Copyright © 2007 James Goodman
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
Dennis and Robby agreed on The Market Pub as their starting point for the evening. The center piece of the pub: a long cherry wood bar with brass foot rails and TVs mounted at either end. The place was packed with the happy hour crowd.
"I'll get the first round. What do you want?" Dennis had to speak up to be heard over the din of the mob.
"Guinness," Robby replied. "When you've got a big thirst, accept no substitute."
"Coming right up."
Dennis elbowed his way up to the bar, holding a twenty up to get the bartender's attention. He grabbed the pints and worked his way back to Robby. He tipped his glass while his gaze worked its way up to the TV screen. He froze mid-swallow. A short, brown stucco building flashed on the screen. A reporter stood in front of it, sharing the mic with a uniformed police officer. The caption beneath it read: Another victim found at River Parks.
"Oh my god!" Dennis exclaimed.
He pushed his way through the crowd until he stood right in front of the TV. "Hey can you turn this up?" he shouted without turning away from the screen.
"...the victim, Mary Simmons, was found this afternoon in this restroom behind us. Judging by her state of decomposition, she has been here for as long as a week, but we'll have to wait for the coroner's report for an exact time of death," the officer said.
"But Sergeant Durant, how can a body remain in such a public place for so long without being noticed?" The reporter waved at the scene around them.
"Well, Chandy, this particular rest area is off the beaten track, so to speak. This is a low traffic area as it is the beginning of the trail, and there is a state of the art facility less than a quarter of a mile south of here."
"Is it true that the body was found in the same condition as that of Zackary Thomas?"
"Yes, ma'am. The deaths appear to have been perpetrated by the same individual."
"What precautions are being taken to protect the public from this menace?"
"I can't discuss..."
"Dude, what's the dealio?" Robby tugged on Dennis' arm.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He swallowed hard.
"Try me." Robby pulled him to the door. "Let's step outside for a minute."
Dennis told him everything he could remember: the strange conversation with Beezle, the poems and subsequent news reports, seeing Beezle at the concert. Robby held his tongue through the entire account, nodding at the appropriate times, but otherwise unresponsive.
"Come on," Robby said when he was through. "Let's take a walk."
"Let's just call them from here and have them meet us," Dennis suggested, relieved to finally have his suspicions off his chest, but more so to be believed.
"Call who?" Robby stared at him with furrowed eyebrows.
"The cops. Isn't that where we were headed?"