Tuesday 8 July 2014

The Cupcakes Murder Part 2



This is part two of the Cupcakes Murder for part 1 click here
You should’ve seen the looks on the girls' faces when I walked into Cupcakes.
I was the guy who had given Molly her freedom, suddenly they were all smiling at me, wanting to be the next Molly. But they weren’t genuine smiles, no one could smile like Molly.
Hristov met me with a sombre look on his face, he was genuinely upset. He told the new barman Pete to fix us some drinks and then led us into his office.  As we sat down, I honestly thought Hristov was about to cry.  
‘I know he wasn’t a very nice man Mr Stanley but Todor was my friend, had been since childhood. Now he’s dead and I want you to find who killed him.’ It was the first time I had heard Santa’s real name.
‘How about the police?’ I said, feeling genuine sympathy.
‘They don’t care about us, Mr Stanley, you know how it works.’ I did know how it worked. The police let places like Cupcakes operate freely, as long as they didn’t have to get involved to sort out the inevitable mess.
‘What about your “friends"?’ Hristov was well connected, he pulled strings all ovet this town.
‘No one knows anything Mr Stanley and you know people talk to me.’
‘So that makes you think they’ll talk to me?’ I asked.
‘They won’t, but you’re good, you’ll find the answer.’
I wasn’t so sure, but it was nice that someone had trust in me.
‘Tell me what happened’ I said.
‘A punter comes in, starts taking it a bit too far with one of the girls, so Todor takes him out back to sort him out. But Todor never came back.’
‘CCTV?’ I asked
Hristov looked at me like I was mad.
‘Would punters come in here if I was filming them?’
‘I dunno. Maybe you want it for blackmail?’
‘Mr Stanley, I run a legitimate business, my customers need to know they can be discreet.’
‘Cause of death?’ I said getting back to the case.
‘Gunshot wound to the chest, one bullet.’
This was beginning to look like a hit rather than a random act of self-defence. Normal people don’t take guns into brothels.
‘Did Santa have any enemies? I asked.
‘He’s my muscles,’ he stopped himself. ‘was my muscles, he made enemies, it was a perk of the job.’
‘A perk?’
‘He liked his job Mr Stanley.’ He said with a sad smile.

So for the second time that month I sat interviewing girls in a brothel. They were still trying to give me the glad eye but it wasn’t working on me.  Their memories were hazy, the guy was tall, short, bald, mulleted, he was fifty and he was 25, good looking and ugly. Even the girl he was groping failed to remember him. Pete the barman was a little more forthcoming, he remembered a wiry looking guy, an arrogant eye, drank bourbon, smoked heavily, didn’t say much.
‘I  felt sorry for him when Santa had dragged him out the back.’ Pete said ‘I thought it would be an unfair contest, thought Santa would kill him.’
 I took a sip of my drink and sat in silence for a while. This was either an organised hit or some disgruntled punter who had been dealt with by Santa before. Coming back for a spot of revenge.
‘You ever seen him before?’ I asked Pete.
‘No, but I haven’t worked here long, you should ask the guy before me.’
‘Easier said than done.’ I mumbled. ‘Easier said than done.’

‘Just one thing,’ the barman said ‘I think he might have had a gold tooth or something, maybe a diamond, something that sparkled when he spoke.’ He said it like it was nothing, but to me it was everything.

For Part three click here

No comments:

Post a Comment