Au clair de la lune

Overdressed for the Absinthe House Theo’s goal has been to attract attention. Singing a folk song over and over, louder and louder, he is more out of tune with each pass. He knows only the first verse.

         “Au clair de la lune, Mon ami Pierrot, Prête-moi ta plume, Pour écrire un mot.”

         “Shut the fuck up!” Is shouted from the street by more than one.

Theo walks to the edge of the alley again belting out another sad approximation. He pulls his lapels tight and adjusts his top hat at the street’s edge before walking to the back of the alley again kicking boxes and garbage watching rats and roaches flee at the disruption. He unbuttons his fly leaning against the alley wall and pisses on a crate.  At the end of the alley, he hears one, then two and finally a third man enter telling him to shut up. His prize, the attention of l’Chacal. Men who will take advantage of his feigned intoxication.

         “You there, join me in song!” Theo says conspicuously leaning on a disused barrel before slipping drunkenly against the limestone alley wall.

         I got them right where I want them. Theo thinks assuming the stonecutter is in league with his designs.

The men begin singing the song in unison. They approach surrounding Theo against the wall until all three drop out of the recurring verse one by one. Theo belts out one more for good measure.

         “What, my friends no more singing?” Theo asks genuine in his tone.

         “No more singing.” The leader, a large barrel-chested man with a nose wide and flattened from being broken multiple times.

         “Too bad you’re such a tiny shit. That fine coat and hat would fit a child. Might fit Simon here though.” Flat-nose points to Simon with his thumb, the young teen, smiles devilishly at Theo.

         “Your money and your pocket watch. Now.” Flat nose demands.

         “Are you Charlton’s boys?” Theo asks.

         “Who’d you say? Gros George, wot’d he say?” The tall thin thug with a hooknose hisses.

         Now is the time, take over. Burn brightly! Theo thinks to the stonecutter only to hear only silence in his thoughts and mind.

Cornered and outnumbered, Theo now only hopes these are Charlton’s men. They close in, pushing him and pulling at his coat. He pushes Simon, the closest, as hard as he can muster causing him to fall over a broken crate. A blow lands on the side of his head another hits his mouth hard enough to loosen teeth. Theo folds to the ground, first to his knees and then as he takes a full kick to the face begins to realize that the stonecutter will only come to his aid if he will die.

         “Leave one alive!” Theo screams through a broken lip and loosened teeth as he gets up from the men who stand around him confused.

         “Wot d’you say?” Flat nose asks now holding his pocket watch.

         “Oi, shitbird! That is mine. I want it back.” Theo spits bloody saliva onto his boots.

         “Oh no… you din’t just spit on me. Now, I am really goin’ t’ make ya bleed.” The thug pulls a curved marlinspike from his belt.

         “Leave one alive!” Theo screams again pushing toward the thug.

The man hits Theo hard in the face with his left and as Theo goes slack, he slams the spike into his right side below the ribcage. His vision goes gray and his skin goes cold as he vomits all over the thugs shoes. Across the alley the stonecutter leans arms crossed looking at his fingertips. Theo pushes himself against the filthy alley wall.

         ‘Looks like you got them right where you want them’ The wraith states with cold disinterest in his plight.

Flat nose spits on Theo. He holds the watch up showing it to the others. They turn walking out of the dirty alley leaving Theo crumpled. From behind, the Stonecutter takes the reins animating Theo. This natural force pushes his broken and bleeding form to his feet.

         “That is mine. I want it back.” Theo says, his voice replaced with a sonorous tone.

The three men stopped in their tracks in surprise. The flat-nose thug turns taking off his coat slowly rolling up each sleeve. Theo straightens, slowly stepping further back into the alley. He stomps a foot onto a rotting crate, pulling a board off and inspecting it.

         “Nope, not this one.”

He throws it away pulling a second free. A pair of wet and rusted nails protrude. Theo smiles wickedly as the men stalk into the alley without fear. Fear does not capture the emotion they should feel as the stonecutter has taken the reins. Hooknose and Simon approach calmly standing at full height while Theo moves drunkenly in front of them breaking out in song as they rush him.

         “Au clair de la lune!” Theo smashes the board into the knee of the hook-nose thug dropping him painfully to the ground.

         “Mon ami Pierrot!” Theo belts so out of tune it would make a cat howl as he drives an elbow hard into Simon’s throat. The teen drops holding his hands to his neck hacking and coughing as he tries to breathe through the shattered cartilage in his throat.

         “Prête-moi ta plume!” Theo ducks the barrel-chested man with the flat nose before snapping the board with sickening purchase into his thigh. The big man staggers back as Theo winds the board in a great arc folding his other knee. Moving around flat nose Theo kicks him between the shoulder blades knocking him prone to the ground. He pulls the long thin marlinspike from the man’s belt holding it up for a brief inspection. He spins it in his hand like a dagger before plunging it through the man’s boot and tearing through his Achilles tendon. The man screams and attempts to spin onto his back.

         “Pour écrire un mot.” The turns to hook nose smiling devilishly before flipping the board over, nail side away and snapping it across the man’s ankle to the sound of a green stick being twisted off a tree. The impact hobbles him with a sickening outcome.

         “What, my friends no more singing?” Theo asks genuine in his tone holding a hand to his ear.

Simon, holding his throat, pushes himself away further and further into the alley. He wheezes as he gasps for breath through his broken larynx.

         “You. Stay.” Theo points at the teen with the end of his board, blood dripping into the garbage of the alley from the nails.

Taking the flat nosed man’s fat cheeks into his gloved hands Theo forces the man eye-to-eye before slamming the marlinspike through his cheek and ripping it forward. Teeth skitter across the alley floor. The thug’s eyes roll back as he loses consciousness. Theo pulls the man into a sitting position still holding his broken face in a viselike grip. Theo taps the fat man on the forehead to revive him. His eyes go wide as Theo’s lower jaw unhinges, a strand of black ichor drips from his lips. Cold black smoke pours forth into the man’s face, entering his eyes, nose and mouth. His skin goes ashen, his corpulent body deflates, then desiccates like leather left in the elements for an age. Finally, it goes chalky and only the man’s gore covered clothes remain. Theo picks up the teeth and his golden pocket. Dangling the watch by the chain Theo holds it up for inspection.

The hook-nose thug, moments earlier so confident, oscillates between screams and whimpers unable to move on his hobbled legs. Theo’s attention renewed he drops the trophies and watch into his vest pocket. Theo places his hand to his chin adjusting his jaw and neck. He kneels next to the man.

         “Are you Charlton’s boys?” Theo asks.

         “Yes. L’Chacal are gonna find you and kill you.”

         “Tis the plan. But unfortunate for you and lucky for your wheezing friend in the back of the alley there, only one of you gets to leave here.”

Theo reaches for the man’s face; he pulls and jerks away until Theo jams the marlinspike into his thigh dragging the man screaming toward him. Hook-nose’s eyes go big as saucers as Theo forces his mouth open inspecting the man’s brown and damaged teeth before breaking off an incisor with the curved spike.

         “I love this part.” Theo smiles as his mouth yawns wide and the cold smoke and ichor pours forth consuming the man.

Moments later, Theo stands at the alley’s entrance looking back with a cold smile. Straightening his lapels and brushing down the front of his pants he begins singing. This time in tune.

         “Au clair de la lune, Mon ami Pierrot, Prête-moi ta plume, Pour écrire un mot.”

Rue Caumartin Apartment Later

Theo paces the landlord’s apartment tossing seed on the floor to the pecking hens. His impotent anger lacks any outlet.

         “Why did it take so long for you to come to my aid? I was trying to do your will!” Theo demands as the stonecutter emerges from the back room.

         ‘No, you were not. You were trying to bait this Charlton. If the teen in the alley survived, the bait is set. No bones were broken. What’s more, you are mended. A picture of health.” The stonecutter states without any emotion.

         “He stabbed me in the side with a fucking spike!” The exclaims.

         ‘You mean a marlinspike. They are different.’  The stonemason waggles his finger correcting his host.

         “Whatever asshole, it hurt.”