Pumpking

issue 23

"No?"

"No I didn't. Who used to own it?"

He sipped his drink and shook his head, "No one. I had it specially made."

"The trouble with you, Mr Whisper, is that I can never tell what is outright lie and truth."

"I thought we were going to try and be polite tonight?"

"I don't like it when people lie to me."

"I'm not lying," He levelled those intense eyes on me and suddenly I was trapped again, "I've noticed you seem to sniff out a falsity with alarming speed, Dion."

"Why would this killer be targeting me?" I skipped through the small talk, finally getting fed up chasing him.

"Why do you think?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you."

"What reason can you concoct for the killer targeting you?" he was leading again, but I could tell he wanted to tell me. Damnit I was getting sick of following.

"I can't. I'm a nice person; I don't have any enemies. My only connection to the case is Tony. And he was an accountant. The killer started in Hong Kong. At least it seems like it. He travelled; randomly it looks. He experimented all over. Tried to mask his trail as best he could. And after the injury, it must have been hard. I suspect he must have money, or some sort of profession like an air-line host."

"Injury?" His eyes sparked then, and I knew I'd surprised him again.

"Yes—between victim three and four. He lost his good arm."

"How the hell did you deduce that?"

I frowned, thinking, unsure how to answer, "I mean... I just assumed..."

"Why? What evidence pointed at this conclusion?"

"I mean, it was probably wrong anyway, I guess. I don't know," I stopped as food appeared in front of us, the waiter gently placing the large plate in front of me with all the care of a trained expert. I guess pay people enough and they don't overhear strange dinner conversation like ours.

Whisper had ordered a steak for himself and a risotto for me. I hated risotto. It looked like... I stared down at the vaguely orange food and then looked back up at him, "Does... this have pumpkin in it?"

He paused, fingers touching his fork. His eyes widened then like he realized that he had forgotten something, "You... don't eat pumpkin--?"

I was staring at at him, "Do I look like someone who would eat something I could bring to life? It's like cooking someone's pet rabbit and then serving it to them."

His mouth creased in dissapointment, "I thought... I forgot..."

"I'm not one of your little bimbos who will just follow you around because of your oh so charming smile and flashy cars. I'm here because some psychopath is hoping to add me to his unfathomable list of destruction and you claimed you needed my help to stop him. Frankly I find you deplorable. You're a deviant with no regard for others; you ask for help but only give me half the information, you claim you're doing good while you threaten me into whatever this was supposed to be- what do you really want from me? Enough mind-games!" I took another sip of the wine and swallowed it viciously. I would have preferred beer.

Ash was giving me his full attention, a little taken aback by my blunt outburst, "You never mince words. Everything you are thinking is right there, on your face. Most women throw themselves at me with this sort of attention, but you resist, it arouses my interest," He smiled then and rang a little bell. The waiter re-appeared, "Please take the risotto away, Miss Moriarty would like the salad instead."

Not even a hint of protest as the dish was picked up and returned untouched. The waiters here were paid too much.

I scoffed. "There you go again, assuming I'm not able to order off a menu on my own."

He frowned like a control freak being told 'no,' with obvious effort on his part he gestured to me. "Very well then, what would you like to eat?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"No. I can't afford to eat at a swanky place like this; and since everything I touch is going on a bill that you're going to charge to me later, I would rather go home and take my chances with the serial killer since a life of slavery to pay back debts is no life at all."

He looked angry then, like I had really found a soft spot, "You can't be serious, Dion."

"You forced me here with blackmail and threats. It's you I hope isn't serious. I've done nothing to deserve the way I'm being treated."

"Fine! Would it make you feel better if I said I was bluffing, I won't be charging you anything for all the gifts I've given you. I just said that so you would come tonight. You are such a stubborn woman!"

"Then I'm free to leave?"

"You're not my prisoner, Dion. But if you leave- I want that dress returned immediately," His mouth curled into a victorious smile then, "So at least stay until we've finished our meal. You're not going to strip down right here."

I don't know what overcame me, call it pride or sheer spitefulness, but if he thought a fancy dress was going to keep me, he was wrong. I stood and put the little purse on the table, I removed the beautiful studded earrings that Miss Sims had picked out. I placed them gently on the empty bread plate. Then came the necklace.

"What are you doing?" He put his cup down.

I took off the expensive bracelet and then reached behind me and unhooked the clasp that held the dress against my body. It fell away in a curtain of midnight teals. I didn't take my eyes from his stunned expression. I stepped out of the dress, wearing nothing but a strapless black lace bra and a lacy thong. I stepped out of the pooled dress on the ground and turned, moving to the doorway I had come out of.

"You don't know anything about me, Mr Whisper."