Final Chapter
Dead Man in Marche
by David Sheppard
See Synopsis for the missing chapters
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Final Chapter.
Quite literally, Luca received a rude awakening that morning.
His brain was clambering towards consciousness like a wreck survivor on a beach. When, as if dashed on the rocks,
he was startled awake amid sensations of rushes, bashes and beats, he collided into consciousness. Still not fully
awake though, he felt something wavelike wash over him; it turned out to be a duvet. He was aware that he was in a
strange pose and his eyes and brain slowly made contact, his position slowly came into ghastly, fuzzy focus.
He was curled upon in his right side in a foetal position of classic defence. One hand grasped the elastic waistband
of his boxer shorts, the other beneath his pillow, the forefinger crooked as if on a pistol trigger. He became
conscious of a large and heavy, though soft, pressure on his thigh. he winced below the cover and glimpsed a flabby
rump astride his leg. At that moment it broke wind emitting hot gas onto his bare thigh together with a raucous,
slapping peel from the buttocks. As his head shot up in revulsion he heard a cigarette wracked, haglike voice croak
from his left, "Come in?". Paralyzed with fear, Luca lay stock still as the voice groaned, "Gawd, my head."
Luca continued to lie still only daring to move his eyes from side to side. Horrified, terrified, petrified. His gaze made
out large lumps beneath the duvet either side of him. He slowly raised his head silently, hoping to glean more clues
but the effect was too much for his brain as it swilled to and fro. His eyes appeared to be playing tricks on his as
nothing seemed as it should in the dark orange light of the bedroom. Apparently, on the wall opposite there was a
lurid painting of a Sioux warrior on horseback, his arms stretched heavenwards, shield in one hand and spear in the
other. There was certainly a fusty air in the room that one would expect in a Sioux tent after a long hard winter. Luca
thought he had become boss eyed from sleeping in the same defensive position all night because the bed did not
seem to have an end or side. The mere thought of it made him nauseous.
He deduced from its shape, size and hairlessness that the backside perched on his right was female as was the
voice from the left. He gently lay his head back into the groove in the pillow and waited for merciful death to take him
and allow him to melt away from this horror.
It did not come and after at least five minutes which felt like an hour, he mustered his resolve in order to escape. He
bit his cracked lips determidly, took a deep breath and sank down the bed praying that he would be spared a second
blast from his flatulent bed felloe. he was in such an enfeebled state that he almost hoped for another trumpeting as
that would surely expire any life force that remained in his wretched body.
His feet found the cool air beyond the end of the bed and he slid onto the carpeted floor where he remained a
moment. Using all his upper body strength he lifted himself to his knees and saw heaps of discarded clothes dotted
around the floor as well as a huge red bra that hung from the ceiling lampshade. He looked back at the bed. His
eyes had not been playing tricks on him after all; the bed turned out to be circular. He felt a strange pins and
needles in his right hand and realised it was resting on a silver sequined dress that looked vaguely familiar from the
evening before. The tips of his fingers and beneath the nails were stained an alarming yellow hew surely radioactive
in nature. He clawed his discarded evening wear together and dragged them behind him as he crawled to the
bathroom door which lay ajar. Once inside, he closed and locked the door behind him and lay on the cooling tile
floor for some time, savouring its icy balm.
The name Mohandas K Gandhi slurried around his skull uninvited. He slowly resolved to pull himself up to the sink in
order to slake his thirst. His hands drew him up until he could rest his forearms on the sink and from this huddled
position he looked up at the reflection. Rather than seeing some Dorian Gray style fiend in the mirror he was
confronted by a damaged, vulnerable version of himself. All the pain and horror were on the inside.
He took a gulp of water but this did not relieve his thirst but rather it rehydrated the alcohol soaked sponge that had
once been his tongue. He became aware that his eyes were red-rimmed, hot and fiery. he now fully understood the
expression of having breath like a blow-torch. He felt like the fire demon from The Lord of the Rings who plummeted
into the abyss with Gandalf. Where was Luca's abyss? He prayed for one to appear and consume him there and
then.
He staggered back and his watering eyes mistook the bidet for the lavatory. He did not mind however, as he
welcomed the refreshingly cool porcelain on his flesh. As he put his head into his hands, the partially poached egg
inside his skull slopped forwards and seemed to burst behind his eyes. He looked down and saw a vivid rash around
his navel and across his chest. What was this, some kind of allergic reaction to the food? Oh mio dio! Some vile pox
picked up from his lumpy bed companions. He had no recollection of how he got to the room, got into bed or what
happened before he had passed out.
This was the end, he had picked up some scabrous disease and did not even remember how. Sofia would divorce
him, he would never see Agatha again, he would lose his job and be banished to an island which takes fifteen
minutes to walk around where his nose and other extremities would eventually fall off him into the sea.
And just as he contemplated the bottom dropping out of his world, the world proceeded to drop out of his bottom.
Self propulsion would sum it up better. An overture of Vesuvian proportions warned him to slip from the bidet to the
lavatory and in the same motion pull down his boxers. This was just as well because even before his buttocks rested
on the cool plastic seat, a projective stream of lava shot forth. It was like passing liquid fire. Every organ of his body
it came in contact with blazed with furious pain. He even sweated flame, or so it felt .
He realised that he was grasping the seat beneath like a steering wheel or perhaps to prevent lift-off. He sighed with
relief as the flowed ebbed. However, a remnant burning between his cheeks felt as if a glowing ember was still
embedded there. He was panting hard and as he slowly regained his breath the fear of a secondary eruption
passed. An unholy stench insinuated its way from below and with a desperate yank of the flush, he exorcised the fire-
born devil spawn down into the watery vortex.
With the name Mohandas K Gandhi still slopping around his head, he clambered out of his boxers towards the
shower booth, the vivid rash glaring up at him accusingly. Thankfully the shower was of Italian design and had a seat
in it. Unaware and uncaring about the temperature, Luca tuned the power to maximum and was immediately
assaulted from three sides by freezing cold water. 'Shower of Ice, that takes away the sins of the World, have mercy
on me' Luca voicelessly chanted. He rubbed gingerly at the rash around his waste. It turned into a smudge and with
a wipe of soap suds, disappeared. Lipstick.
Though his body now appeared cleansed from the previous night, the brain behind the red-rimmed eyes was as
muddled as ever. In the mirror above the sink, he saw his face hanging down like a set of dog's genitals. His
scrambled mind left him immobile in movement and thought. This case had stalled. He needed some kind of
breakthrough fast. The Black Widow must know more than she was letting on. It was a desperate move but he was
going to have to bring her in. Shake the tree and see what falls out.
He picked his mobile off the shelf and switched it on gingerly fearing the inevitable incoming calls and messages. He
was vanquished and would have to obey any orders that would soon be barked out. The phone chimed to life and
eight missed calls announced themselves. Luca groaned; first things first, though.
All of a sudden, like an electric shock, the mobile shuddered and warbled in his hand. With a sense of dreaded
inevitability, he flipped it open and croaked, "Pronto."
His eyes dilated in astonishment.
An hour later a triumphant Luca knocked on and entered the office in one movement and strutted in. Placing a tape
recorder on the desk, he proceeded to pace back and forth before his boss who was mute with rage at Luca's
extraordinary behaviour. His simian form quivered with psychotic rage, Luca halted and pointed directly at his furious
superior and stated two words that caused the be-suited primate to gape:
"Accidental Death."
The disposable coffee cup disintegrated in the enraged clasp of the man behind the desk and it fell to earth. Having
seen a nature programme about Rwandan gorilla, Luca knew not to use any sudden movements so he gently lent
towards the desk and said," This morning I received a phone call from Jen Barber of San Ginesio. She was, you may
recall, the last person to text the victim's phone and was the last to receive a call from him. The call he made was in
fact a message; a message he accidentally left on Jen Barber's ansaphone. This is a recording of that message."
He gently pressed the play button and a crackly, though distinct recording of the message began:
"Oh hi Jen. It's Alex. Just got your naughty text. Naughty, naughty, naughty girl... Oh bugger, this is your landline not
your moby! Er hi to Jon. Er hope to catch up with you both when you're back from bungee jumping or whatever
you're up to at the mo-"
Luca pressed pause. His boss shrugged like a caveman who has just been shown an ipod. Luca translated. The
gesture was repeated with greater emphasis. Luca pressed the pause button again and the recording slurred off to
a start. "-ment. Hang tough, dudes or whatever."
The call did not end there. Luca turned up the volume and his boss leant forwards to listen the throbbing of the
Ferrari extinguished; the rasp of the handbrake engaged; the click of a car door open and the clunk as it shut. They
heard Alex stretch and yawn followed by his slurred footsteps on the gravel drive. The paces ended and the voice
murmured' "Whassat? An earring?"
Luca translated simultaneously.
They both heard the groan as Alex crouched down and fingered around amongst the stones. Then there was a
distant twang followed by a heavy, increasingly loud rumble of crushed gravel.
"The Ferrari?" Ejaculated the boss; Luca nodded.
The crescendo of GTS on gravel ended with a crunch, a squelch and a suddenly abbreviated yelp which ended the
call.
His boss’s eyebrow saluted the arbitrary nature of Death.
" Case closed." Crowed Luca. He was disappointed that the much vaunted Rispoli was not present to witness his
glory.
" Doesn't look like there'll be a case for wonderboy Rispoli to investigate after all. All his files and desk won't see any
action on this one, eh?"
"Nor for some months to come, I believe." Replied his boss, " You see, my nephew was the victim of a hit and run
incident outside his apartment this morning. Note, I use the word incident and not accident. Now , go home and get
yourself sorted before the inevitable press conference later. You reek of booze and I think you've trodden in
something, too."
Despite his triumph, Luca could feel his adrenalin fuelled confidence beginning to ebb. He left a message on Sofia's
engaged phone to meet at Da Flora for lunch. Steadily overwhelmed by exhaustion and relief, Luca limped
homeward for a snooze and, treat of treats, a long, hot bath.
At half past twelve he wandered into the restaurant, greeted the owner and shuffled his way towards the corner
where Sofia sat texting. She flipped the phone shut, rose, embraced and kissed Luca.
"You're not wearing that new scent I bought."
"Can you blame me? You know what it does to you. You'd try and jump me right here and now!"
Luca nodded in embarrassed acknowledgement.
"Luca, there is something I have to tell you. You must have noticed I haven't been myself recently. I have a secret
and you know how terrible I am at concealing things."
Luca smirked involuntarily at the adorable trait of honesty his beautiful wife had.
"I have a secret which I have kept from you and now it's time to tell you because I can't live with myself doing
something behind your back and feeling so guilty about it."
A waiter appeared and Luca sent him away.
" Do you remember Giuglio Mazzini? My cousin, the travel agent?"
Luca did. A good-looking permo-tanned man-about-town. So that was the voice he heard when he made the call
from Sofia's mobile. Well, that strong nose of his would not be so admirable after Luca had finished with it. He
crushed his thumb into a bread roll.
"Well, as a surprise I have arranged a tour of Scotland. You, me and Agatha. It's over Christmas and New Year-
Hogmonay in Edinburgh, just imagine! I just could not wait any longer to tell you. Isn't it great? Giuglio did me a
special price so Agatha goes for free. I've been planning it for weeks. Isn't it fantastic?"
Luca raised Sofia's hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. A tear dropped onto her wrist.
Luca made a call to postpone the press conference until the following morning; he had plans for Sofia and himself
that afternoon and Agatha would not be back from Activities until dinner time. As they shared the lavender
pannacotta a text appeared on Luca's phone :
'Sorry to hear about Rispoli's incapacitation. Your loving Mother.'
Luca suddenly lost his appetite as a sour taste began to bleach his mouth.
The missing Ferrari was found hanging from a tree in the ravine below Alex's house, its corroded brake line hanging
limply below.
In his will, Alex left his entire estate to Conte Tomaso Del Moro ' whom I love like a son.'
The coroner recorded 'Accidental Death' and warned those present that things of great beauty often have dark and
dangerous hearts and see themselves as possessions of no man.