The Most Beautiful Noir
Chapter 1
“Good evening, Mr. Aleazar! Welcome to my ever-so-modest abode. I apologize for the current accommodations; I’m afraid I keep a habitually unkempt house. I trust your trip here went smoothly?”
Were one to see nought but the host’s open arms and hear nought but his warm tone, they would never believe that the embrace was proffered to a man in chains, or that the welcoming formality was all but drowned out by gag-muffled screams of terror. The man bound to the chair glanced fearfully around the dank cement cell with panic-stricken eyes, anticipating the moment when his host’s overtures would turn cold.
“Oh, but where are my manners? You may call me Rye. I am the master of this miserable hovel, and it’s my duty to ensure that we don’t mar such a lovely evening with anything that either of us might come to regret. I apologize for the chains, but I fear that, were you ambulatory, that lofty goal might not be realized, and our business would go untouched.”
Mr. Aleazar attempted to calm himself down, but the eerily predatory way in which Rye was circling his chair made it difficult, though the cessation of his screaming revealed a measure of success.
“And what is our business, you ask?”
Rye paused, but it soon became very clear that Mr. Aleazar, was not, in fact, asking much of anything. Rye resumed his monologue, seeming not to notice.
“ Our business is you, Mr. Aleazar. You’re an extraordinary man, I hear. Your résumé is more impressive than any I’ve seen in ages. Only two years with the police force, and already you’ve ferreted out four of those nasty Argot terrorist cells, and one in the mayor’s own staff! Rumor has it that we may see you behind the commissioner’s desk come election day. The youngest commissioner in Archadia’s history, I believe. I’m genuinely honored to stand in the presence of a truly singular man.”
The prisoner was anything but flattered. The panic that he had fought so valiantly to overcome had regained control of his features, and the chains boldly announced the recommencement of his futile attempts at escape.
“But let us not be deceived,” Rye continued, “And think that you are a man dominated by work. Indeed, that would be an error of the most unforgivable order. Seldom do I have the pleasure of seeing such dedication to one’s fellow man or to his God. Your devotion to your daughter and your unquestioning loyalty to your religion easily outstrip that of any other I’ve been graced with in my decades of sun-forsaken life.”
The host’s peculiar emphasis on the word “daughter” brought immediate cessation to Aleazar’s struggles. The blood began to drain from his face, and a feeling of imminent doom settled deep in his abdomen. He could vaguely hear Rye continuing his torrent of praise in the background, but Aleazar couldn’t bring himself to focus upon it. His attention was reclaimed, though, by a sharp kick to the small of his back.
“Now, under the weight of all this evidence, it cannot be denied that you, my guest, are a believer. In the God you worship, in the law you uphold, in the sanctity of your family, and in your own feeble righteousness.”
No longer was Rye’s tone one of ironic etiquette. What was formerly a friendly list of accolades was rapidly becoming a bitter diatribe, a rant against the ways of a world filled with frippery and weakness.
“Mr. Aleazar, allow me to tell you of the fault inherent in any belief, the terrible, gaping hole that sits in the heart of adherence to a cause: the instant the a more noble, more desirable idea comes along, you flock. You gather ‘round the new cause, warming your hands by its philosophical hearth and breathing in the heady scent of the polystyrene peanuts in which all good ideas come packaged, leaving the newly antiquated shell of a credence to rot in the intellectual dust. Little do you know that the same philosophical vagrancy that brought you to the new set of values has already doomed it to same fate suffered by the old one. That is the flaw of belief.”
Once more, the man in the chair ceased grappling with his chains and regarded his captor with a fascination born of utter terror.
“Ha! You don’t believe me? Fool! Allow me to bestow upon you the gift of a firsthand example. At this very moment, your daughter is bound to a chair not entirely unlike your own listening to speeches from a man not entirely unlike myself… At least I hope she’s listening to speeches. Not all of my comrades are as—“
Rye effortlessly sidestepped the officer’s encumbered lunge, causing Aleazar to land on his shoulder with an unsettling crack. His tears began to accumulate in a small puddle on the unsympathetic concrete. Rye bent over his captive’s crumpled heap and continued his condescending orotundity.
“Oh, fear not, you temerarious dolt; you and your daughter will be safe in your beds before sunrise. You will not, however, be free. Though you will drop one set of chains at the door, you will carry another with you; you work for me now, Mr. Aleazar. You are to continue your work on the police force, but you will take your orders from me. Oh, and take care not to play hero; should you decide to ignore our orders, you had better be prepared to attend your daughter’s funeral. Closed coffin.”
I’m afraid that, as a story teller and not a film maker, I cannot relay to you the horrid mixture of sorrow, pain, and anger that contorted the victim’s face. But I can tell you that I, who have watched this scene from the anonymity of a peephole more times than I care to remember, could not prevent a tear from weaving its path of woe down my cheek.
Rye returned to his feet, and prepared to leave the cell.
“Well, this concludes our business. Soon, a very large man, who would not hesitate to cause you great pain should you show any signs of resistance, will come along and escort you home. Tomorrow morning, you will show up to work and consult the staff physician about the shoulder that a mugger broke while you were walking home. You never talked to me, and you never set foot in this cell. And, I beg you, don’t forget: we watch very closely.”
