There's been a murder reported, announces the Chief of Police.
The Chemist fidgets with a daisy he's set in the button hole of his lapel. He plucks the daisy's petals one by one.
Have you been party to anything out of the ordinary? the Chief asks. Over the past few days?
The Chemist shakes his head. He takes the daisy from his lapel, rips it into shreds and lets it fall.
No, huh? says the Chief.
No, says the Chemist.
Damn, he spits. I'm not having much luck with this case. Especially with the deputy's time taken up organizing a militia to guard the silos at the grain coop. Nothing's breaking.
The Chemist asks if anyone's given a description of the murderer.
The Chief describes the suspect thusly: A drifter. Tall, lanky, filthy. Patchy beard, slope-shouldered, insolent regard of outsiders. Autodidact, crafty, aloof.
Pepple, in earshot of the above description, quits his work, gently drops his shovel and slinks back to the hideous shanty.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
Showing posts with label chemist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chemist. Show all posts
Monday, May 5, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Chemist v. Chicken Sexer
The Chess Master's quick death puts the Chemist in an excellent mood. He sings the opening of the famous Broadway musical:
April was the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
But then you came, yes then you came!
And now the sky is blue again!
And it's true. The sky above is, at that moment, blue.
But then the Chicken Sexer arrives, hobbling in on an inoperable club foot, and the sky turns overcast again.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
April was the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
But then you came, yes then you came!
And now the sky is blue again!
And it's true. The sky above is, at that moment, blue.
But then the Chicken Sexer arrives, hobbling in on an inoperable club foot, and the sky turns overcast again.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Chemist v. Chess Master
It rains.
Pepple, dressed in a long overcoat, drags Grubb’s mangled body from the shack and buries him feet from the well. The hideous woman staggers from the cabin and looks in the pit before Pepple starts filling it with dirt. Soon after, they both return to the shack.
Using the umbrella given to the Chamberlain by Pepple, the Chemist keeps semi-dry.
It stops raining.
The Chess Master arrives, places a wooden case on the table, pushes aside the pistols, and opens the case. It’s a chess board. What do you do for a living? the Chess Master asks the Chemist.
The Chemist answers. The Chess Master nods. He tells the Chemist he thought as much. When I first walked up, says the Chess Master, I thought to myself: here’s a guy with a little sophistication. Like me. Someone that isn’t necessarily good with his hands.
Oh, says the Chemist, I wouldn’t go that far.
The Chess Master proposes that instead of dueling each other with pistols, they agree to use a game of chess as a proxy duel, wherein the loser metes the penalty of defeat upon himself.
Of course I won’t agree to that, says the Chemist. Because you’re a Chess Master.
Who said I was a Chess Master?
It follows alphabetically. Come on—I’ve been reading Totentanzes since grade school. And this is as typical a scam as in any of them. If it’s not a Knight that convinces Death to play chess for his life, then it’s a Chemist being suckered into play by a Chess Master. Every time it ends the same way: the Chess Master wins. Well, not this time.
The Chess Master’s crestfallen.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
Pepple, dressed in a long overcoat, drags Grubb’s mangled body from the shack and buries him feet from the well. The hideous woman staggers from the cabin and looks in the pit before Pepple starts filling it with dirt. Soon after, they both return to the shack.
Using the umbrella given to the Chamberlain by Pepple, the Chemist keeps semi-dry.
It stops raining.
The Chess Master arrives, places a wooden case on the table, pushes aside the pistols, and opens the case. It’s a chess board. What do you do for a living? the Chess Master asks the Chemist.
The Chemist answers. The Chess Master nods. He tells the Chemist he thought as much. When I first walked up, says the Chess Master, I thought to myself: here’s a guy with a little sophistication. Like me. Someone that isn’t necessarily good with his hands.
Oh, says the Chemist, I wouldn’t go that far.
The Chess Master proposes that instead of dueling each other with pistols, they agree to use a game of chess as a proxy duel, wherein the loser metes the penalty of defeat upon himself.
Of course I won’t agree to that, says the Chemist. Because you’re a Chess Master.
Who said I was a Chess Master?
It follows alphabetically. Come on—I’ve been reading Totentanzes since grade school. And this is as typical a scam as in any of them. If it’s not a Knight that convinces Death to play chess for his life, then it’s a Chemist being suckered into play by a Chess Master. Every time it ends the same way: the Chess Master wins. Well, not this time.
The Chess Master’s crestfallen.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Chef v. Chemist
The Chef looks around with casual disregard. He walks to Pepple and strikes up conversation. Pepple stands over the Cheerleader, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. What do you think of her? the Chef asks, gesturing to her body.
Pepple shakes his head.
The Chef asks for a cigarette and Pepple offers one from a pack in his front shirt pocket. Soon they’re both standing, smoking, and talking.
What sort of operation do you run up here? asks the Chef.
Pepple explains. The Chef asks what he regards as the best part of the job.
Well, Pepple says, wiping his hands off on the Cartwright’s trousers, I think in the variety of goods what comes to me day by day. Never do know what to expect when I put my hands in the pockets of these folk. Could be from tissue to treasure.
Pepple fishes around his pocket and pulls out a souvenir pen. Now this here’s a treasure, Pepple says. Not least for its kitsch value.
He hands the pen to the Chef. When tilted, the top falls from Mary in a poor reprint of Carracci’s Pietá. On the reverse a caption reads, “I’m nipples for Naples!”
The Chef agrees. Pepple tells him to keep it. The Chef does, and thanks him.
Pepple returns to work, and the Chef returns to the oak.
The Chemist is a short, thin, dark-haired man in black square-framed glasses. He’s dressed well, with a subtlety of taste that reaches leagues past what one would expect from a chemist. When he reaches the oak, he greets the Chef with a strong handshake and smile, and they begin talking about the darkening sky.
They agree that it’s going to rain.
They agree to duel before it begins to rain.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
Pepple shakes his head.
The Chef asks for a cigarette and Pepple offers one from a pack in his front shirt pocket. Soon they’re both standing, smoking, and talking.
What sort of operation do you run up here? asks the Chef.
Pepple explains. The Chef asks what he regards as the best part of the job.
Well, Pepple says, wiping his hands off on the Cartwright’s trousers, I think in the variety of goods what comes to me day by day. Never do know what to expect when I put my hands in the pockets of these folk. Could be from tissue to treasure.
Pepple fishes around his pocket and pulls out a souvenir pen. Now this here’s a treasure, Pepple says. Not least for its kitsch value.
He hands the pen to the Chef. When tilted, the top falls from Mary in a poor reprint of Carracci’s Pietá. On the reverse a caption reads, “I’m nipples for Naples!”
The Chef agrees. Pepple tells him to keep it. The Chef does, and thanks him.
Pepple returns to work, and the Chef returns to the oak.
The Chemist is a short, thin, dark-haired man in black square-framed glasses. He’s dressed well, with a subtlety of taste that reaches leagues past what one would expect from a chemist. When he reaches the oak, he greets the Chef with a strong handshake and smile, and they begin talking about the darkening sky.
They agree that it’s going to rain.
They agree to duel before it begins to rain.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
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