This is an entry into finishthestory contest, run by @bananafish. Finishthestory is a collaborative story-writing exercise that takes place just about every week. This week the first part of the story, Hunt More Precious Than a Green Stone, was written by @tristancarax. The second half, Where Are You, Belinda?, represents my effort to pick up the story where @tristancarax leaves off.
I enjoyed this style of writing, and there were so many possibilities that I could have written several endings. But this one will do :)
Good luck and happy writing to all who enter. I hope many do stretch their creative muscles with this challenge.
Hunt More Precious than a Green Stone
I watched Belinda getting onto the cable car that was headed up the hill. Quickly, I ran and jumped onto the back as the cable car began to pull away.
I would have had trouble with the ticket agent if it wasn’t for the gun in my hand and the badge on my belt. He backed off with a quiet stare. Following my gaze, he was bewitched by Belinda’s beauty. He darted after me. She had this effect on men of weak mind. I would have fallen off if it wasn’t for the bar slamming up against my back. Tossing the man off the trolley, his body cracked and thudded as he rolled down the hill. A blood-soaked street ...
I turned my attention back to Belinda. Fuck! She’d vanished. That fucking prick! I’d been hunting down this woman for weeks with no luck. I’d have no clue as to where to scour next if it wasn’t for the letter I found at my feet addressed to me.
It was 3 a.m. when I arrived back to my flea-infested motel. A new record for me as the days without sleep turned into weeks of nightmares. Insomnia is a bitch.
The Captain at the precinct had kept me longer than expected. He was viscerally upset when my employer had spoken to him over the phone. ”What do you mean ‘set him free?’” the captain protested. ”This man of yours just killed a man, for no apparent reason, with a slew of witnesses around,” his voice rose a little louder, becoming squeaker, ”and I’m to let him go?” His eyes darted in my direction. I saw him about to crack. ”What am I supposed to tell the press?” My employer ensured him that he’d take care of the press if the precinct did its job and labelled the body bag with the tag ”DNI” (Do not investigate).
Reluctantly, the Captain released me. My employer had ties to power most would never dare touch. Those who dared to challenge him were usually found with a couple missing body parts in the middle of town or possibly at the bottom of a flight of stairs. ”Unsolved” murder/suicides were abound. This place was beyond crooked.
I sat down on the bed. I finally had time to get to the letter I’d hidden in my trench coat pocket that was hidden beneath a pocket. This pocket had saved a few useful items in the past when I’d gotten into trouble for the blatant disregard for life.
Other than the obvious clue ”Addressed to you, Detective,” she had left a kiss mark, formed from the blue lipstick she wore.
I slapped my neck. ”Fucking fleas!”
Opening the letter, I read:
Dear Detective,
I know why you don't sleep at night. I've watched you in your half-hazy sleep toss and turn. Yes, I've done my research. You thought I didn't know about you? No matter.
Pay attention.
Your awakening is coming. You first have to chase this mouse a few more times around the block before your mind will be free enough to see that the shadow and the light cannot be without the other.
You have been to the Garden. Follow the smell. Seek the maid who is more precious than a green stone.
Your employer is banking on the life you've lead up until this very moment.
A sweet kiss, Detective.
There was a knock at my door.
Where Are You, Belinda?
The bed springs creaked as I shifted my weight to stand. A few feet of scuffed linoleum to the dirt-encrusted door.
"Fat Man," I deadpanned to the bulbous pile of flesh facing me across the threshold.
"Joe Easy." The man's eyes flashed disdain as he glanced past my shoulders. "See you're coming up in the world."
"Look, Fat Man, I don't know what you're doin' here, but it's late..."
Fat Man blocked the closing door with his foot.
"Not so fast. I understand you're looking for a certain lady, and a certain green stone."
I had to admit I was interested. What did Fat Man know about Belinda? And the stone?
"What lady? What stone? You been hanging around sleeze joints, pickin' up gossip, Fat Man? Don't you know that's a short road to a bad end?"
I eyed the stained suit that covered his copious, lumpy gut. Fat Man was a low-life, a liar. And he was weak. If he knew anything, he'd give it up, quick. I touched my belt, where the .45 hung conspicuously.
Fat Man's tiny eyes narrowed to compressed slits. Even in the yellow light of the hall, I could see beads of sweat glistening on his brow.
"Who sent you, Fat Man? You didn't want to come, did you? They got somethin' on you? Whatever it is, all I have to do is pump a couple of slugs in you, right here, and you'll have nothin' to worry about."
Sweat pooled in the crevices of Fat Man's face.
"Look, Easy, you and me, we never had a beef. You're right. I didn't want to come. But Madden heard about the stone, and that damn broad who's been leading you on a chase. He wants that rock, and he knows if he gets the girl, he gets the stone."
Fat Man was wheezing. The words came slow. I slammed my fist into his chest.
"That help?"
The man turned purple before he crumbled to his knees.
"You tell Madden I don't know nothin' about any girl or any green stone. And he wants to ask me a question, he should come and do that himself."
I shoved Fat Man's limp form out of the way, and slammed the door. Along with the pile of flesh, a bit of stench also disappeared. I lay down and rested my head on the slimy pillow.
Belinda. What game was she playing? Fat Man. Madden. Half the town looking for her and the stone. I put the letter back in my pocket before I rose and headed toward the door.
No sleep tonight. Again. If I don't find Belinda, someone else will. They might be dazzled by her beauty, but they'll be more blinded by the value of that green stone. Have to get to her before they do.
I sauntered out of the room, dusty hat angled over one eye. A nagging question drove me back into the dark city streets:
"Where are you, Belinda?"