Happiness & Homicide: Happy Birthday, Ma
"Let's talk about your mother's birthday party." I light a cigarette. "Let's not and say we did." "Are you going to be argumentative today?" "Do we have to talk about her? You know how I feel about her." "I know, but we have some questions that involve her and we really need some answers." "What if I don't have any answers to give?" "Really? You always have struck me as a man who has a lot of answers." I smirk. I like that. "Well, what about my mother do you want to know?" "Did you go to her birthday party in April, about 5 years ago?" I shrug. "I don't remember. Could have been." He murmurs something under his breath and pulls out his recorder. "Oh, this again?" I grumble. "You know I have to." "Right, right." He sets up his recorder and his Macbook. "Do you mind if I take some notes?" "Oh, now you're going to ask?" I ask sarcastically, opening a Coke Zero. "It's amazing the privileges that you have in here. I don't see any other inmates with Diet Coke or personalised living cells with all the amenities you have." "Well, I don't see other inmates helping you put away offenders or giving you insight for your little book that you're writing." The small amount of colour Phil usually has drains from his face. "What did you just say?" I sit back and take a sip of my Coke Zero. "You thought I didn't know? I always know. I'm not mad by the way. I am curious about the unflattering light that you've painted me in." His ears pinken. "What makes you say that?" "Does that mean that I can't see the book draft?" I take a long drink of my soda, all the while keeping my eyes on him. "I..I don't have it with me." I raise my eyebrow and look at his Macbook. "I only have some parts, some little notes, the rest is on my external drive at home." "Good, I'd like you to bring it the next time that we meet." "But you don't have a com-Nevermind, this is you we're talking about." I shrug. "I'm not exactly the God you paint me to be."
"We'll talk about the book later, yes? I have some questions my bosses want me to ask you." I settle myself into my chair, clutching my Coke Zero. "So, what are the questions?" He sits back down and starts looking through his notes. "Right, uh, the birthday party. Nick said you were there? He mentioned he was upset because you didn't want to bring her a present. He said that and that you drove, while semi-intoxicated?" "I don't know about all that but that last bit about him harping about a present must make it true. He's uptight about gift giving. He always gives his mother a gift, every goddamn occasion! Christmas, Easter, her birthday, fuckin' national knicker day. He's the one with a mummy fetish, not me." He shuffles his papers. "Your mother also says you were there on the day in question and that you had an argument with her boyfriend at the time.-"
"We'll talk about the book later, yes? I have some questions my bosses want me to ask you." I settle myself into my chair, clutching my Coke Zero. "So, what are the questions?" He sits back down and starts looking through his notes. "Right, uh, the birthday party. Nick said you were there? He mentioned he was upset because you didn't want to bring her a present. He said that and that you drove, while semi-intoxicated?" "I don't know about all that but that last bit about him harping about a present must make it true. He's uptight about gift giving. He always gives his mother a gift, every goddamn occasion! Christmas, Easter, her birthday, fuckin' national knicker day. He's the one with a mummy fetish, not me." He shuffles his papers. "Your mother also says you were there on the day in question and that you had an argument with her boyfriend at the time.-"
I cut him off. "Why do you fucking assume I did it? She's trying to pin this on me!" "Wil, you do have a history of violence," Phil says slowly, tapping the large folder next to him. "Do I need to remind you why you're here? Is she really trying to pin this on you or did you do it?" "Of course I did it! I just can't believe that cunt set it up so you'd think I did it in the first place!" Phil narrows his eyes. "So you did do it, but you think that she set you up?" "Yes." "Well, alright then. Care to fill in the blanks for me?" "What is this a fucking murder inquiry or a fucking crossword puzzle?" "Just for you, I'm going to say both." He uncaps his pen. "Do you want to tell me your version of the events?" "No, because I know you and your police buddies are going to twist around whatever I say to serve your purpose. I'm already guilty, why give them extra pleasure? What are they gonna do to me? Put me back in gen-pop? Remember what happened with that." "Do I ever. You put 4 inmates in intensive care and killed 3 others." "They were bullying me." "That's not how we handle these kinds of situations, Wil. Did you talk to someone about it?" "I did the first time and he just sat on his fat ass. I can't depend on Her Majesty to protect me, but I can depend on myself." Phil shrugs. "I guess that's fair." He leans in close to me. "Do you want a kiss?" "No, Wil, you know what I'm going to ask." "No, I have never had an STI," I smirk at him. "Very funny. No, I want to know what you did with him. Where is he, Wil?"
"Why do you want to know?" "My boss wants to close the case on this one. He has a lot of inquiries open and we need to close some so we can move on to other cases." "In other words, he wants me to do his job because he fucking can't." I snort. "What happens if I don't remember what I did with him?" Phil gives me a stern look. "I was just asking! I'll tell you the whole thing because I know you're a thirsty bitch when it comes to details." "I thought you said you didn't remember if you went or not." "I lied. I remember going to see her and there was a party, I just don't know the finer points. Murder is something that I would definitely remember." He presses record and informs me that the floor is mine. "I've always had beef with Charlie. I don't know he's always rubbed me the wrong way. It's not because he was fucking my mother either, he was just a low-class piece of shit." Phil raises his eyebrow and I point a threatening finger at him. "He's never had a job, she babies him and always asks me for money because that piece of shit who lives there doesn't work. He's always faking some kind of injury and she's always covering for him. Every time I get a call from her 'Oh, Charlie is unwell, he's sprained his gooch.' or 'William, he can't work you know that he can't see the colour blue.' The excuses are endless. If those two put that much effort into getting him a job, he'd have had one many years over. Their laziness disgusts me." "So just seeing him was enough to provoke you into a homicidal rage?" "Not really. I mean the sight of him did cause my stomach to turn and my blood to boil, but it wasn't until he mentioned the present that I got really pissed off." "You bought your mother a present?" "No, Nick did but put a label on it that it was from me. He loves getting presents as you know, and he knew that it would be less bullshit if I gave her something on her special day."
Phil nods. "He insulted the present." "You killed him because he insulted your present? A present that you didn't even buy?" "He thought I did, so, therefore, he insulted my assumed present taste, he insulted Nick and he was all around rude. He was upset that it wasn't a cash gift. I know better than to ever give my mother cash. I want to make her work for her money. She can put the present up on eBay or sell it on the street corner for all I care." "How did you kill him?" "I smashed him over the head with the present." Phil breathes in sharply. "You smashed him over the head with a present?" He asks, faintly. "What the hell was the present?" I smirk. "A cast iron frying pan. He put it in a nice box and wrapped it up all nice so she'd have no idea what it was. He told me that I was a horrible son and that I should have given her cash or paid her rent, you know something to help out and I lost my shit. I took the present off the gift table and smashed him over the head with it. I-" "This was right during the party?" He's interrupted, but I don't mind. "Yes. Everyone was tipsy, gossiping or dancing in front of the DJ table, I didn't ca-" He cuts me off again. "Your mother asks you for money time and time again get she had the funds to hire a DJ?" "Tell me about it. I doubt my other siblings would have shelled out that much. I wonder how she got it. Probably begged and pleaded from the lot of them." "How many siblings do you have?" "Are we ever going to finish this fuckin' story or are you wanting a sequel to it?" He falls silent. "I have 6. Anyway, I knock him to the ground with the first blow. I just can't stop myself. I get caught into a complete rage. I let it consume me and Nick knows better than to try and stop me when I get wound up. I just kept smashing him with the package again and again in the head, face and chest. Even after the ribbon fell off I kept hitting him. After about 10 minutes of beating, I realised he was dead. I couldn't move him during the party, so I stuck him under the gift table. I knew I'd have to wait until everyone left and night had fallen. The tablecloth hid him nicely and no one missed him. None of her friends liked him." "Did Nick know that he was dead?" "No, he walked away when I landed the second blow. He didn't want to be a part of it or get involved; the last time he did he got a broken collarbone. He learned his lesson."
"What did you do with the body?" "Well after the party wound down and the women were drunk, some passed out inside, some out in the garden, and yes I checked all of them that were still there, I carried him down into the basement of her home. Once I was down there I cut him up with a hacksaw and wrapped the piece in bin bags. I took her old wheelie bin that she kept her eBay crap in, emptied it out and put his piece in there. After I drove around the entire city putting pieces of him in different bins, shit I even drove two towns over to help get rid of him. Police don't like to share information, you know. Their pride works against them." "Drive? But Nick left and you don't have a driver's license. Oh, but when has that ever stopped you? Rules seem to mean nothing to you at all." "They don't. Rules are for the weak minded who don't know how to govern themselves." "I never thought about it that way." "Clearly."
I light a cigarette."Maybe we should try something new." I light a cigarette and look at Phil. "Does this mean you're going to bum me? Or try to?" "I'm going to help you talk about your problems." I almost swallow the cigarette. "What problems?" Phil stares at me. "You're a murderer, Wil." "And that somehow leads you to the conclusion that I have issues?" "Yes." I'm almost offended. "What kind of issues? I don't want to fuck my mother!" "Oh, I know that all too well, you hate the woman and it has nothing to do with sex at all. You have a pure psychological hatred of the woman because of how she behaved toward you and the hardships her actions caused you." I lean back. "Well, I could have told you that I have no sexual interest in her. Have you fucking seen her?" He loosens his collar. "Uh, I have." I narrow my eyes at him and take a long drag. "What that hell is that reaction supposed to mean? Are you saying that she's ugly or something?" Phil looks like he's about to faint. "No! No, that would mean that you're ugly, but you-" I put out my cigarette. "You don't have to lie to me. I know what I am." "That's not what I mean, what I mean is, I think that you're good looking" He breathes out the last part awkwardly and unbuttons his collar, his cheeks flush. "That's a bit unprofessional, to say the least," I say standing up. I walk across the cell, take a small bottle of water out of the drawer under the bed and hand it to him. "Looks like you could use some of this." He takes it from me and takes a long drink. "Thanks, I needed that," I smirk. "I know." He looks at me, still pasty and sweaty. "You didn't dose me, did you?" "Phil, if I had drugs, I certainly would not share." He takes another long drink. "I suppose you're right."
"Why do you want to know?" "My boss wants to close the case on this one. He has a lot of inquiries open and we need to close some so we can move on to other cases." "In other words, he wants me to do his job because he fucking can't." I snort. "What happens if I don't remember what I did with him?" Phil gives me a stern look. "I was just asking! I'll tell you the whole thing because I know you're a thirsty bitch when it comes to details." "I thought you said you didn't remember if you went or not." "I lied. I remember going to see her and there was a party, I just don't know the finer points. Murder is something that I would definitely remember." He presses record and informs me that the floor is mine. "I've always had beef with Charlie. I don't know he's always rubbed me the wrong way. It's not because he was fucking my mother either, he was just a low-class piece of shit." Phil raises his eyebrow and I point a threatening finger at him. "He's never had a job, she babies him and always asks me for money because that piece of shit who lives there doesn't work. He's always faking some kind of injury and she's always covering for him. Every time I get a call from her 'Oh, Charlie is unwell, he's sprained his gooch.' or 'William, he can't work you know that he can't see the colour blue.' The excuses are endless. If those two put that much effort into getting him a job, he'd have had one many years over. Their laziness disgusts me." "So just seeing him was enough to provoke you into a homicidal rage?" "Not really. I mean the sight of him did cause my stomach to turn and my blood to boil, but it wasn't until he mentioned the present that I got really pissed off." "You bought your mother a present?" "No, Nick did but put a label on it that it was from me. He loves getting presents as you know, and he knew that it would be less bullshit if I gave her something on her special day."
Phil nods. "He insulted the present." "You killed him because he insulted your present? A present that you didn't even buy?" "He thought I did, so, therefore, he insulted my assumed present taste, he insulted Nick and he was all around rude. He was upset that it wasn't a cash gift. I know better than to ever give my mother cash. I want to make her work for her money. She can put the present up on eBay or sell it on the street corner for all I care." "How did you kill him?" "I smashed him over the head with the present." Phil breathes in sharply. "You smashed him over the head with a present?" He asks, faintly. "What the hell was the present?" I smirk. "A cast iron frying pan. He put it in a nice box and wrapped it up all nice so she'd have no idea what it was. He told me that I was a horrible son and that I should have given her cash or paid her rent, you know something to help out and I lost my shit. I took the present off the gift table and smashed him over the head with it. I-" "This was right during the party?" He's interrupted, but I don't mind. "Yes. Everyone was tipsy, gossiping or dancing in front of the DJ table, I didn't ca-" He cuts me off again. "Your mother asks you for money time and time again get she had the funds to hire a DJ?" "Tell me about it. I doubt my other siblings would have shelled out that much. I wonder how she got it. Probably begged and pleaded from the lot of them." "How many siblings do you have?" "Are we ever going to finish this fuckin' story or are you wanting a sequel to it?" He falls silent. "I have 6. Anyway, I knock him to the ground with the first blow. I just can't stop myself. I get caught into a complete rage. I let it consume me and Nick knows better than to try and stop me when I get wound up. I just kept smashing him with the package again and again in the head, face and chest. Even after the ribbon fell off I kept hitting him. After about 10 minutes of beating, I realised he was dead. I couldn't move him during the party, so I stuck him under the gift table. I knew I'd have to wait until everyone left and night had fallen. The tablecloth hid him nicely and no one missed him. None of her friends liked him." "Did Nick know that he was dead?" "No, he walked away when I landed the second blow. He didn't want to be a part of it or get involved; the last time he did he got a broken collarbone. He learned his lesson."
"What did you do with the body?" "Well after the party wound down and the women were drunk, some passed out inside, some out in the garden, and yes I checked all of them that were still there, I carried him down into the basement of her home. Once I was down there I cut him up with a hacksaw and wrapped the piece in bin bags. I took her old wheelie bin that she kept her eBay crap in, emptied it out and put his piece in there. After I drove around the entire city putting pieces of him in different bins, shit I even drove two towns over to help get rid of him. Police don't like to share information, you know. Their pride works against them." "Drive? But Nick left and you don't have a driver's license. Oh, but when has that ever stopped you? Rules seem to mean nothing to you at all." "They don't. Rules are for the weak minded who don't know how to govern themselves." "I never thought about it that way." "Clearly."
I light a cigarette."Maybe we should try something new." I light a cigarette and look at Phil. "Does this mean you're going to bum me? Or try to?" "I'm going to help you talk about your problems." I almost swallow the cigarette. "What problems?" Phil stares at me. "You're a murderer, Wil." "And that somehow leads you to the conclusion that I have issues?" "Yes." I'm almost offended. "What kind of issues? I don't want to fuck my mother!" "Oh, I know that all too well, you hate the woman and it has nothing to do with sex at all. You have a pure psychological hatred of the woman because of how she behaved toward you and the hardships her actions caused you." I lean back. "Well, I could have told you that I have no sexual interest in her. Have you fucking seen her?" He loosens his collar. "Uh, I have." I narrow my eyes at him and take a long drag. "What that hell is that reaction supposed to mean? Are you saying that she's ugly or something?" Phil looks like he's about to faint. "No! No, that would mean that you're ugly, but you-" I put out my cigarette. "You don't have to lie to me. I know what I am." "That's not what I mean, what I mean is, I think that you're good looking" He breathes out the last part awkwardly and unbuttons his collar, his cheeks flush. "That's a bit unprofessional, to say the least," I say standing up. I walk across the cell, take a small bottle of water out of the drawer under the bed and hand it to him. "Looks like you could use some of this." He takes it from me and takes a long drink. "Thanks, I needed that," I smirk. "I know." He looks at me, still pasty and sweaty. "You didn't dose me, did you?" "Phil, if I had drugs, I certainly would not share." He takes another long drink. "I suppose you're right."
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