottle of whiskey lying beside him but a glance at the look on Chase's face warned him that it was probably a bad idea. He gulped the considerable amount of spittle that had accumulated in his mouth. The look of excitement jumped into his eyes again and he almost started yammering excitedly but then paused as though he had remembered something.

"I'm Matt. I don't like drinkey much but I don't mind it. You did not tell me your name."

"I don't intend to, drinkey. Save your name for someone who cares. Now, quit flapping your gob and tell me all you know about Vasco's murder", said Chase, feeling pleased with himself. He thought that was funny, only, Matt was not laughing. He looked hurt.

"Vasco was a good guy. A little youthful but he was not hurting anyone. He had a stream of girlfriends so there is none to pinpoint, really.
The night he died, we had downed a drink or two at the local pub. You know how these things are. There wasn't really anyone out there when we got talking save for a blonde and the bartender. Boy! We talked and kept talking, with a drink or two, of course. I brought up the sleepover idea, a terrible one it turned out to be. Ruined my life, has it not? Jack always said my trap will be the end of me. He might have diviner blood. I should ask about it. Am I talking rubbish? I suppose not. I remember it all clearly. Vasco! Yes, Vasco! Rest his sweet soul! He was dead when we checked up on him the next morning. Blasted a wide hole in his head, whoever killed him. Never seen anything like it. Still gives me the jeepers. I suppose that is all, mister."

Chase nearly hit Matt again. He was now lying on the floor, his eyes out of focus. Looking at him, Chase realized what a waste of time it was to have come there. He had not much life and fight in him anymore. It was only a matter of time. He would probably be in jail the next morning for bad debts. Jack would probably be worse.

Chase stood up to leave when an idea suddenly struck him. He considered it and decided to try. Pulling Matt up, Chase shook him and asked if he knew anything about Mrs Millar. Matt had not opened his mouth to talk when something peculiar happened.

Chase heard a click that sounded very much like a safety catch being released. He fell flat on his face instinctively, a habit he picked up in the military. A second later Matt, who was still sitted opposite where Chase had been, in a drunk daze, was the recipient of steady, rapid gunfire.

Chase drew his gun and fired once, directly at the window from which the shooting had taken place. Whoever the assailant was, they had been listening at the window for sometime and had intended for Chase not to have heard Matt's response to the Mrs Millar question. Chase suspected that it was the same person who had been tailing him. Well, he would take care of the situation.

He slowly approached the door, gun in hand. The killer had not left, probably waiting for a confrontation or trying to spring a surprise. Chase was still in approach when he heard what sounded like footsteps descending in energetic haste down the porch at front door. He rushed mindlessly and pulled the door open before stopping a second too late to realize that he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book; the assailant had rolled a round stone down the wooden porch, mimicking the sound of footsteps and fooling an already agitated Chase. He only caught a glimpse of the tall, lean man before a very hard object hit the back of his head with a crushing force and his world faded to black.

CHAPTER ONE

Chase Langley thirty-five, struggled to get out from under his blankets and yawned loudly as he sat up to check the time. He hated waking up or doing anything else for that matter. By appearance, he certainly looked big. Six-three, two-thirty and arms that looked like they had been transplanted from an adult chimp made him look like a bodybuilder on steroids. The only way to have suspected that his excellent body was a product of genetics and chase was his acute lack of interest in anything that would involve exerting himself with some level of hard work. Nonetheless, he certainly could take care of himself. More than expertly trained and skilled in Karate, Jiu-Jitsu and Kickboxing, he acquired acclaim as a deadshot who seldom shot and simply never missed He also possessed an uncanny ability to meticulously plan and prepare for eventualities as well as see through situational happenstances. While all these on the surface would have made him a meritorious special agent for the army from which he was dishonorably discharged without benefits or an excellent detective but the truth was that he was fit for neither. He had a weakness for the fairer sex, an sense of humor that only appealed to himself and a laziness that made the sloth look like a mine worker.

He strolled lazily over to the window of the Hotel complex he had lodged in after his most recent dud job. He had been accosted by a rich jew who wanted to get some dirt on his wife so he could get a strong enough ground for divorce and marry a younger one. Chase, of course, had no desire in tailing a fat, middle-aged woman and spared no time in making away with the Jew's money as soon as he made the first installment. But that had been months ago and now Chase, though calm as he ever had been, was starting to get a little tense. His standard of living was not very cost-effective and in a few days, he'd be home and dry. Somehow, whatever it might require, he'd have to come up with something within a few days.

He thought of Little Tyke. L.T, as he was fondly called by his kit and kin from the underworld, always had a job for anyone willing or daring enough to take it, from running dope to importing fugitives to just about anything else. He also gave recommendations to intending clients, though after taking the Jew on the last job for a ride, Chase doubted that his credentials were as sterling as they used to be. The choice between a tongue-lashing and starvation was east enough but as he reached for the telephone to put a call across to L.T, it began to ring.

He picked up the receiver and before he could say a word the caller, male with a rich baritone, spoke:

"Mr Langley, I must beg your pardon but it would be preferred that you do not speak. I speak on behalf of a man who wishes to engage you services in loosening a rather unpleasant knot. He wishes to meet you at once and has arranged for your transportation if you indeed wish to come. All you need say at this point is either yes or no."

"Yes", he replied without much consideration.

"Excellent. You need only step out of the Hotel complex. You have fifteen minutes" and the caller hung up before he could think of a reply.

The nerve of it, he thought. He had never been pushed around and ordered about like this since the army and that was the reason he left..that and a little indiscretion. He cautiously stepped over to the window and peered out to see if the caller was not bluffing or setting a clever trap but in truth, a chauffeur, likely Filipino, stood anxiously by a black Rolls Royce waiting as though it were for the verdict of his own execution appeal. Obviously, whoever it was that the caller represented had a whale of money. That was all the encouragement Langley needed. Preparing for an event like this usually took less than three minutes since he was always on the run.

He dropped his medical kit and cigarette lighter in a small knapsack and wore a tweed suit with three inner pockets; two for .25 automatic pistols, that were not necessarily loaded and usually served the purpose of bluffing, and the other for a pack of cigarettes. He then pulled a small suitcase which contained his other clothing and an assortment of other items towards him. With the remaining cash he had in his pocket, he made out of the room and towards the elevator as quietly as possible. The whole business had unnerved him a bit and he was eagle-eyed till he reached the basement reception and made to check out of the complex. The receptionist, a slightly skinny girl who had a nice set of upper complements and a pair of knockout legs to go with but not so much of a face, looked sad to see him leave. He was sad to leave her as well. That dame redefined his room service experience.

He stepped out of the hotel and made straight for the Rolls. The chauffeur was Filipino alright. He was short, with silky and thick black hair, brown eyes, a dark tan skin and thick mustache. As for the car, it certainly was a ride. From the outside it's black colour, shiny wheels and dark tinted (and bulletproof, Chase suspected) passenger-seat glasses smelt like money and if anyone had a nose for smelling a whale-fat load of cash as Chase did, they certainly would have covered their noses getting near that ride. Waving his identity card in the face of the Filipino who responded with a curt nod, he eased himself into the passenger seat.

The journey was uneventful and extremely long, save for the fact that the glasses were tinted on both sides but Chase did not mind the fact. He was convinced that the setup was not a phony. Whoever was smart or dumb enough to set him up in a trap would not convey him to it with a nervous, possibly defenceless man. He half slept and availed himself of the comforts of the snacks and water in the glove compartment of the vehicle, only taking a pee break once when the chauffeur had decided to take one as well. It was not until the car came to a stop that Chase tried to converse with the chauffeur but he just politely smiled and alighted to open the door for Chase. It was a very extensive amount of self-control that prevented the view that met his eyes from making him gasp with excitement.

It was fairly dark by that time. A glance at his pocket watch told him that it was ten minutes past the seventh hour after noon meaning that the journey had lasted more than seven hours since it was not yet noon when they had left the hotel complex. In front of him stood a defiant mansion, sturdy and castle-like in appearance. The gates protecting the home were made of shiny black stone and the mansion made of polished white rock. Marble statues stood tall and mighty by the entrance and he could not seem to take his eyes from the brilliant details on them. He forced himself to look away but, as they walked up the steps and into the building, he marveled at the opulence in display. Ivy crawled up on one side, and rose bushes and other scented flower grew around it's edge. Intricate stained glass adorned nearly every window, and there were spirals coming out of it, just like a castle.

It dawned on him that he was handling the setup wrong. It would not do for him to be perceived as overwhelmed by the wealth of his client, whoever he was. He had to appear confident and able to address whatever situation he had been brought in to address. Not that he planned to address the situation anyway, he only wanted the pre-payment but he would have to look and act the part to get it. He knew L.T had recommended him to and amusedly wondered if the recommendations had included warnings of a potential dupe.

He was ushered into the home by a tall, slender elderly-looking man, slightly round in the middle with long, effeminate fingers and a wheezing voice that identified him as the earlier caller. The man was wearing a black trouser, a six-button double-breasted tailcoat, and a gray vest. He had a crest on his shirt cuffs and tie. He was also sporting white gloves, a wristwatch, and a chained silver lapel pin bearing the same crest that read something along the lines of "MILLION" or something of the sort. At first sight, Chase perceived a fleeting look of mockery on his face that disappeared so quickly that Chase nearly wondered if he had imagined it. He did not have to wait long before he was ushered up the stairs to a reading room of sorts to finally discuss his hire.

Lorenzo Millar, as he later found was his client's name, was a sixty-five years old businessman who had inherited a fortune from his own father and by combined strokes of great acumen and fortune had turned it into a mega fortune. He had only a son, Vasco, with his late wife just like his father had fathered only himself. After the death of his wife, Lorenzo had retired from active business, relocated to this mansion in the peace of a small town and had quietly remarried. He seldom traveled out of town and only did so on important business occasions.

Lorenzo was seated behind a richly furnished desk nearly covered with different books that Chase suspected were from a bookshelf that stood singly close to the wall of the room to his right. He, though seated, looked tall with an handsomely chiseled face that would have torn hearts apart at a younger age. His eyes were piercingly intelligent, striking and would have normally been alive with some alluringly boyish charm but on this ocaasion, they looked deep-set and filled with suppressed grief. He beckoned Chase to sit by waving his right hand in the direction of a medium-sized sofa directly opposite where he was seated, smiled despite himself and spoke, as soon as Chase was seated, with a voice as soothing and calming as a drink of chilled water in a desert.

"Mr. Langley, I apologize for the abrupt nature of this matter but it is the very nature of it that calls for such. You have been highly recommended and I suggest that you listen to me carefully first before you comment. I have suffered a great loss. This morning, my only son and heir was found dead, shot in the head by a pistol, by two of his friends in a supposedly haunted room after he had been dared by both young men to spend the night there. I have no belief in ghosts and have no doubt that there is some foul play involved in this matter. The boy was not exceptional in personality but that perhaps is my parental failing. However, he was my son, a Millar by birth and no one hurts a Millar without bearing the brunt of their actions.

My assignment for you is simple: find the killer and bring him or her to me. Whoever they are, you certainly must bring them to me within ten days. Your fee shall be a hundred thousand, ten thousand for every day of work which shall be paid whether you finish the work under ten days or not, but certainly, not more than ten days from now. You will have the full cooperation of the local authorities and a free hand to investigate however you see fit. Whatever you do, however you do it, you must find the killer within ten days and bring them to me."

Chase kept his face expressionless and only picked a cigarette from his pack and lighted it up and quietly began to smoke and think. He needed no encouragement. The man in front of him was a ruthless, embittered, cornered reptile ready to pounce at a moment's notice. Gyping him out of his money was out of the question. Since the pay was excellent, he had no reason to bargain either.

There was no question of murder, that much was certain. His job was to find out who perpetrated it and their motive and bring them to Millar. He suddenly felt a surge of adrenaline considering the prospects. He had been given a free hand and the assurance that he would not be hindered by the local police. Not many jobs came with such cushioning. Besides, ten days was just enough time for him to bust any murder case wide open.

"I accept your proposition, Mr Millar", he said and continued "Let me tell you something, when a fellow approaches me with a job like you have, I gyp him of his money and.."

"I assure you, Mr Langley, that I have been informed of your little disappearing act. I also assure you that you will not get away with it if you try", Millar cut in, smiling a little.

"Then I will assure you that you have a deal. When I make a promise, I deliver on it. Living or dead, your son's killer will be delivered to you within ten days from now. You have only my word for it and I encourage you not to believe it until I deliver. But I will. I have only one question."

"Go on", Millar said.

"What will you do when I deliver the killer to you?"

Millar smiled again and a chill and a sweat ran down the spine of Chase. This man was as dangerous as a rattlesnake nest.

"That need not concern you, Mr Millar. But if you must know, I have made a special proposition for the killer. Do you know anything about rats, Mr Langley? They hate excessive heat. One of the most effective of all torture techniques involves having a cage with one open side strapped against the victim’s body. It would then be filled with large rodents and a heating element which would be placed on the other side of the cage. The rodents’ natural instinct led them to flee the intense heat. In order to escape, they would burrow through the victim’s body with fatal results. That, is my proposition"

Chase was stunned beyond words.

"Brutus will escort you out of the house and Tim, I believe you have met, will drop you off at a comfortable lodging, Mr Langley. Your work will commence tomorrow. Good luck and good night."

Chase was still in shock when he walked out of the room. Brutus, the wheezing butler, was outside waiting to accompany him to the gates. He stopped at the door and whispered good night. As Chase steadied himself and walked into the night to waiting chauffeur, Tim, he saw a red Bentley drive into the mansion and park recklessly.

Out came the most sensationally beautiful lady Chase had ever seen. She could not have been more than twenty-one. She had flaming red hair, her face looked delicately carved as though she had modified it by surgery with bright scarlet coloured eyes and a pointy nose under which lay thin yet full lips of crimson red. Describing her shape to a stranger without making extensive curves in mid-air would be the height of civilization. She had beautifully shaped long legs that stuck out from her dex armless mini black gown like a slice of heaven, each. Since Millar hadn't a daughter, there was no doubt about it: that lady was Mrs Millar.

Busayorafael:
This is beautiful.

#Waiting for the next episode.

Well done, Zikdik.

Thanks Boss.

PROLOGUE

Vasco Millar strutted into the pub the way anyone would if they were heir to the Millar fortune. At first sight, he looked quite the sight. Standing at six feet and a few good inches with wavy coal black hair and a nearly dark tan, his expertly chiseled face was set in a sly, somewhat alluring smile that seldom failed to make any dame who had the fortunate misfortune of coming by him feel giddy in the legs. His well-built arms were permanently fixed at a slightly raised angle away from his body, giving him a "first class son of a gun" appearance that almost could be smelt from a mile off. He swaggered his way to the bar, tapping a blonde standing by a table glass-in-hand with an unimpressive young man, apparently bargaining with her on how much a night out would not cost him, on her rear end which seemed to make giggle excitedly while her companion yelled vituperations, the nicest of which would have made a priest bleed to hemorrhage from his ears.

Cisco, the negro bartender, smiled at him in an attempt to conceal his disgust. He never liked Vasco. All his life, Cisco had had to work his rear off to earn his keep and here was a no-good louse whose solitary moment of hard work had been finding his way out of the late Madame Millar's womb and the only things he had managed to do since then was drink a lot of booze, gamble and screw around. That way of life repulsed Cisco and he would rather have barred Vasco from drinking at his bar a long time ago. However, he always overpaid and gave the best tips. Money was important to Cisco as well as his boss and he had no option but to keep up with him. Besides, Vasco's drinking buddies had consuming liquor on his account for the better part of the last hour on his account and here was an opportunity to receive payment for it.

"Nice having you around, Sir. What will yo.."

"A double whiskey shot with a lot of ice and a lot less talk from you will be perfect", snapped Vasco as he set himself down on a stool by the bar. He exchanged crude pleasantries with his pals Matt and Jack, a libidinous pair of idiots who despite not being remotely related looked alike, had the mental acuity of a benighted teenager addicted to steroid injections and considered everything in female getup a potential bed-mate. He snapped at Cisco again while his drink was being whipped up and narrowly missed the mask of hatred that was set in his face. He downed his drink in a gulp and requested another one like it before returning his gaze to Matt.

"I lost two grand earlier today at the pool", Vasco half said to himself now staring across the pub at the blonde who, obviously weary of haggling with the young man had left him looking dejected and slowly but surely approched the bar giggling invitingly at Vasco. She interested him and would probably make a good proposition for the night if he couldn't find a better looking one.

"Awww..who cares? You never win and always go back there anyway. Besides, the pool table's got a lot of 'em eye-candy"

"I do care, Jack and one of these days, you're going to have to pay for your own drinks if you do not learn a lesson or two on when not to flap your gums", Vasco rebutted feeling slightly annoyed with Jack who picked the absolutely wrong time to talk as the giggling blonde, overhearing them, had now gotten to the bar and made to speak.

"Someone lose a hunk of money recently?"

Vasco sighed to himself. A blonde who couldn't keep her gob shut was no use to him.

"Only your Pa. He should have spent the measly cash used for your upbringing at pool. It would have been put to better use".

The blonde scowled at him and walked away from them and the bar, leaving behind a trail of unprintables that left Matt gaping open-mouthedly at her, his hair standing on their end.

"Why that..such..good ol' days, that sort of language would have gotten a dame a beaten to remember" Matt said, still looking scandalized.

"No blonde deserves to be spoken to in such a manner, remarked Jack before Vasco made a noise like a car engine on the verge of pinking.

"Aww..there's no need to be upset, Vasco. I was only making a joke", said Jack as he went a bit pink in the face. Vasco meant a lot to him. Free drinks, free rides in luxury cars, occasional cash, a lot of blondes and respect on the streets were all perks of being associated with Vasco and he couldn't help but feel sorry for himself if Vasco was mad at him. It wouldn't do at all...
The mood lightened as a few minutes passed on in silence after that. Then, they began talking and boy, could they talk!? They talked about blondes, about the town, about soccer, about pool and then they talked about blondes some more. Then they began to talk and drink until they ran out of blonde talking points.

"You know, we could do with some adventure", Vasco said after some trash talk.

"Blondes are all the adventure a man needs in this clime. A nice, dishy blonde on a night like this one is a lot of adventure, given the right blonde and the right man"

"The problem with you, Jack, is that you think of the world as a big, ripe blonde plantation waiting to be harvested." Vasco snorted and continued. "It's a wild circus. You come and have all the fun. Or you don't. Then, you go. That's all there is to the world. People like to attach importance to the little-big things like ambition and love and a lot of money. The truth is, they come and go. There's only fun in between and I intend to have as much of it as I can."

Matt knew this was a lot of drunk talking and also knew it was someway true. Vasco only existed to have fun. Gamble, gorge on booze and screw. Life for him was those three things or something more fun. He knew Vasco was growing restless from the boredom of that routine and needed something different. That worried him. It wouldn't do to have an unstable Vasco on his hands. Then, the idea came to him in such a flash that he nearly jumped off his stool.

"Say, Vasco, how about I bet you hadn't enough balls to sleep over in that Aldor room."

Vasco frowned a little as he considered the proposition. He knew the Aldor room alright. It was a former gambling room that had closed down when it became home to the only suicide had in recent memory. The victim, a traveling gambler who had run into heavy debt was found that fateful morning in the room with his head in pieces, a pistol with a silencer to fit and a name tag that simply identified him as "Aldor". Rumors had somehow spread that his ghost still resided in the room and no one could spend the night there and live to talk about the sweet dreams they had. Vasco, of course, did not believe such nonsense.

Encouraged by booze and a lust for adventure, Vasco agreed to the bet. Nothing in it, of course. Matt and Jack could barely take care of themselves and drank too much to have had any cash to bet with. Besides, he always had more money than he could spend. His father made sure of that. So, he decided to do it just for the hell of it.

They left a little after an hour before midnight. The bar was nearly empty and Cisco was certainly glad to see the back of them. He had been overpaid again but his hatred for Vasco had just about managed to increase by a notch. The thought of it..


Vasco thought nothing of it when he entered room and bid his friends goodnight. They probably were too drunk to hear and he was too drunk to care. He surveyed the room. It certainly was dusty and smelt of abandonment. He cast a look at the couch in front of what used to be an active gambling table and sneered. Haunted? What nonsense! It certainly was going to cause a lot of ruckus in the town the next day when word got out that he had spent the night there. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was going to put him at the centre of attention more than ever. Then, he grew tired of thinking and fell fast asleep.

Matt rang for Jack the next morning and they both left for the Aldor room. Vasco had not gotten in touch with either man and they both strongly suspected that he had overslept or was devising a way to publicize his feat to the town in a "forget-me-not" manner. They both wanted to take a chunk of the ruction the sleep over was bound to cause. They walked the streets till they got to the groove opposite the room and crossed the road to enter. They had bare entered when the sight that greeted their eyes stopped them in their tracks.

Vasco lay on the floor. The mess that remained of his head was a mass of congealed blood, a cracked skull and a spilled brain. They did not need to touch him to know that he was cold..and dead. Very dead.

All rights reserved.

I'd be sharing a crime thriller written by myself on this thread. All characters, places and events are strictly fictitious. Comments and criticisms are very much appreciated and welcome.

Let's have fun. Cheers!

kinglee1:
Nice piece boss...very nice piece.



please I need you to help me vote Refiner as Miss Nairaland on Saturday please biko.. shey you will help me?

Thank you. You have my vote.

THE LORD'S PRAYER

The structure was cramped for living and breathing space. Fumes of frankincense rose into the atmosphere, gallantly subduing the natural air and suffocating everyone and everything in their path. The legend "JEOVA SHAMA HOLYGOST FAYA CHAPULL INTANATIONA MINISTRY HERDQUOTA" was sprawled across the face of a banner, as though written by a child and attached to the wall of raffia palm behind the makeshift pulpit. But the building looked nothing like a chapel. Indeed, save for the moth-eaten wooden benches arranged in a long row and the pulpit and the choking smell of frankincense and the people of diverse age groups and sex, all on their knees, the structure might have passed for an abandoned campsite.
But it was a church and I had come to seek some respite from the insanity of the outside world. I had walked in quietly as possible to avoid the prying eyes of other worshippers. Alas! It was to no avail. What seeded like a thousand eyeballs xrayed my self as I located an empty space to my right on a bench and sat down. A particular woman continued to stare. Her eyes were narrow, awkwardly reminiscent of a bird of prey. The look on her face was a theatrical masterpiece; she had somewhat managed to smile, frown and sneer with a dash of hopeful enthusiasm and a drop of motherly pity, all at once. It was scary and I instinctively closed my eyes and began to mutter under my breath like everyone else around me in a bid to calm my spirit and soothe my soul.
"Brethren, let us pray", the preacher or pastor or shepherd or whatever pseudonym he had attached to his nomenclature bellowed, his voice reverberating across the whole building in a clear baritone. It reminded me of a certain country musician whose songs were always blaring from the loudspeakers of Abu, a young man who sold pirated copies of whatever audiovisual media anyone desired of him. But this was the house of God and that was the devil's music I thought, shutting my eyelids so tightly that it hurt. I felt good afterwards. My soul was in need of purging.
"Our father who art in heaven"
My mind wondered at the thought. God? My father? A splendid idea that would be. Not only my father but a father to every person. But I looked nothing like the boy I saw by the roadside, leading a more elderly fellow by hand or the fat boy back in school, always munching on milky way candy packs. He never gives me a piece no matter how much I beg him. I should tell him that he is my brother next time. That would soften his heart. I hope God performs his fatherly duties to the boys I saw on TV the other day. They looked like they could do with a good meal or two.
"Hallowed be thy name"
Not only God, Kamoru also requires of me that I hallow his name. Whenever I forget to add "Buroda" to his name as prefix, he strikes my head with his knuckles and reminds me that I was not present at his naming. It hurts and I yelp like Brutus, Bature's dog, yelps when it is kicked for coming close to his owner whenever he is about to enjoy a meal. I should remember henceforth to hallow a name, especially if I was not present at the naming of whoever bears it. "Buroda Kamoru, hallowed be thy name."
"Thy kingdom come"
I know that soon, all good people will grow fly wings and fly up to meet God in the sky after hearing a very loud trumpet or die and be transported to God's house in the sky. I want to go to God's house. My mother says it is beautiful and I can have my own palace and my own throne and my own crown adorned with little stars and cute little angels to serve me as much pancake as I want. I like pancakes. I like God's house and I want the trumpet to be blown very soon. If the trumpet won't be blown soon, I'd rather I die. It is better there than here.
"Thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven"
They say God's will always is the best possible for any situation. I hope he has a will for Nigeria. Everyone is now complaining of inflation and a rise in poverty and hardship. Maybe that is God's will too. Whatever it is, I hope Nigeria turns out the better for it. I love my country and there us much suffering in the land.
Brother Theophilus told my elder brother, John, that God told him Sister Janet is his will. I overheard them discussing it and I was mildly amused. How can a person be a will? These things happen though, God works in mysterious ways. I might have a will too. I wouldn't mind Elizabeth. She has nice teeth and a dimpled smile that reminds me of a princess I once saw on TV. I have to pray hard and shake my head vigorously like Brother Theophilus does if I want God to make her my will though. I will.
"Give us this day our daily bread"
I do not like bread. Moreso, I do not like Baba Risika's stale bread. It smells like something unpleasant, distinct, unlike any other unpleasant smell I know. I understand that a lot of people do not have food to eat and I am supposed to be grateful for what I have. But I hope I still get to make a little choice as regards my meals. Bread and water is not really much of a balanced diet. I might get Kwashiokor. Dear God, give us this day our daily semovita, with vegetable-garnished ogbono soup coupled with stock fish, beef and a chilled keg of palmwine.
"And forgive us our trespasses"
Forgive me too. I like Alice, Bimpe, Janet and Tito. I know God does not like that but I am polygamous at heart. I must pray hard so God can purge me free of dirty thoughts too. Not rotten dirty, bad dirty thoughts like "Is Muhammad really be God's prophet" or "Are the traditionalists actually the right ones" or "What if the big trumpet does not blow again" ? Rubbish thoughts like that.
Forgive Abu for selling pirated CDs. Forgive that fat kid for never giving me any candy. Forgive Mr Dixon for beating his wife to a pulp the other day- it was a horrible sight. Forgive Alamieyeseigha and his co-looters for spending the money meant for 200 million others like their monthly stipend. Forgive us, Lord. Forgive us.
"As we forgive those that trespass against us"
I really have a lot of people to forgive. I won't, not yet. But I promise to think about it. Some wounds don't heal easily. Some never do. If I pretend to forgive while I still bear grudges, I will only be prolonging my healing process. There's a lot of hurt I have been dealt. I need to get over them quickly and forgive so I can heal. I promise to try.
"And lead us not into temptation"
Excellent. Temptation is bad. It forces stupid men and women to take advantage of innocent people and do bad things to them. I will not be a stupid person. I will avoid and resist temptation. However, I don't understand. God is good. Why would he lead us into temptation? I must be missing something. I must pray for understanding. I must pray.
"But deliver us from evil"
Indeed, deliver us. From the cruel hands of Boko Haram, they're finishing us off. From corruption, it is eating us up from the inside, making us rotten and dirty like the measly, small-sized tomatoes being sold for unbearable prices these days. From thieving politicians, they are drinking our commonwealth. From the Super Eagles, they're such an embarrassment. Deliver us from evil.

Amen! Amen!! Amen!!!

OluwabuqqyYOLO:
Wow! Very beautiful. You're good, man.
Can we chat over WhatsApp?

Hopefully. 08162043403

Thank you all.

2scorehigh:
Dear Zik, proper use of paragraphs will make this work easier to read.

The novelette was paragraphed accordingly during the process of typing. My browser screwed that up. I'd try to fix it. Thanks and cheers!

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ekdikisi cast a sharp look over the boulder she had just scaled. It would have been a fatal mistake if she had been followed. The foliage stretch before the perimeter made for an excellent camouflage and she intended to be make maximum use of it. She had successfully taken note of the security detail of the Northern Gate during the time she had first passed through as a tournament entrant. The wide expanse of untrimmed grass made for a perfect hunting ground for an archer, from above or beneath. But it also made for a perfect camouflage pattern for a stealthy creeper. As she twisted and turned her way through the grass, she bypassed the perimeter and kept moving. It wouldn't do to show herself until she'd got to the palace. The key was secrecy and stealth. She got close enough and spotted the guard on duty. He was the same one she had met on her first passing. It was a pity that he'd have to be casualty. Risking a face-off might draw attention to the fact that she was in the wrong place and create awkward scenarios. That wouldn't do. She placed the convertible bow cum scabbard on a vantage position and took aim.

Howie was having a bad day. It had been enough work at the border without this sudden instruction to tighten up security and report any abnormalities observed back to the Emperor's retinue who were on their annual training campout, a few miles away from the borders. The Emperor had also secretly called off the archers manning the border for a reason unknowable to him. Damned dung! He felt naked without the snipers. If trouble was on it's way they were more than capable of picking it off before it got within fifty yards off his personal space. This wasn't the kin of action he longed for.
At least, he had this damned horn. If there was an incident, he was to blow on it and the Emperor's retinue would be swarming the area like ants. He had also positioned all of the damned soldiers at the perimeter. Damnit! Better them to face what was coming than him. He hadn't concluded that thought when a swishing sound pierced through his chest and stuck out on his back. He tried to reach for his horn before another arrow hit him squarely in the forehead. He felt an excruciating pain before his world went black.

Ekdikisi approached the fallen body cautiously. The horn and unusual change in the security apparatchiks of the Gate alerted her sixth sense of an impending danger. She had expected return fire from the snipers which was why after taking aim, she had tied bowstring to a tug and had pulled from another position. That way, whatever counterstrike would have been concentrated on the position of the bow and not hers. But, there had been no counterstrike. That wasn't too worrisome. She had already breached the gate's security. She shed her camouflage and examined the female piece pf clothing she had brought along as part of the mission. It fitted her perfectly. Good. Her usual key weapon was the element of surprise. It was how she'd won the Tournament and it was how she intended to kill the mindless Tyrant and eleminate his bloodline forever. She would appear before him in her true form. Not as Pete Rosenberg but as the child he rejected. As the girl child he valued less than his lust for the throne. Not as a guard in his retinue but as a voice, the voice of vengeance and vendetta..as Ekdikisi. That was the element of surprise..the ace in her pack of cards. That would strike the fear of the gods in his evil heart and if the shock didn't kill him..she would.
She examined her blade and saw that it would need some sharpening. She had walked a considerable distance from the border by now and was now in the streets of the city. She pulled a veil over her face that revealed only her intense, green eyes and a fraction of her nose. Eyes that were so alike to those of her father's. If the old dimwit had not been so occupied with recruiting her and obtaining her pledge of allegiance, he might have actually noticed that their both eyes were an exact copy. It was by a stroke of luck that he had been non-observant and she had the common sense to have kept her head down, she thought.
She walked into the marketplace and quickly signalled to a knife grinder and moved into a shadowed area. As the grinder collected her sword and began to sharpen it with priceless precision, he threw her a sharp, curious look. That wouldn't do, she thought and smiled through the veil. Panic gripped the man as he hastened and endeavoured to be quickly finished with the sharpening. He recognized her. Or him. The boy from the Tournament. What was he doing as a girl? He was jolted out of his thoughts as he noticed that the sword was a little too sharp now. The lady or boy was still smiling as she handed him his fee and collected the sword. He started to hurriedly walk away but had not fully turned when he momentarily saw the flash of the sword and reached for the back of his neck. There was a gash of steady flowing scarlet there. He felt faint and fell.
Ekdikisi stepped out of the shadows. It was a pity that she had to kill him but he had recognized her. That wouldn't do. It would have jeopardized her mission if the Knife grinder had left to mouth off in the marketplace about her identity..or what he thought it was.
It didn't take her long to get to the palace. This was the easiest part of the job. It was abandoned but for a single guard manning the entrance to the Emperor's quarters. The other members of his retinue were training outside the gates which was where she ought to be as well. That meant she experienced little or no opposition until she stealthily got to the left corner of the balcony of the quarters where the soldier was standing guard. She had anticipated this and was more than prepared for it. She positioned two arrows onto her bow and aimed for two fatal positions on the soldier's body: his head and heart.
As the arrows fired, the soldier standing guard heard something fly at him and was quick to react. His sword blocked the arrow aiming for his head while the other pierced his heart. He died immediately.
Kicking the guard's body over, Ekdikisi reached for the knob and quietly opened the wide doors that led to her father's quarters

CHAPTER NINE: THE FINALE

She opened the doors and stepped into the large room. In there sat Megaleio Hegemon alright. But something, somehow had gone horribly wrong...Throughout the course of her mission, she had heavily relied on the element of surprise. Her ability to induce a raw, unexpected form of last-minute panic as well as capitalize on it had served her extremely well. Now, glancing across the room, she saw that she had lost that advantage.
The room was as tidy as usual with it's usual gold-plated props. On her side of the long dining table, at exactly the same position it had been when she had first entered it was a steaming cup of cinnamon tea. It was a clear message that she had been expected and anticipated. She gripped her convertible bow cum scabbard more tightly around her fists and sat down to tea. She would go ahead with this..surprise or not.

Hegemon felt a wave of calm sweep through him as she sat down to tea. He had almost panicked when she walked in, looking as menacing as the ghost of a vengeful soul. Perhaps that was what she was indeed. The ghost of the maid had come back to hunt her. There was no need for unnecessary delay then.
"I know your identity and mission. But I do not know your name. What is your name?"
"Ekdikisi"
Hegemon sighed deeply. Of course, vengeance.
"Then, I must beg your pardon and request for a few moments of your time."
Since she was quiet and wore a blank but concentrated expression, he assumed he had her attention for the time being.
"I understand your grievances", he continued. "Like most youth in their prime, I was overcome with desire and made the grave mistake of forcefully knowing your mother. It is an action I regret deeply. I cannot think of any form of justification for my beastly sin towards her. She was a truly delightful lady and a diligent maid who would have made an amazing mother for yourself and a wonderful queen for me. I'm willing to atone the injustice of my action towards her with my life. I also beg for your forgiveness. But, there is one thing I am not sorry for and would do again, over and over. Listen to me very carefully.
The apparatus of the laws of a land do not exist on the premise of morality. When governing a state, a ruler must make and stand by decisions that foster the preservation and strengthen of the unity of the state, however amoral or illogical they might appear. When you were born as a girl child, your fate was sealed by the gods. Death became the only bulwark to the nefarious star gracing your rising. If it had been proclaimed that you were born of my loins as a female, authority and public sentiment would have departed the Megaleio Bloodline forever. This majesty..this united force of unstoppable power and splendor would not have been born.
Know this, I do not regret the hunt for your life. For these Kingdoms to enjoy the peace and prosperity that they do today, there is nothing I would not have sacrificed.
We're not so different. You, my son..yes, son, have sacrificed your life and that of others for your mission. Before you arrive at the conclusion that your cause is for the sake of morality, realise that you are no better than I am for sentimentality sake. The guard outside is betrothed to be married to a fair lady two moons from now. Even if you had known that fact, you still would have killed him. He was to you, an obstacle. An obstruction to your cause that had to be put away. Whether he was betrothed to be married, or a father of three children, or a man with the burden of an aged mother, you still would have put him away without regrets to achieve your grand goal. This is the hallmark of a true leader.
I have not much time left to live. I know this. When I die without a distinct successor to stake a claim to the throne, this world that I have created will fall apart like a pack of Cajun cards. My numerous sacrifices over the years will count for nothing. Everything I have built so far will break apart and my life's work laid to waste. But more importantly, chaos will ensue. Chaos, carnage and anarchy like as never been seen since the beginning of the world. The leaders of each Kingdom will battle for the control of the lands of the Allied Kingdoms and whoever emerges victorious emerges so to rule over a disaster of epic proportions.
This is why I made your mission extremely easy for you. I presented you with the opportunity to strike by ordering my personal guard corps to proceed on their annual training campout. I made sure you got past the Northern Gate's security by calling off the archers. I made sure you didn't fail to gain entrance to my quarters by placing only one average soldier to patrol my balcony.
Now, I make you a proposition. Here lies a writ that names you a Megaleio, which you are, and guarantees you full control of the Allied Kingdoms upon my demise. I want to you to take charge of the state and bring about a much required balance and stability to the anarchy that would ensue after my death. I have placed my royal seal on it as confirmation of its authenticity. All you need do is append your signature.
I do not ask you this as a favour. Think of it as staking a claim to your rightful place and avenging the death of your mother in one masterful stroke."
He rolled the scroll containing the writ over to Ekdikisi and waited. As she made as if to make a decision, Hegemon added, "I want you to know that I'm an admirer of your will, strength and courage." He then paused, took a deep breath and prepared himself.

Ekdikisi steadied herself with an effort. All that mattered now was she murdering this horrible, horrible man. He had totally outplayed the hand she dealt and now, she just wanted to destroy him and his damned legacy. She still had the journal, she'd release it to the world after she had killed him. Maybe she'd be killed too but if it proved to the world that the bloody Megaleio bloodline had bred weakness..had covered up the birth of a girl child, it was a reasonable bargain for her life. She picked the quill and stabbed it in the scroll, wrote a few words and rolled it back to Hegemon. Then, she picked her bow and took aim.

Hegemon knew it was over the moment she reached for her bow. His worst case scenario had come to being. Only this time, she wouldn't take him. If he was going to be the last true Megaleio, he would have to go down some of his dignity. It was a stroke of genius that he had prepared for this eventuality. He had told his right hand man to check under his bedpost, where he had kept a copy of the writ he gave her. He would sign it and assume his place as the next Emperor. It was also a stroke of genius that he had assigned the archers to cover every inch of the doors and fire unless he signalled them not to. As soon as she stepped out of the doors, she would become a porcupine.
He reached for his dagger as she drew her weapon. His heart caused him sharp, excruciating pain but he just seemed to know and not feel it. His nightmare suddenly became real..vividly real. Only, it wasn't a rustle of wings but the creaking of a bow. As she let out a high-pitched scream of vengeance and fired at him. He plunged his own dagger into his chest and the arrow and dagger both seemed to hit him at once. As he blacked out, he saw the faint outline of the words "Go To Hell" on the writ Ekdikisi and rolled back to him..and blood. A lot of blood.

Ekdikisi did not stop firing until she got to the fallen body of the Emperor. She placed one final arrow close close to his temple and drew until the bow broke. The force of it crushed the head of Hegemon and his brain spilled. Covered in blood and gore, she spat on his corpse and finished his tea.

Then, she walked over to the doors, kicked them open and stepped into the sunshine, welcoming an unwelcome death without open arms.

THE END