Yet another crime prompt this week, dedicated to the late, great Leonard Cohen. Go read and vote for your favourites!
I must confess, I’m not a big fan. Don’t get me wrong, I recognise his talent, 100%. The whole “dark troubadour” shtick just doesn’t do it for me – much like Nick Cave or Johnny Cash.
Big talents; just not my thing.
So I didn’t really get into the whole Leonard Cohen vibe as much as other entrants did. Still pretty happy with my effort, however. It is definitely a lot darker than I normally write though, so here’s a heads up that I insinuate child molestation (in case anyone might find that triggering).
The prompts were:
Single Title: Show Me the Place
Album Title: Death of a Ladies’ Man
Death of a Ladies’ Man
“Show me the place where he touched you, little one.”
The small girl with the haunted eyes dutifully started pointing. I tried to stay calm.
Should’ve asked where he didn’t touch her.
“That’s OK. You can stop. He can’t hurt you anymore, OK?”
She nodded, and was once again enveloped by the waiting paramedics, glints of anger seeping through their steely-eyed professionalism.
The mother paced around the living room, restless and edgy. Like a caged tiger.
Wild eyes locked on mine.
“I warned him,” she seethed through clenched teeth. “I warned him, I did. He didn’t listen.”
Her pacing continued, her bloodied hands impulsively balling into fists and then releasing themselves again.
“I told him, if he ever touched my daughter, I’d rip out his ‘Ladies’ Man’ and make him fucking EAT it. I told him. He laughed.” She paused her frantic pacing and looked me in the eyes again. “That asshole LAUGHED! Right in my face!”
She roared and bolted for the bedroom, where the mutilated corpse still lay where it had fallen.
“WHO’S LAUGHING NOW, MOTHERFUCKER?!”
Officers scrambled to restrain her from beating the dead man into even more of a pulp, but her white-hot rage was almost insurmountable. I turned away from the carnage and headed back to the door. My junior met me there.
“So how do we call it, boss? Murder? Manslaughter?”
I glanced back at the chaos inside and then to the shell-shocked child in the ambulance. Her ripped dress and bruising made it hard for me to sympathise with the victim.
I sighed and shook my head ruefully. “More like suicide, if you ask me.”