Call Her Marlo: “Something Rotten” — Part Six

Welcome back! This week we have the final installment of this series of short scenes that seem to add up to a piece of short fiction. Amazing!

And here’s where we left off last week. And here’s how this part read originally (more or less). I did add a scene that wasn’t in the original screenplay. You’re allowed to do that, you know. 🙂

*****

After renegotiating the twisting driveway, I parked and left the roadster before the massive structure Hamlet called home, then marched into the building. The entrance hall could have passed for the foyer of an opera house. The house was quiet, save for a distant whine. The party had ended .

Striding past portraits of men and women from other centuries, I eventually wound up in a large living room, more tastefully and comfortably furnished than I’d expected.

Three men were sprawled, face-down on the floor amid the color-coordinated furniture. Gertrude was lying in a tilt-back accent chair, looking more dead than reclined. I checked for a pulse that wasn’t there. Her skin was cool, clammy.

I did the same with one of the men, who I recognized as Laertes. The other man was Claudius. Stone cold, both of them. Been dead a while. Before I could approach the third victim, he spoke.

“Uh … Horatio?”

Hamlet! My heart sank when I heard him croak those words.

“No, it’s Marlo,” I said.

The background whine had escalated into the blare of an approaching siren.

“I’m dying here,” he moaned.

I squatted beside him, checking his pulse while I was down there. Weak, thready. “What on earth happened?”

“Mom. She drank the cocktail I made for Claudius.” He gasped for breath, then in a burst of effort added. “I wanted to poison him. She ruined everything.”

“Mmm.” I fished for an appropriate follow up to that. “That does suck.”

Hamlet passed out. I couldn’t do much, at this point, other than offer comfort.

The sirens grew deafening. I didn’t want to get involved with the local coppers. Had a bit of a reputation with a few of them. Some good, some bad.

“Sorry, but I need to beat feet,” I told Hamlet.

Hamlet raised himself up on one elbow and with excruciating effort said, “It was Laertes. He moved the drink, so Mom got it. But I got him back and took care of Claudius.”

“Sure, kid,” I said and started to move off. The sirens were right outside the door now, winding down.

Hamlet grabbed my pant leg. “Tell Fortinbras what happened here. And that I was right all along.”

“Don’t suppose I could get that in writing?” I queried, wondering who the hell this Fortinbras guy was.

Hamlet collapsed, setting me and my pants free. “Sorry. The rest is silence.”

And it was. Except for the sound of footsteps. Heavy-footed cops.

“So long little prince,” I murmured.

My attempt to leave was cut short when an officious man appeared. He was in his early 50s, dressed in a smart uniform and sporting a military buzz cut. A pair of uniformed officers accompanied him.

“What the hell happened here? And who are you?” Captain Fortinbras asked after introductions all around.

I retrieved my investigator’s license from my shoulder bag. “Marlo Wiley’s the name, but just call me Marlo. I came here looking for my client. They were like this when I got here. I did exchange a few words with that one.” I pointed toward Hamlet. “He said he had a message for you. He said all this was his fault. That and his mother’s, I think.”

Fortinbras shook his head. “These fools have been nothing but trouble. First, Hamlet Senior dies, then the non-stop party begins. Endless noise complaints.” He peered at the two officers now doing CPR on Hamlet. “You guys call in the ambo, yet? Jeez. You’ll be at that all day.”

Turning his attention back to me, Fortinbras added, “Don’t surprise me none. That kid was nuts.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” I said. “Take a clue from me and do some checking on Hamlet’s so-called friends. Two gorillas named-”

“Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?” Fortinbras finished the sentence for me. “They’re dead.”

Well, okay, then. Time for me to leave.

I made my move and Fortinbras did nothing to stop me, but said, “We’ll need a statement from you, Miss … Marlo.”

“Thank God I insist on payment up front,” I muttered as I passed him by.

“A written statement of what you know about this.” His countenance brooked no response from me. “See the lieutenant outside.”

As I made my exit, he added almost as an afterthought, “And don’t leave town.”

You’ve seen too many movies, I thought.

Originally published at http://randomandsundrythings.wordpress.com on July 28, 2023.