This Body's Not Big Enough for Both of Us by Edgar Cantero

Author:Edgar Cantero [Cantero, Edgar]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2018-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

7

INT. A. Z. KIMREAN’S OFFICE—DUSK

An orange sky peeked through the blinds, along with the sound of waste boats and seagulls heading home for the night. Kimrean moved the white king’s bishop to h5.

“So, an efficient assassin. Who also has personal issues. And who signs with a red flower but is not with the Red Mums.”

They completed a half orbit around the chessboard and peeped back at the dying day through the broken window. (Close-up: skin pores south of mascaraed eyes yawn at the western sun.)

“Who is it?”

Kimrean twirled on their feet, nudged a black pawn to e3, then drifted toward the desk to gulp down a mouthful of bourbon straight from the bottle.

“Victor Lyon?”

They U-turned back to the chessboard.

“Too old. Too tall. Too heavy. Too attached to his children. And to his cartel. And to his cane. Just shut up.”

(Bxg6.)

“And if you can spare a moment, try and stop that bishop that’s wreaking havoc in your rear guard. No rush.”

(Takes their hat off, rubs their hair like a golden retriever evicting fleas.)

“I don’t know why I keep playing you. Chess is a game of logic; you’re incapable of rational thought.”

(Nd4. Steps on the stairway. A furtive smile slithers across their face.)

“It’s not a game of logic; it’s a game of wit. And I’m witty as fuck. I’m the queer Oscar Wilde. And you play me ’cause you have no one else to play.”

Someone knocked on the door. A wavy silhouette had crystallized on the glass panel.

“Hello?”

A.Z. watched the door open a crack and the femme fatale peep inside, a flame of Irish hair fending off the shadows.

“Don’t you ever turn the lights on?” she wondered.

“Never! It’s sexier this way.”

She stepped in, for some reason ignoring the broken glass swept into a corner and the bullet acne on the walls. She was wearing a who cares about her clothes, they’re just padding words meant to highlight her awkwardness. She breathed in, as deeply as her corset allowed, incidentally appreciating the booze-and-sweat aroma of the Kimricave.

“Have you made any progress with my case? The man who spies on me in my bedroom?”

“Yeeeees, of course not.” Kimrean folded their arms. “I haven’t given it a thought since you last left this room.”

“Okay,” she said, surprisingly not surprised by that answer. “Then about the money I paid in advance—”

“Yes, you can give me the rest in a check, if you wish.”

The woman froze once more, as disoriented as she should have grown accustomed to be.

“Nonononono wait, kidding kidding kidding!” Zooey exclaimed, stepping forward as the femme stepped back, hands talking at twice the speed of her mouth. “It’s a complex case, could take me a few days, I should go to your house and comb your bedroom, might as well go tonight, we could grab something for dinner and it was your maid.”

Zooey facepalmed. The femme needed a little more time to react, having to separate all the ramblings from the actual mystery solution at the end. And once that sank

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