The Curse of the Grand Guignol Read Online Free PDF

by a policeman near the Moulin Rouge. Corpse number five. It
had been carefully crafted after death, same as the other four, to
resemble a puppet. The wrists were tied with string which was then
attached to a rudimentary wooden crossbar, the sort of thing used
to manipulate a marionette out of view of the audience. The
mutilation this time was to the tongue – it had been cut out after
death and was nowhere to be found. At least the luggage tag was
loosely draped around the neck and he didn’t have to hunt for it in
the dark. Just one word; same yet different: didi.
    He read it and felt vindicated
that he had not summoned the Countess in vain.
    The corpse had been taken to
the morgue, where he had again viewed it at nine o’clock in the
morning, confirmed that it was not a homeless beggar or penniless
drunkard, but a respected citizen of France, same as the previous
four corpses that had been mutilated after death and set up to look
like puppets. Now it was ten o’clock and he had returned to the
café to speak to the Humboldts.
    “The pool of blood in the
alleyway did not surprise you when you opened up this morning?” He
addressed the one called Klaus whose turn it was to dispense sludge
to the handful of bleary-eyed comrades who’d managed to drag
themselves out of bed before midday.
    The Teutonic giant recognized a
policeman when he met one, shrugged his shoulders and blew a plume
of shit-smelling smoke the inspector’s way. “Fights break out all
the time. One day a pool of blood, the next day a puddle of puke,
the next day dog turd or cat piss – it’s Karl’s job to sluice it.
What’s the big deal?”
    As if to prove his point, a
brawl broke out between two men slumped at a table by the window
when one told the other to tais-toi . Cups were upended and
thick black viscous sludge pooled on the table top before dribbling
onto the floor. It looked more like oil than coffee. Klaus grunted
something vicious and stomped over, knocked the offending patrons
out of their chairs with a swift slap left and right, then
proceeded to wipe up the sludge with a filthy tea towel which he
then draped casually over his shoulder.
    “Beat it! Both of you! And
don’t come back till you’re sober!”
    The two men staggered out,
leaning against each other, tails between their legs.
    The inspector waited until the
German returned to the zinc serving counter and began to dry some
coffee cups with the same tea towel. “You didn’t bring your
furniture in last night?”
    “What is this! Is there a law
against leaving the furniture out on the street?”
    “Yes,” said the inspector
calmly, “actually there is.”
    Klaus tossed his cigarette into
a glass of red wine that still had some dregs in it from the night
before and trumpeted, “Hey! This flic is here to arrest me because
we left our furniture outside last night!”
    A racking chorus of emphysemic
guffaws rumbled through the shitty haze.
    “I’m not here to arrest you. I
just want to know what you know about the blood in the
alleyway.”
    Looking bored, Klaus began to
light up another cigarette. “Ask Karl – that’s his job.”
    “Where will I find Karl?”
    Klaus moved to a trapdoor and
bellowed, “Karl!”
    The inspector got the
impression Klaus did not want the inspector to go down into the
cellar. The German stood between the inspector and the black maw
until a blond head popped up. It could have been a demigod rising
from the dead.
    “What’s up with you? You know
I’m busy with – ”
    Karl could spot a policeman at
a glance, same as his burly brother. And make no mistake the two
men could not be mistaken for anything but brothers. They were both
built like Minotaurs minus the mythic horns. Aryan good-looks had
endowed them with blue eyes, blond hair, and chiselled features. If
they had bothered to bathe, use a razor or get decent haircuts they
would have passed for handsome.
    “This flic wants to interrogate
you about the blood this morning,” said