I'm a Murderer -- This is the Scene of the Crime

This is my written confession and sworn statement:  I murdered two lives in this very pot.  Separately.  One at each effing agonizing time.  It was premeditated.

The beginning of the crime story goes like this:

My accomplice, a woman I shall call by her porn name, Mary Rosevale, for sake of anonymity, and so not to incriminate, even though she is guilty as all hell, called me one afternoon.  I was minding my business, havin' a smoke, thinking about that mysterious blonde that had just passed my direction... (well, more likely I think I was having a mid-afternoon latte and was thinking about spreadsheets, but that's not very noir, now, is it?)

So, Ms. Rosevale says, "What do you got going on this evening?  I need your help.  I've got a couple of live-ones that need dispatching."

What could I do.  When Rosevale calls, I jump.  "Will my kitchen do?"  She says, "Yeah, should be big enough."

She arrived and asked for The Mayor's help.  Oh yeah, he's in this too.  She couldn't lift the bodies out of the trunk.  They were tucked inside a giant styrofoam box that filled the entire space.  The Mayor agreed to bring them into the house, but said that was where his involvement ended.  He's still an accomplice in the eyes of the law, so he'd better watch out too.

I could hear the bodies as they slowly squeaked against the inside of the box -- "squeaky -- squeaky."  Oh lord, I felt nauseous.  I confessed to Ms. Rosevale that I had never done this before.  She didn't care -- she just wanted the deed done.  Her mother was waiting to hear reports of completion.  She was salivating, I was told.  Mother Rosevale is one heartless woman.

The big red pot you see up there was at a rolling boil.  But these dudes in this box were big.  I couldn't fit both and just do the deed once.  No.  I had to do them one by one.  So, I armed myself with all of the murderous accoutrement -- I had oven mitts up to my elbows, I had heavy-duty tongs, and I had Ms. Rosevale, behind me, cheering me on with glee, although she was a pace or two behind me.

I opened the lid.  Jesus.  There they were.  I picked one up and lord he started flailing.  I screamed.  The Mayor put a newspaper over his face.  Rosevale giggled with mirth.  Do it, she said.  Do it fast.

The Mayor's only bit of advice was that I should stab it first, right between the eyes.  Well f--k that.  I may be a killer but I am not OJ.  So, while the creature was flailing and all I saw were claws and myriad of legs, I half prayed - half screamed -- "I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY!!!  PLEASE FORGIVE ME!"  And I sent him to his watery grave.  Boiled to death.

But it wasn't over.  His companion was still in the box.  "Squeaky -- squeaky."  Sweet suffering Joseph and Mary and all that is good in the world.  I had to do this all over again.

And I did.  It got easier the second time.  I hear that's how these things go.  When the bodies emerged, shocked blisteringly red from the boil, I suddenly felt... hungry?

The Mayor did step in to dismember the bodies.  He took to them with cleavers and knuckle crackers and even his bare hands.  It was a side of him I had never seen.  It made me think I had better hide the kitchen knives.

And then we ate them.  Dipped in butter.  And it was glorious.  Rosevale's mother decided to have hers cold over a salad.  But those Rosevales are a heartless people.

Comments

[Corey]

"Well f--k that. I'm may be a killer but I am not OJ."

As the kids say, LMFAO.

You are a braver woman than I.

[gibsonm]

wonderful story. i have to meet that mary rosevale. wonder if she has a tattoo of a rose somewhere....

[Nabeela]

funny, funny!! :)

[Chefwanabe]

Hi TT,
Absolutely loved your murderous noir story, and loved even more Venice. I was there just last week (it was my first time) and I fell in love with the place. I live in Manhattan NY, and therefore I got accustomed to abusive behavior because everybody is a bit ‘rough around the edges’ here. Taxi drivers that almost kill on a ‘rollercoaster’ ride and still have the nerve to demand tips. Grumpy waiters (wannabes actors, writers, dancers) that treat you like you are bothering them. So when we found people actually smiling and greeting us all in good spirit, we almost fainted and looked at each other in disbelief. It took us a few days to get used to the niceness of people and the environment surrounding us. Once we did though, we realized that this is actually the way one should live. I’m seriously thinking about packing all our belongings and moving west. And maybe you could lend me your accomplice “Mary Rosevale” (with or without rose tattoo in her arms) to give me some encouragements in the dispatching of some live-ones. Would that became organized crime?

[Kristine Sweet]

I get the shivers when I look at the big red pot!

[Sue in Atlanta]

I love your stories! LMAO!