The Von Bucati Mansion

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on Kobo.com; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair, DRAGON: The Emerald Of Light on Amazon.com

We could argue over what horror is.  The effects of war, murder, torture, however, I think I’ll go with the Anne Rice idea of using preternatural individuals.  Do you believe poltergeist exist or do they exist only in our imagination?

Cont. (Blog 6)

We walk to Janet’s 2018 graphite grey 228i BMW coupe.  “How long has Richard been your client?” she asks, slipping on her sunglasses.

I gulp and clench onto the wallet tighter.  After I put the money in I took out his licence.  I read on the card that Richard is forty-nine years of age and 2.04 meters or six foot seven inches.  “Not long,” I say adjusting her passenger seat back.  “Shouldn’t I drive?” I ask.

“Because you’re a cool mucho macho man?”

I run my hands through my hair.  “That’s correct.”  I feel like an idiot sitting in the passenger side of her car.  “Because of client confidentiality I need you to stay in the car.  It would be better if he saw me getting outside of the driver’s side.”

“Oh, I’m coming with you.  After you screwed up Gerald Hine’s case I want to make sure you can give back a wallet properly.”

I turn my head so she can’t see me snarl.  I should have taken the cash and left the wallet in the cart, or another one, or thrown it in the dumpster right away.  Richard better be thankful.

“We’re here,” she says pulling into the parking lot of a red brick condo building on Oxley Street.

I whip out of her car and dash towards the entranceway.  Before she catches up I punch 401 on the key pad inside.

“Yes,” a man’s voice booms out of the speaker.

“I found your wallet,” I blurt out.  Janet is almost to the door so I grab the handle so she can’t come in.

“I’ll be down–,” he starts to say when I interrupt him.

“I’ll bring it up!” I shout.  Janet is screaming at me now.  I hear the main entrance door’s lock unlatch.  I let go the outside door, grab the inside door and swing myself around before slamming it closed.  With a wink at Janet I head towards the elevators.

I walk down a plush hall of scarlet coloured carpeting and egg white walls to door 401 and push the buzzard.

He’s enormous and dressed in a black t-shirt with the skull and crossbones crest of the Caribbean on the upper left and khaki cargo shorts. I can’t believe the size of his hands!  They are inhumanely wide and thick, even for a man his size.  And unlike the rest of his pale pink body, his hands are tanned like someone from the Middle East.  Not good!  Janet is storming down the hallway towards me.  I hand the wallet towards Richard.  He’s staring at me in terror as he takes it back.

“It’s not time yet—is it?” he asks, stepping farther back into his condo.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re from the Bucati family.”

“No, I represent them.”

“I know those eyes.”  He starts to close the door.  “They look just like hers.”  I hear the snap of numerous bolt locks.

The Von Bucati Mansion

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on Kobo.com; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair, DRAGON: The Emerald Of Light on Amazon.com

Having read Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein I would say Frankenstein is the scarier of the two novels.  People have had hand, face, and other parts replaced from corpses.

Cont.  (Blog 5)

As I walk into the kitchenette I see Janet sitting at the table eating a burrito and drinking a Coke Zero.  She has wonderful, long red hair that bobs at her shoulders.  I don’t think her hair is actually red since I can see chestnut brown roots but who cares.  I can tell she’s busty under her violet blouse and see her toned legs below the hem of her black skirt.  Her green eyes glare up at me as sauce drips down the side of her mouth.  I can’t help but smile at her to let her know I have forgiven her.

“Gerald Hine is going to prison for a year,” she shouts at me through a mouthful of burrito and pop.

“That was your fault Janet,” I say, shaking my head.

She gets up and slaps her palms on the table.  Food bits are shooting out of her mouth at me as she shouts, “If you had listened to me he would be back on the street!”  So much Irish ire in such a tiny person!

I slip through the door to my office but I can hear her following me.  “I told you to include the part about the alcoholic saying he didn’t see Gerald breaking into the back door but you ignored me!” she shouted.

It was time to take up a defensive position.  I sit in my swivel chair, put my hands behind my head and heave my feet onto my desk.  “No one cares what a homeless drunk says.”  I smile smugly and shrug.

“Yes they–.”  Her eyes move from me to the waste basket where here her eyebrows knit in a very attractive way.

“No they don’t.”  I start saying, trying to get her attention but it’s too late, she isn’t listening.

She puts the wallet onto the edge of my desk.  “I thought your wallet was brown.”

“It is, that must be a client’s,” I reply.

She opens up the wallet and slips out a licence card.  “Richard Lee.  His address is on my way home, I’ll drop it off to him.”

I can feel my face going red and my throat constricting.  “Better I do it since he’s my client.”

“Maybe he needs a real lawyer,” she shoots back, “I’ll take it.”

I follow her back to the kitchenette.  “I should take it back to him.” I argue.

“No!”  She says slipping it into her purse.

I give her a parental sigh.  “Give the wallet and you come with me when I drop it off.  You can take me to dinner afterwards.”

“What!?” she screams at me.  “Why should I take you out for dinner?”

“To make up for Gerald Hine going to jail for a year.”

Her mouth is open in disbelief.  She can’t refute that it was her fault.

She puts the wallet on the table.  “4 p.m. we go.  I have Richard’s address memorized so I’ll drive.”

“If it makes you feel better,” I say pulling the wallet to me.

She stomps out.

I take my wallet out and slip the cash back into Richard Lee’s.  I lose the money but gain a date with Janet.  I just need to get a hold of Elizabeth von Bucati.