Capricorn's End

This week’s story follows on from the previous week - Tempête du Cygne Noir. The scene commences in the police station interrogation room. Wicked (Mr. Ramstein) was being questioned by Detectives Melcom and Metzil about the murder of Cygne Noir.

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“If you don’t come clean Mr. Ramstein, your freedom and future will end here tonight!”

“Sounds like you are a popular dude around here. Everybody calls you Wicked – right? That’s apt! Right now, with us Wicked, you are the Wicked Witch for a lot of reasons, with no mates, no one is going to save your arse, so you better tell the truth, compreheno!”

“Why did you snuff her out? Wanted to stiff her, did you, and she knocked you back, you son of a bitch!”

“Shot her lover as well! And the poor dog. Are you some kind of manic killer beast? All that pent up anger, and frustration. Every night spy holing her in her private dressing room. Gave you hard-on for murder - did it?”

The two detectives stood over the seated Wicked. They were intentionally menacing, threatening, full of swagger, and abruptly leaning over, and putting their leering faces as close as possible, inches away from Wicked’s solemn bent face. He felt their spital spray onto his exposed facial skin, as they shouted out their menacing threats. The whole experience revolted him, but he remained stone-faced. The only way out of this torturous experience was to remain calm, and to use his breathing and repeated mantras he had been taught years ago when he studied Buddhism. He centred on one mantra and repeated it to himself over and over again – “I am innocent” – “I am innocent” he endlessly repeated in his head. The two detectives stood back in silence, arms crossed, full of knowing, full of hate and loathing, lighting up endless cigarettes, and starting again their tirade, ranting and leaning into his open quiet face.  

He could smell their stale cigarettes and coffee breath, and the remnants of their cheap aftershave. He thought to himself, what a job, investigating and rummaging around people’s secret and forbidden lives. Diving into human garbage and the dark evil in humankind and trying to bring the perpetrators to justice. Was that being courageous? Bullying the weak and innocent, to make fearful confessions under duress. There should be a law to protect the innocent weak from these spiteful, lost souls, these harbingers of doom, supposedly finding out the truth. In their jaundiced eyes, justice in their world was always black and white, where the sword of light had already struck, and what remains is ugly vengeance only to destroy the last drop of goodness and spirit.

The atmosphere in the room smoldered.

“Detective Milcom and me, we ain’t got all night buddy – so make your peace, and spill the beans, cos everybody knows you did it, you lousy son of bitch!” Detective Metzil suddenly launched a fist aimed directly at the bent head of Wicked. It was an unexpected move of aggression by Metzil, and Detective Milcom jumped onto the flaying arm of Metzil to hold him back and create a counter force. The sudden move caused Wicked to move to the side of his chair to avoid the blow, but the chair didn’t support his sudden exaggerated movement. Wicked toppled to the floor.

The frantic commotion seemed to ease the boiling temperament of the room. The two detectives started to arrange their disheveled clothing after the scuffle, and Wicked struggled to get up from the floor, regaining his seated position in the cramped interrogation room. The noisy scraping of the chair on the bare floor acted as an unspoken command to detective Metzil to calm down.

“I did love Ethel, but not in the way you think I did. Anyway, you have no proof I did that…….” It was the first time Wicked had spoken since entering the room, and the stoney tense look on his face now showed a different emotion, sadness and loss dramatically appeared; etched all over, and a sudden loud sob. Wicked was breathing out pure bad energy and emotion which rushed out of his heaving distraught body. The horrific, macabre scene of death on the beach under the spotlight of the storm lighting burned in his mind’s eye. He was bent doubled in anguish in his chair, and sobbed uncontrollably, his shoulders heaving as he hid his head in his arms.

Not even the heartless and hardened detectives witnessing Wicked distress could watch without compassion or sympathy. Milcom found a paper towel and placed it on the table for Wicked to dry the tears from his eyes. It was a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed for all three in the room. The tension eased slightly.

“She was my friend. She was like a daughter to me. She always came to me for advice, and I gave it willingly. I got her a dog to protect her. Lady. She was an angel in her own way. Who would want to harm her, to murder Ethel, and Lady……” Wicked was overcome with grief, and he again hid his head in his arms, and his shoulders heaved with the uncontrollable sobbing.

Metzil went outside briefly and came back with a paper cup of water. He placed it on the table in front of the collapsed and sobbing bent figure of Wicked.

“Look buddy, you gotta understand, you were the first person at the scene of the crime. All the others arrived later, and you were just standing there in the pouring rain, no one else was within miles. All we need is a confession, and where did you dump the gun. You said you loved her like a daughter, you got crazy with this guy right, this Geoffrey Frisby. Fathers can be jealous and overprotective of their daughters, especially if they think the guy, is a jerk!”

Wicked lifted his head from the shelter of his arms. He said in one outtake of breath.

“I was taking an umbrella to Ethel. It was raining cats and dogs. All I found was poor Ethel and Lady. Lying there……”

He then convulsed into a bout of sobbing, just reliving the recent memories was all too painful.

There was a tap on the door, and it opened ajar immediately, and a head appeared from behind the door. The head only used the rolling of the eyes to indicate to Metzil and Milcom were being summoned immediately outside – no dallying.

It was the captain of the police station, and he waited outside the interrogation room for detective Milcom and Metzil to exit. They all huddled together; and it was easy to tell from their posture that something confidential was about to be revealed and discussed.

“A development. Michael Lombardy has been found shot dead in his car. Looks like suicide.” Captain Kilburn was a man of little words, and the paucity of words were always delivered with the lack of emotion, in a robotic type of delivery.

The first to speak was Milcom. “Jeez! The - Michael Lombardy? Of the Lombardy mob fame?”

“Yes.” Replied the Captain. “Plus, we found the same weapon that killed Cygne Noir in the car!”

“What!” Metzil and Milcom spoke in unison. Milcom continued alone. “Come on. That’s too tidy, Chief. Too damn tidy for my likin'?”

“I like tidy. So do my bosses. Get rid of the security guard. But. Warn him, we ain’t finished with him yet. Tell him to hang near a phone, and don’t make any plans for a vacation. OK?” With that the Captain turned and vanished along the narrow corridor.

Before Metzil and Milcom returned to the interrogation room, a private in uniform stepped into their path.

“Tell your friend inside, the dog survived. Flesh wound. Dog was lucky, He can pick-up it from the vets, they need the space apparently, and there’s a bill to pay.”

“At least someone got lucky tonight.” Metzil never lost an opportunity to practice his sarcasm.

Postscript

Ethel Beaver (aka Cygne Noir – the famous cabaret artist), and Geoffrey Frisby, heir of the Frisby fortune were murdered by Michael Lombardy, head of an organized crime network.

Michael Lombardy was found dead in his car with a hole in his head the same night. The official report of the incident states he committed suicide and used the same gun that murdered Ethel and Geoffrey.

Lady the dog, whose owner was Ethel Beaver, survived with a bullet flesh wound. Lady is now under the care and protection of Wicked, security guard at the Capricorn Club.

The owners of the Capricorn Club invested in a vast casino complex further along the coast. The government conveniently allowed gambling in the region where the casino was built and rated the small region of coastline with tax free status, and a gambling concession, which was not allowed in any other parts of the country.

The majority stakeholder in the casino, and entertainment complex, a vast array of buildings is the leader of the nation.

The Capricorn Club closed within one year of the murders.

The town and area surrounding the Capricorn Club became a ghost town. The local community dissolved into a remote fishing village.

There are numerous conspiracy theories for the murders, and they continue unabated. Insiders or people in the know, the conspiracy theorists believe that the leader of the nation not only sanctioned the gaming laws but also sectioned the land for special tax-free privileges. He made sure the building permissions, and the building of the entire complex was fronted by the owners of the Capricorn Club. It is also believed that he was the secret lover of Cygne Noir, and the affair was becoming difficult to contain. The owners of the Capricorn Club encouraged both Michael Lombardy and Geoffrey Frisby to have private meetings and fraternize with Cygne Noir, because her popularity was causing conflicts and problems in the plan to close the Capricorn Club, mostly because her famous nightly act would continue to compete with the new casino complex.

It is believed that Geoffrey Frisby was used as competitive bait to encourage Michael Lombardy to murder both Geoffrey Frisby and Ethel Beaver (aka Cygne Noir) because he was a jealous and arrogant bully, who thought he was a law unto himself, a crime lord. Supposedly the owners were actively enticing Micheal Lombardy with promises of having sex with Cygne Noir. At the same time, they were putting pressure on Cygne Noir to have sex with Michael Lombardy. They knew it was a win-win situation. If she refused Michael he would threaten to kill her, and if she acquiesced there would be a scandal, and it would tarnish her reputation in having an affair with a mobster.

No one believes Michael Lombardy committed suicide. It was an organized assassination by the leader of the nation, another invisible and protected crime lord.

The old adage that rich men get richer, and poor men get marginalized, and then they get ripped off, continues to appeal to the privileged few and is now available at the Emperors Palace Hotel Casino Convention Resort, not far from the now closed Capricorn Club.