Read Online A Carnival of Killing by Glenn Ickler - Free Book Online
Authors: Glenn Ickler
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hell of a job.”
“Well, it’s about to take a turn either up or down,” Al said, looking past me. “One of our jolly Satans is headed this way.”
I turned to see one of the shorter Krewe members weaving through the crowd in our direction. He grabbed an empty chair from another table, slid it into place beside me and sat down. “Hail, Vulcan,” I said.
“Very good,” said the man in red. “In case you don’t recognize me, I’m the Prince of Soot. If you remember, I spoke to you this afternoon.”
“I do remember,” I said. “In fact, I’ve been trying to pick you out of the crowd.”
“That’s the wonderful thing about these costumes,” he said. “You can pull off all kinds of crap and nobody knows which one of us to blame.”
I wanted to ask if “all kinds of crap” included murder, but I knew that question would bring the conversation to an abrupt halt. Instead, I said, “What do you want to talk about?”
“The same thing you were trying to talk about all during the ride,” Soot said. “I want to warn you not to jump to any conclusions about who did what in O’Halloran’s.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look around the room for a minute.”
I looked. Then I looked back at the Prince of Soot. “Okay, what am I supposed to be seeing?”
“How many red suits do you see?” he asked.
“There should be seven, including yours, plus Vulcanus Rex in a black one.”
“I didn’t ask how many there should be. I asked how many do you see?”
I looked again. To my amazement, I saw more than seven. “There’s a dozen. What’s going on?”
“Former Vulcans,” the Prince of Soot said. “We get to keep our costumes at the end of the carnival. Sometimes some of the old Krewe members put theirs on and join the fun.”
“So, what you’re saying is that all the Vulcans seen in O’Halloran’s last Wednesday night might not have been members of the current Krewe?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“That broadens the list of suspects seen at O’Halloran’s to … how many?”
The prince shrugged. “More than you can count on your fingers and toes.”
“And you’re sure whoever was hanging around with Lee-Ann Wednesday night wasn’t a member of your Krewe?”
“I didn’t say that.” He rose and saluted me. “Have a good evening, Prince of the Printed Media.” With that, he walked away to join Vulcanus Rex, the only one I could positively identify because of his black running suit.
Al, who had been circulating and quietly taking photos while Soot and I talked, returned to the table. “What did old Sootie have to say?”
I told him.
“Oh, shit,” Al said.
“My thoughts exactly.”
We finished our drinks and were about to ask Britney for our check when another Vulcan emerged from the mob and plopped himself down in the chair vacated by the Prince of Soot. “Hi,” he said. “Recognize me?” The voice sounded familiar but I’m not good at reconstructing faces around mouths and noses, which were all that showed between the man’s goggles and greasepaint beard.
“Sorry,” I said. “Can I have three guesses?”
“Are you sure we’ve met?” asked Al.
The masked man’s mouth formed a smile and the teeth gave him away. “My first guess is Ted Carlson,” I said.
“Very good, Mitch,” Carlson said. “You could be a detective. Are you boys having fun?”
“We men are having a blast,” Al said. “The crowd in here is pretty lively considering recent events.”
“The show must go on,” Carlson said. “Anything more I can do for you boys?”
My immediate response was to say he could kiss my boyish ass, but I restrained myself, knowing I might have to ask this condescending little prick a question or two in the morning while I was writing my story. “Nothing for now,” I said.
“I must confess that I’m surprised to see you boys here,” Carlson said. “I thought you’d be working on your story and printing your photos
“Well, it’s about to take a turn either up or down,” Al said, looking past me. “One of our jolly Satans is headed this way.”
I turned to see one of the shorter Krewe members weaving through the crowd in our direction. He grabbed an empty chair from another table, slid it into place beside me and sat down. “Hail, Vulcan,” I said.
“Very good,” said the man in red. “In case you don’t recognize me, I’m the Prince of Soot. If you remember, I spoke to you this afternoon.”
“I do remember,” I said. “In fact, I’ve been trying to pick you out of the crowd.”
“That’s the wonderful thing about these costumes,” he said. “You can pull off all kinds of crap and nobody knows which one of us to blame.”
I wanted to ask if “all kinds of crap” included murder, but I knew that question would bring the conversation to an abrupt halt. Instead, I said, “What do you want to talk about?”
“The same thing you were trying to talk about all during the ride,” Soot said. “I want to warn you not to jump to any conclusions about who did what in O’Halloran’s.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look around the room for a minute.”
I looked. Then I looked back at the Prince of Soot. “Okay, what am I supposed to be seeing?”
“How many red suits do you see?” he asked.
“There should be seven, including yours, plus Vulcanus Rex in a black one.”
“I didn’t ask how many there should be. I asked how many do you see?”
I looked again. To my amazement, I saw more than seven. “There’s a dozen. What’s going on?”
“Former Vulcans,” the Prince of Soot said. “We get to keep our costumes at the end of the carnival. Sometimes some of the old Krewe members put theirs on and join the fun.”
“So, what you’re saying is that all the Vulcans seen in O’Halloran’s last Wednesday night might not have been members of the current Krewe?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“That broadens the list of suspects seen at O’Halloran’s to … how many?”
The prince shrugged. “More than you can count on your fingers and toes.”
“And you’re sure whoever was hanging around with Lee-Ann Wednesday night wasn’t a member of your Krewe?”
“I didn’t say that.” He rose and saluted me. “Have a good evening, Prince of the Printed Media.” With that, he walked away to join Vulcanus Rex, the only one I could positively identify because of his black running suit.
Al, who had been circulating and quietly taking photos while Soot and I talked, returned to the table. “What did old Sootie have to say?”
I told him.
“Oh, shit,” Al said.
“My thoughts exactly.”
We finished our drinks and were about to ask Britney for our check when another Vulcan emerged from the mob and plopped himself down in the chair vacated by the Prince of Soot. “Hi,” he said. “Recognize me?” The voice sounded familiar but I’m not good at reconstructing faces around mouths and noses, which were all that showed between the man’s goggles and greasepaint beard.
“Sorry,” I said. “Can I have three guesses?”
“Are you sure we’ve met?” asked Al.
The masked man’s mouth formed a smile and the teeth gave him away. “My first guess is Ted Carlson,” I said.
“Very good, Mitch,” Carlson said. “You could be a detective. Are you boys having fun?”
“We men are having a blast,” Al said. “The crowd in here is pretty lively considering recent events.”
“The show must go on,” Carlson said. “Anything more I can do for you boys?”
My immediate response was to say he could kiss my boyish ass, but I restrained myself, knowing I might have to ask this condescending little prick a question or two in the morning while I was writing my story. “Nothing for now,” I said.
“I must confess that I’m surprised to see you boys here,” Carlson said. “I thought you’d be working on your story and printing your photos
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