Sins of the Father - Part 1 : Meetings

A Mario La Torre Mystery

La Torre didn’t like waiting.

Yet, here he was.

He had walked around from the beach front after parking his car facing out to the water. The island of Arran was resting lazily against the pastel blue sky and a low spring sun made the sea shimmer and sparkle.

It was early March. One of those days where it seemed winter was finally letting go of its icy grip over Scotland, with people emerging pale and uncertain from the homes they had huddled in these last 6 months.

Seagulls cackled overhead, hovering on the thermals, eagerly trying to scavenge any dropped food from lazy school children heading home after a hard days study. The air was still quite crisp meaning the tourists hadn’t come flocking to Ayr yet, as they would in the summer, so the birds would need to wait on richer banquets a little longer.

Taking a lungful of air, and trying not to wince at the pain under his ribs, La Torre had turned left onto Midton Road, walking through the neighbourhood to get a feel for the place. He had visited the town before, but not for a number of years. The imposing sandstone structures that loomed over him as he made his way down the wide, tree lined pavements gave him a fair idea of where his expertise would be needed.

Just off Racecourse Road, this was old money. Not only that, but old Scottish money. These buildings were the legacy of ship building and textile barons from centuries before, who built them to show off their power and wealth. It could also mean old Scottish magic. Tricky but not impossible. Subtlety and speed would most likely have to be the order of the day.

Finding the right address took a moment. Somehow, they had managed to tuck away a massive house behind some hedges and a small grove of fir trees. You would never even know it was even there without properly looking. La Torre guessed that was the type of privacy money bought.

The white gravel driveway didn’t have a stone out of place as it gently meandered past a stone fountain and bird bath standing proudly in a perfectly manicured patch of grass so green it looked like paint, on its way to the magnificent three story mansion, and a set of dark double doors that stood firmly shut.

There was no smart video bell here, just a large brass knocker in the shape of a lions head which La Torre thumped off the wood and stepped back.

A grinning gargoyle rested on the grandiose stone lintel above the doors, staring down at him with a frozen, bird shit speckled impudence.

“What are you looking at?” La Torre muttered grumpily. Luckily, this one didn’t answer back.

His mood was not the best. Normally he wouldn’t take a job where he didn’t know the client beforehand, but the money, already nestling snugly in his bank account, was too good to turn down and the person he spoke to on the phone had stressed utmost discretion. Which, these days, probably meant somebody, somewhere already had the story and had been ordered to sit on it. At least for a while.

He had tried to trace the number, but it was blocked, and the address he had been given had brought up nothing interesting. If he’d had a few more days maybe he could have found something, but time was of the essence and so here he was.

The left hand side door had swung open and a bulging dark suit, with an angry buzz cut stood there looking down on him, in every sense of the word.

With his faded jeans, ripped Iron Maiden t-shirt and scuffed leather jacket, he probably looked like a time traveller from forty years in the past. Not someone you would expect in this neighbourhood of grand houses with expertly manicured lawns, and certainly not someone who should be chapping at one of their doors.

“Yes?” the frowning scornful face under the flat top had growled.

“Mario La Torre.”

The bodyguard, he sure as hell wasn’t a butler, blinked whilst La Torre stood nonchalantly waiting. He was tired. Not sleeping does that to you. The last few weeks, dealing with McGovern and the soul jar, had taken it out of him. His side still hurt like hell, and he wasn’t sure it was entirely over. You never can be with trapped demons, but there had been no signs since, and if he could just convince his subconscious to take a break, he might actually get some rest. But good people had been lost, and he still felt responsible, so if he was already a little weary of this guys bullshit, then that surely could be understandable.

“Listen, pal …” muscles said, taking a threatening step forward.

La Torre loosened his hands from his pockets and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.

“I’m not your pal,” he responded calmly enough. “I was asked to come here for an appointment at four o’clock, but if you want to go around and around, then I’m more than happy to oblige.”

For all his bravado, La Torre reckoned things could have got out of hand very quickly. This guy clearly wasn’t for show. The steeliness in his eyes made that clear, but he needed something to take his anger out on.

Before things escalated any further, a voice spoke up, and a hand tapped the security guard on the side.

“It’s alright, Chambers I’ll take it from here.”

“Of course, Mr Robertson. If you need anything just let me know.”

And, with that, the tension was dispelled. As Chambers turned back into the house, La Torre met the other mans glare with a thin smile. That probably wasn’t over either, he thought wearily.

“Mr La Torre. I’m Murray Robertson,” the other man said holding out his hand. “Please come in. Sorry for the confusion. Can’t be too careful.”

It was a firm hand shake, belaying any thoughts that the mans slightly stooped frame with white hair and beard, reflected any weakness of age.

Robertson gestured for La Torre to follow him into the high ceilinged hallway of his home, but as the detective took his first step over the threshold, the obsidian talisman around his neck burned hot with such ferocity that he was almost driven to his knees.

There was powerful dark magic here. Or there certainly had been. It’s putrid stench lingered all around. La Torre gasped and tried to keep his composure, but his host had clearly noticed the change in him.

“You look very pale, Mr La Torre. Please come into the parlour and take a seat. I’ll get some tea.”

Normally, La Torre would make it clear he was no fan of tea at the best of times, never mind in somewhere called a parlour, but his heart was hammering in his chest with such ferocity, he let himself be led into a room with long velvet curtains, an elaborate hanging chandelier, glass cabinets around the walls and a low oval table in front of a crackling fire. Several plush couches were placed tastefully around, and La Torre collapsed into one of them without any prompting.

With a brief nod, Robertson swiftly headed out the door and so La Torre found himself sitting there fifteen minutes later feeling slightly better, but quickly losing his patience.

He got to his feet, on legs he was glad to notice were not shaking any more, and walked over to one of the cabinets. Something …. There was something in here that didn’t feel right.

Gently pulling on the delicate gold handle, he opened the glass door. Tucked behind a silver tray holding a crystal decanter and four whisky glasses was a small green bowl with strange markings on it.

They weren’t strange to La Torre. He knew exactly what it was. It was a summoning bowl and, not only that, but one specifically designed to call forth one of the foulest demons in all the land. He wearily rubbed his hand across his rough, unshaven face.

“OK. We’re involved in some serious shit now,” he said with a sigh.

---

So, I initially had no plans for a multi part story about Mario La Torre but

Josh Tatter

suggested I write something longer than the 50 or 100 words that I had been doing recently about my favourite paranormal detective, and now I’ve got a tale that could run to many thousands of words! So, if you’re not happy about that, you can blame Josh! And the funny thing was, once I got started, and unlike with most of what I write, I do actually have a plan about where this one is going and I’m hoping it will be a lot of fun getting there, so if you want to come along then that’ll be grand too.

Thanks very much for reading. Until next time