Of Rats and Death: A Tale from Mind City
Chapter Three
With blade outstretched the wretch began to advance
In a crouched stance with his knife ready to dance
One glance said I had no chance but I prepared to fight
But Bateman stopped mid stride and glared off to my right
“How do you fare this night?” I heard Holmes say mildly
“You seem decidedly agitated, swinging your blade wildly
I’d take it kindly if you would wisely put your weapon away”
There was a few seconds delay before I saw Bateman obey
I reckoned he was afraid of the known law connection
Of the foremost detective which afforded him protection
From the sordid selection of Mind City’s human trash
I’d thought Bateman more brash, a touch more rash
The type to slash in a hurry and never worry about fallout
I’d had doubt that Holmes would have the needed clout
To convince the lout to answer even one question
Yet he’d stopped him in his tracks with a mere suggestion
Fair to mention Sherlock had more sway than I’d thought
“Why are you here, and who’s this gay boy you’ve brought?
Have you fought with the Doc over...” Bateman stopped short
Holmes had caught his eye so he decided to drop it and abort
“You two ruined my sport, it took me an age to get Mrs Steele
She’s real into her husband, though I don’t get the appeal
She can deal with it rough, which is how I like to get down
And now you clowns have run her right out of town”
Without a sound Bateman moved around us into the street
Complete indifference to the falling rain and our attempted meet
We followed his retreat as he made his way into a bar
A high-class looking joint with a sign calling it Parejo Cigar
We weren’t far from him though he never looked back
He moved up to order then stopped dead in his tracks
There was a drunk sitting at the taps, fat, but not a giant
“You’re on my stool” Bateman said, and the bar fell silent
The drunk must have missed the violent threat in his eyes
Because instead of deciding to rise, the most foolish of replies
“What a surprise, an rich prick thinks he owns the place
This is my space, move your tacky Armani suit outta my face”
The rest of the bar waits, a trace of tension in the air
On Bateman’s face a glare disappears, cheer is painted there
Bateman laughs out loud and pats the guy on the back
“Bluto, my friend, you’ve long been a part of my pack”
Then in a flash he drew his knife, stabbed him in the chest
“So you should know better than to sit in the spot I like best”
He pushed Bluto onto the floor, then took his seat
He spoke to the bartender, “Your best whisky, neat”
Noise resumed in the bar, the jukebox started playing
Bluto died quietly as Bateman slowly drank after paying
Holmes stepped over the body and chatted with Bateman
The bar was so loud that I couldn’t hear the conversation
Bateman looked at me, then to Holmes, and shook his head
Sherlock returned and said “Bateman found him already dead
But he said Holden Caulfield was the last to see him alive
They were feeding ducks together and watching them dive
We need to talk to Caulfield, but first I need a hit”
So Sherlock went to the bathroom to take care of it
Bateman looked over at me and his laughter started to grow
“Let this go, it’s deeper and more dangerous than you know”
He began to come over, his eyes full of menace and spite
But when Sherlock returned, he turned back from the fight
So we went to find Holden as the mystery unfurled
I will chase Lennie’s killer to the very end of the world.
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