Behold, the fourth chapter in the five part preview for The Bard!
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Track 4: The Lion and the Panther
A friend in high places: a
grave underestimation
Shared admiration
A fight for closure
Blood-born brotherhood: a shared shoulder
Armored in their own
sweat, the two warriors found themselves locked in a stare down— a brief respite
from the ongoing exchange of bruises. The
blonde fighter ended the stare down, charging forth fist first at a breakneck
speed. The black-haired boxer dodged the blonde’s swipe, landing a quick body
shot to his attacker’s left rib. He then feinted left with panther-like
reflexes, drawing in his opponent with a false opening. The blonde lion bought
the bait. The golden haired cat pouched, only to get his glove blocked and his
chest smashed in.
“Ooof!”
The lion gasped, attempting
to reclaim the oxygen that the black cat stole from his lungs. The blonde boxer
chomped his mouth guard and swung hard at the panther’s solar plexus. The blow
connected, dazing the black-haired contender. The kingly cat continued his
assault with a savage combo, pulling off three consecutive jab’s to the
panther’s side.
“Didn’t your mother
ever teach you not to leave things open?” the blonde taunted, winding another
punch. “That lesson would have done wonders for your boxing.”
Without warning, the
panther decked the lion across the face. The punch’s power caused a
reverberating thud the moment it connected with the blonde’s cheek.
“Rather not consult
women on matters of the fist,” retorted the black-haired boxer. “Judging by
those slaps, I’d surmise you cannot say the same.”
The dark cat
unleashed a brutal counterattack, bombing his dazed adversary with a fatal
flurry of flying knuckles. The lion drew back, lifting his gloves over his
face. He could cold feel the cold sweat retreating off his skin.
“Throw the towel in,
friend,” the black cat taunted, showing no signs of fatigue. “You’re a bloody
mess… literally.”
The blonde fighter dashed
forth from the right and threw a lightning fast left hook. The panther rose his
gloves to block his face, but the lion stopped his punch in midair and targeted
his foe’s body instead. One after another, the blonde’s fists ate away at the
panther like a swarm of locusts. The panther calmly meditated and withstood the
beating. The panther proceeded to effortlessly pierce through the lion’s
assault and sock him square in the lungs. The blonde clutched his chest,
falling back onto the ropes. The dark-haired warrior walked up with his fist
raised— poised to land the finishing blow.
“It appears I’ve
exhausted my last reserve of fighting spirit,” Leon Silverman said with a warm
smile, turning his back to his beleaguered opponent. “You win.”
“LIKE HELL I DID,”
Edison Locard roared, springing off the ropes.
Without looking
back, Leon threw an elbow behind him and struck Edison’s temple with jarring
force. The detective hit the floor. As the blonde man blacked out, he
outstretched his glove to reach the billionaire’s black sneakers. The world
faded away, marking yet another loss in the lion’s lifelong quest to knock the
panther down from his lofty tree.
…
By the time Edison
had came to, Leon had already changed into formal attire and was sitting
outside the ring sipping a piping cup of Earl Grey.
Edison wheezed,
coughing up blood onto the floor of the boxing ring. The detective’s entire
body ached. He felt like a stomped juice-box.
“Guess this means I
lost, eh?” Edison said, prying his lead body off the floor.
“Yet another
brilliant deduction from our fair sleuth,” Leon joked as he rose from his
chair. He set his teacup gently down upon a modern-artsy glass box beside his
sleek steel seat.
“If only I could
deduce your weakness,” the detective sighed, shedding his sweaty gloves. “Whenever
we spar, it feels like I’m dueling a deity.”
add bacon to your hamburger.”
“Says the living stereotype
as he sips his tea,” the American retorted, squeegeeing the ocean of sweat from
his body. “You do realize we were supposed to be going out for coffee… which
for you means tea. What are you pre-gaming for tea-time?”
“My post-spar Earl
is vital,” Leon assured. “Rather than
coffee, shall we make it a lunch? I could use a bite. Bateman inked the deal
with Kimimura much sooner than expected, so my evening is relatively free.”
“Fine by me,” Edison
said as he climbed out of the ring. “Might be nice to sit down and talk for
once, though I’m sure you’ll probably end up running off to take a call. With
that Bluetooth glued to your ear you have the attention span of teenage girl. ”
“You mean your boxing
coach,” Leon jibed, polishing off the last of his tea.
“If you’re going to
insult my manliness you might want to retract your pinky…”
Leon shook his pinky
in the air then clicked around on his smartphone. A crinkly old butler ambled
over to the CEO’s side— summoned by a specially made application on the young
exec’s mobile device.
“Done beating the
poor out of the pauper already?” the old butler asked.
Ed smirked at the
butler as he wrung the sweat out of his undershirt, allowing it to drip onto
the immaculate marble floor. The pool of perspiration was yet another ploy the
detective’s ongoing attempt to annoy Winston Fowl, Leon’s eldest and crankiest
attendant, to death.
“Would you be so
kind as fetch me a suit?“ Leon distantly asked the old butler as he opened up
another custom app on his phone. “Our caffeinated conversation has been
upgraded to a full-on lunch.”
“Ah yes, I’ll
prepare your new Fioravanti,” said Fowl with a smile.
“Fioravanti?”
Silverman echoed, pointing his smartphone at the large boxing ring situated in
the center of his penthouse. “Over-dressing
the occasion a smidge, wouldn’t you say? A simple Armani shall suffice, Winston.”
“If you’re basing
the wardrobe off the company, a t-shirt will suffice,” Fowl hissed, snatching up
Ed’s sweat soaked towel.
“Um, I’m still using
that…” Edison muttered.
“A delightful
curmudgeon that one, but a curmudgeon nonetheless,” the CEO said as he tapped a
virtual button on the screen of his phone.
Like clockwork, the
mechanical whir of grinding gears sounded off. The boxing ring’s elastic ropes
snapped into each of the four corner posts, each of which lowered slowly into
the floor.
“I take it you don’t
pay based on personality,” Ed said loudly, trying to be heard over the clacks.
“If I issued wages
based on disposition, I’d be the highest paid man in the world,” Leon replied,
smiling ever jubilantly.
Once the posts were
fully submerged into the floor, the hidden machinery let out a long hum then a
click. The white rubber stage dipped slightly down then parted into, each side
retracting to reveal more black marble underneath. The noise disappeared and so
too did the arena— leaving no trace of its existence.
“Whenever I see that
ring disappear, I get how you coax so many girls up here,” Ed joked.
“Edison, I need not
the disappearance of a ring to court women,” Leon laughed. “I’ll only resort to
that once I get married.”
“You’ll make someone
a very rich divorcee one day, Leon.”
Contrary to his
joking, Edison knew that even in poverty the English Adonis could hook a
supermodel at the snap of his fingers. Six
foot tall and built like an Olympian athlete, Leon Silverman had physique
ripped out of every woman’s fantasies. His perfectly symmetrical face had
rugged refinement. Michelangelo himself couldn’t have chiseled a better chin.
With intense amber eyes and a sterling onyx coiffure, Leon exuded the class and
virility of a panther— and looks were only the tip of the iceberg.
“Don’t be so jaded,
friend,” Leon said, peering out the penthouse’s huge glass wall and looking down
upon the lovely animation of noontime NYC. “There’s more on their minds than
money. Women will surprise you if let them. Have you let any surprise you
lately, Ed?”
“I’m not having this
conversation,” Edison grumbled, sinking into a nearby velour couch.
“Oh come now,” Leon nudged,
turning away from his lofty view. “Tell me you found yourself a lady, Ed.”
“Yeah… Christina A. Fallen,” Ed replied.
“It’s been over two
years,” Leon said somberly, his perennial smile fading. “The time is ripe for
romance. I’m not suggesting you replace your wife. Quite the contrary. Consider
what she would desire for you. Christie would not be content knowing her death
turned you into a sullen hermit.”
“The dead don’t have
opinions, Leon,” said Edison, staring glumly up at the ceiling high up above
his head. “I don’t see you out shopping for a new Dad.”
“Surly you jest!”
Leon said with false outrage. “A boy of my age will never get adopted.”
Edison grinned, shook
his head and said, “Once you’ve had the best, there’s no in point seeking out
the rest.”
Leon Silverman
frowned, splashed in the face by the full extent of his friend’s loss.
“If I had the best
chef in the entire world and I lost his employ, should I never eat again? To
never love is to never eat. To starve your soul is to admit defeat. To rob a—”
“Cool it, you’re starting
to get poetic again,” Edison interrupted. “Why the devotion for turning my life
into the next season of the Bachelor?”
“At the very least,
attend some of my soirees,” Leon implored. “With no wingman in tow, my ability
to garner women has vastly diminished.”
“Crap, I didn’t
realize my isolation hurt your game,” the cop gasped. “Better grab a girlfriend
before we both become sullen hermits.”
Leon glanced at his Rolex,
choosing to ignore the detective’s sarcasm.
“Precisely twelve,”
Leon informed. “Shall we head out?”
“What’s the rush? Thought
you said your evening was clear.”
“As clear as my evenings can be,” the CEO clarified as
he took his leave through an enormous door, roughly the height of two floors.
Winston Fowl entered
holding a mop.
“Your rags have been
prepared for you in the nearest bathroom,” he grunted.
The crinkly butler’s
lower lip curled, his weary white eyebrows arched in resentment. The detective
did not require Holmesian abilities to know that the butler despised him. Fowl
never verbalized the source of his contempt, but Locard had a feeling that it
had something to do with his inability to avenge the man’s late master and keep
his current employer out of harm’s way.
“Take note of the
shower,” Fowl sharply advocated, mopping up the sweat wrung from Ed’s towel. “Forgoing
personal hygiene might be well enough for you, but Master Silverman has a
reputation to uphold. Associating with the homeless would tarnish that
reputation.”
“Swell suggestion,
Alfred,” Edison thanked sarcastically. “You’re going to have to show me how all
those fancy knobs work though.”
Winston Fowl flipped
the mop over his shoulder and grumpily meandered off into the recesses of the colossal
high-rise hacienda. Edison Locard looked around at the opulent apartment filled
with Greco-Roman sculptures and bewilderingly modern furnishings. The
lavishness did not end with the décor, technology ripped straight from futurist
fantasy was interwoven throughout the penthouse. Untold mechanized marvels like
Leon’s self-assembling boxing slept within the walls— all controlled by the
touch of Leon’s phone.
“I guess hitting up
McDonalds is out of the question.”
…
"We must land
that account, so I’m personally tasking it to you.”
“There’s no pressure
at all, Sully. While I’d naturally prefer success, failure certainly is a
tolerable possibility.”
“Of course. If you
and your team manage to pull this off— Yes, I’m aware.”
“Mr. Silverman, we’ve
reached Café Gitane,” Leon’s chauffeur called out, breaking Edison Locard out
of another reverie. The detective had dipped into daydreams to tune out the
executive’s incessant business talk.
“Precisely,
Sullivan. Use your judgment, I have the legal stuff for the Texas Turkey
account on the other line.”
The chauffer
patiently held the door open for Leon Silverman as he continued to ramble into
his Bluetooth. Leon stuck a fold of money into his driver’s coat pocket, flashing
him a grin and a thumbs up. The man tipped
his driver’s cap and nodded.
“Didn’t I tell you
Apollo would make big turkey with your money?” Leon said jovially. “Heard that
pun before, have you? Not surprised, I didn’t take you for a turkey.”
Edison waited a
minute before letting himself out of the car, mistakenly thinking that the
driver’s kindness extended beyond the writer of his checks.
“Thanks for the
thanks, I can gobble up my lunch with a smile now.”
Leon pulled his
headset out and faced Edison.
“Shall we?” he asked
cheerily.
“As long you are the
one paying for this… stuff,” Ed
muttered, less than enthused about Leon’s choice in restaurants.
Edison Locard was a man
of simple tastes, and French cuisine did not fall under that category. He felt
the pretentiousness was owed to its preparation— a food focusing on looks over
taste. While small portions would normally be a complaint, Edison found the
lack of food to be a redeeming feature— the less gruel the better. Despite his
disdain, the detective stomached it time after time for Leon’s sake. It was the
least he could do after all the CEO had done for the NYPD.
“What, do you think I’m made of money?” Leon protested.
“That’s exactly what I think,”
Edison said with a smirk.
…
The duo approached
street-side patio of the quaint French eatery. To Edison’s displeasure, the two
had become favorites of the wait staff. The cop speculated the favoritism was
somehow correlated with his affluent friend’s generous tipping habit. Café Gitane perfectly captured the romantic
old world charm of a Parisian bistro. Classy royal blue paint coated exterior
of Café Gitane, serving as a chic backdrop for the quartet of tiny tables and faded
pink-striped umbrellas.
“Always with this
snooty place,” Edison grumbled. “Why
do we have to go here every time? You do realize Manhattan has more than just
one restaurant, right?”
“The owner is a dear
friend and valued client, Renault P. Conseiller,” Leon explained, pocketing one
cellphone and pulling out another. “Some of his investments have been going a
bit south lately, so I’d like to show my support. The fellow runs an orphanage,
you know, so you of all people—”
“Fine, where are we
sitting?” Edison asked impatiently.
“The usual spot of
course,” said Leon, texting casually on his phone.
“There’s people
already seated there, we can’t—”
Before Edison could
even finish his sentence, the restaurant staff relocated both the patrons and
their meal to the adjacent table at the speed of a NASCAR pit crew. An
attractive young waitress excitedly escorted Ed and Leon to the table.
“Totally unnecessary,”
Locard sighed as he took his seat. He leaned forward and raised the menu close
to his face, attempting to avoid being seen getting such outlandish
preferential treatment. Leon beamed at the sweet brunette holding a notepad,
not bothering to so much as glance at the menu.
“What a super
surprise, seeing you guys here today,” giggled the bubbly server. “It’s been like
so many weeks since ya dined with us. I started to think you two swore off
French cuisine.”
“If only,” Ed muttered under his breath.
“Oh, how silly of
me,” the waitress lamented in her cutesy, child-like voice. “I’m just babbling on and I didn’t even
bother to say my name or the soup du jour.”
Edison cringed. The
babyish waitress’s saccharine disposition practically gave him diabetes.
“Why not waive
formalities, Dania?” Leon said suavely. “A beautiful face requires but one
introduction.”
“Aww, that was so
sweet,” Dania cooed. “Well in that case, how can I help you?”
“The sight of you is
already doing wonders,” Leon said as he gazed deeply into the waitress’s eyes.
“The sight of me?” Dania repeated bashfully. “You
can’t mean that… I’m nothing too special.”
“Speaking of specials…”
Edison spoke up, more in the mood for food than flirting.
“Quite the contrary,
to not learn of your inner beauty would be to never sniff a rose,” Leon
shamelessly flirted.
“Here it comes…” Ed
sighed.
“I agree that you
aren’t special… you’re more. You are
indeed a rose, growing out of the concrete cracks of this urban abyss. The epitome
of nature’s most majestic of wonders. Truly, to ask of me why I’d not pine to
learn of that rare flowering? Why Dania? Why condemn me to life without knowing
your sweet aromas?”
Dania’s mortal cheeks
reddened to the hue of complete seduction, entranced by the melodic whisperings
of Zeus himself.
“Wow, Mr. Silverman…
so beautiful,” waitress gushed, twirling her hair with her finger.
“Now you know how I
feel when I see you. Please, call me Leon.”
Edison sunk further
into the depths of his menu. His diabetes turned into lactose intolerance—
unable to digest Leon’s cheesy come-ons.
“Okay, Leon, what do you want to know?” said
the server as she brushed up to Leon.
“For starters I’d
like—“ Leon began.
“To order,” Edison interrupted, slapping
his menu down onto the table.
Leon grinned. Though
the billionaire called Edison his wingman, the detective worked more towards
foiling Leon’s romantic escapades as Leon Silverman could seal any deal flying
solo. He didn’t need help. What Leon really needed… was a challenge. Detective Locard provided that
challenge.
“R-right, can I start
you two off with some drinks?” Dania stuttered nervously. While the waitress
she said ‘you two,’ her eyes were fixed solely on Leon.
“I’d love cup of coffee,
thanks,” Edison ordered.
Dania nodded,
staring intently at the CEO.
“Aren’t you going to
ask how I take it?” the detective muttered.
“Yeah, sure,” said
Dania disinterestedly.
“Black,” the blond growled.
“Tea for me, orange
pekoe,” said Leon.
“Sorry honey, but we
don’t order that brand of tea,” said Dania, expressing utmost regret. “We have
Lipton though…”
“For my sweet rose,
I shall consume even the vilest of teas.”
“Erm, ‘kay,” the
waitress replied, unsure how to take Silverman’s statement. “Are you ready to
order or do you need some time?”
“I’ll have the Organic
chicken satay,” Leon answered. “But please… no peanut sauce, I’m highly
allergic.”
“I guess I’ll get
the… kimonos Greek salad?” Edison ordered. “Am I saying it right?”
“Kimolos,” Dania corrected as she snatched
up the menus. “I’ll personally ensure a peanut doesn’t come within five feet of
your food, Leon.”
As Dania walked off,
Leon helped himself to the view. The waitress shook her hips to the beat of
Justin Timberlake’s Suit and Tie
playing on the radio. The song struck Edison as odd as in the past the radio
had always been set to play swing accordion music to add to the illusion.
“So how goes the
exploits of Manhattan’s own super sleuth?” Leon asked, choosing to ignore the angry
vibrations of his cellphone.
“Currently, his
talents are being exaggerated,” Locard dismissed
“I’m sure the NYPD
doesn’t’ assign just anyone an intern,” Leon pointed out.
“Yeah and they stuck
me with a real weirdo,” Edison sighed, despondently watching a young couple two
tables over.
“How so?” the Brit
asked, looking over his shoulder to see what caught his friend’s eye.
“He’s not human,” Edison grumbled. “He’s so
organized and efficient… I honestly wouldn’t be shocked to find a charging port
on the back of his neck.”
“Brilliant,” Leon
chuckled. “Perfect fit for a slothful sleuth.”
“It creeps me out,
Leon,” said Locard, drumming his fingers on the tiny table. “Reading people is
my bread and butter, but this guy’s practically an inanimate object.
“Speaking of
creeping, why the interest in that couple?” the CEO asked.
“He’s about to dump
his girlfriend and I want to catch the fallout,” Ed replied.
Leon stared at
Edison blankly.
“Don’t judge me,
this is how I gather my psychological data,” Edison explained. “You can’t teach
emotional observation in a book.”
“Oh I get it, but I
can’t help but disagree,” Leon said as he gave in and checked the caller ID on
his phone.
“The boyfriend’s being awfully nice.”
“Ever heard of softening
the blow?” Ed asked.
Leon grinned slyly,
opening his mouth to make a perverted remark. The buzz of a third mobile phone
damned his throat. Leon looked at the caller ID, frowned and looked up at Ed.
The detective nodded, giving the busy billionaire his blessing to blow off the
lunch.
After Leon Silverman
jetted off to take the call, a newly single girl followed his exit— raining her
sorrows down upon the patio of Café Gitane as she fled. Her ex-boyfriend stood
up.
“Caroline… please
don’t make a scene,” he muttered.
“This next song is
the beat that’s causin’ quite the fuss,” the radio DJ announced. “Oooo baby, a
mystery. Nobody knows who the artist is, or what the heck his song means, but
hey, you guys have been requesting it all day long. On The Now what you want is
what you get, so once again… this is Love
Bullet by The Bard!”
“Kellie, shut up! It’s that weird singer guy
I was talking about,” a teenage girl alerted her friend.
Edison scratched his
chin, listening carefully to the radio.
“There once was a girl named Clara
The only sister I knew
The day you took my love from me
There was only one thing to do...
A tale of two sisters
A trail that almost went cold
A head case makes a cold case
Or so the world was told
You knew more than I
That is why
You stole it all
All that was mine to love
That is why
I stole life from you
You knew that I cared
I know you knew it so well
That's why when you said- it's a baby
I knew I'd drag you to hell
O Clara, for what you have I wept
What you stole from me...
To the Big Apple I crept
I placed bullets in your heart
And then I locked the gun away
It's up in my attic of memories
Along with the rest of the decay.”
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