Murder on Olympus (22 page)

61

On the way home from work, I picked up an order of pepper steak and fried rice from my favorite Chinese restaurant. Only seconds after I sat down at the table in my apartment, Alexis called me.

“You filthy dog,” she hissed.

“Hello to you too.”

“I knew you were lying. I just knew it.”

“Lying about what?”

“You know what.”

I ate a forkful of rice. “No. I don’t.”

“Stop playing dumb,” Alexis said. “I saw the pictures.”

“What pictures?”

“The ones of you and that . . . that tramp.”

“Oh, you mean Aphrodite.”

“That’s exactly who I mean. I’m disappointed in you, Plato. Whoring yourself out just to get back at me. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“You honestly expect me to believe that?” she asked.

“Well, yeah.”

“Have you had sex with her?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“As your ex-wife, I have a right to know.”

I chuckled. “Do you realize how absurd that sounds?”

“I don’t give a damn how it sounds,” Alexis said. “I want to know. Have you had sex with her?”

I speared a piece of onion with my fork and crunched into it. “I’m not answering that.”

“Why not?”

“Because that information is confidential.”

“Are you saying it’s none of my business?”

“More or less.”

Alexis gave a scornful laugh. “You’re a piece of work, Plato Jones.”

“And a mighty fine one at that,” I said.

Incredible. She was getting married and she still thought she had the right to dictate my love life. Or fantasy love life.

“I can’t talk to you right now,” she said. “I’m too angry. I’ll call back later.”

“Bye, Alexis.”

She hung up and I resumed eating. Less than a minute later, my phone beeped. Someone had sent me a text. I assumed it was from Alexis. Probably some expletive-filled rant on how I should be ashamed of myself for lying about my alleged relationship with Aphrodite.

I checked my cell. The message wasn’t from Alexis. It was from Ares. There was only a single line of text:

“Time is running out.”

62

At 10:00 p.m., I waited on the bridge at Griffin Park. Fifteen minutes later, Aphrodite showed up with a pair of minotaur bodyguards. A black Cleopatra wig with gold clasps hid her auburn hair. Jewels embellished her gold brassiere and thong. A transparent white train was attached to the back of the panties. Somehow she made the outfit look classy.

Her perfume smelled of pomegranates and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. But I liked it.

“Nice getup,” I said. “Makes me wish I’d dressed as Mark Antony.”

Aphrodite smiled.

“Thanks for showing up,” I said.

“Anything to help.”

“You ready?”

“Yes.”

She dismissed her bodyguards and followed me to my car. I opened the passenger-side door, and she slid in. She regarded the interior with apt curiosity. I couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

I pulled out of the parking lot. “Sorry about my piece-of-junk car.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Aphrodite said. “I like it.”

I blinked. “Come again?”

“It has a certain charm to it. Like a three-legged dog. Or an old beat-up hat you refuse to throw away. It fits you perfectly.”

“Thanks.” My brow furrowed. “I think.”

I took the first ramp onto the highway. Prometheus lived in Phane City. Argus had given me Prometheus’s phone number and directions to his main estate, which saved me the trouble of calling the records office. The downside—it was a two-hour drive. A long time to spend with someone who wanted to jump my bones and turn me into a sex slave. It was worse than it sounded.

“You like music?” I asked.

“Who doesn’t?”

“Good point.” I turned on the radio. The Olympus Top 40 was playing.

For the first twenty miles we sat quietly, listening to music. Now and again, I glanced at Aphrodite. She had on lots of black eyeliner. It made her large eyes look even larger.

“Who are you looking for at the party?” she asked.

“Dionysus and Prometheus.”

“Do you think one of them could be the killer?”

“It’s possible,” I said.

“I know Dionysus very well.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Aphrodite smiled coyly. “He’s killed before, but for good reason. He just doesn’t seem like a cold-hearted murderer.”

“Most of the Gods don’t,” I said.

“True.”

“What can you tell me about Prometheus?”

“He’s . . . strange. Of all the Titans, he bears the least amount of hatred toward Olympians.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, I couldn’t begin to tell you the reason,” Aphrodite said. “He’s just strange.”

“Would you be surprised if he turned out to be the killer?”

“A little, I suppose. He seems more interested in torturing people than killing them.”

Great. So at least I’d still be alive after he ripped off my fingernails one by one.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

We were silent for some time. Then out of the blue, Aphrodite said, “I understand you’re dating the treasurer.”

“Who? Chrysus?”

She nodded. “She’s very beautiful.”

“Chrysus and I aren’t dating.”

“Oh?”

I could tell she didn’t believe me. “Really,” I insisted. “We’re just friends.”

“But you want to be more than that.” There was a hint of jealousy in her voice. And beneath that, a dash of intrigue.

“You think so?” I asked, challenging her insight.

“I do.”

“Is that your Godly perception at work?”

Aphrodite gave me a small, secretive grin. “Just a woman’s intuition.”

I took the Phane City exit. It veered right and emptied us onto a strip lined with shopping centers. The buildings all looked shiny and new. But the cobblestone streets were more suited for horse-drawn buggies than cars. My Thunderbird bounced along the thoroughfare.

Past the shopping centers was a long road that led to the outskirts of town. The area beyond was flat and rural. Farms, ranches, and vineyards were scattered throughout vast stretches of countryside.

Prometheus’s mansion was at the end of a private road. A four-story palace with lots of windows and marble pillars.

In the middle of the driveway stood a fifteen-foot statue of Prometheus holding a torch. The fact that the statue was life-size almost made me piss my pants. Its shadow loomed across my vehicle as we parked. Even scarier was the thought of having to arrest him if he turned out to be the killer.

There were at least fifty cars in the front parking lot, with a line of more cars leading around the side of the mansion. I was betting more were parked around back.

I could never figure out why Gods drove cars. They could run like the wind, covering dozen of miles in mere minutes. Some could even fly. I guessed—to them—cars were novelty items.

“What do you want me to do once we get inside?” Aphrodite asked.

“Just stick with me please. If something goes down, I might need you for backup.”

“I’m not much of a fighter, but all right.”

I turned off the car and we stepped out. Nervous butterflies hatched in my stomach. Marilyn Manson’s “Mutilation Is the Most Sincere Form of Flattery” poured from the mansion’s windows.

“Shall we?” I offered Aphrodite my arm.

She took it. “Let’s.”

The front doors were around twenty feet tall, and half as wide. They had to be, to accommodate a Titan.

In the shadows near the door, a couple gyrated against each other, partially nude. As we approached, their heated moans floated toward us. They were having sex.

The woman was a nymph, shaped like a human but with transparent skin. A pale, blue liquid suspended her organs inside her torso. The man was rail-thin and covered with piercings. Silver spikes formed his mohawk. As far as I could tell, he was human.

“I hope that nymph doesn’t spring a leak,” I whispered to Aphrodite.

“I don’t think she’d mind,” Aphrodite said.

I rang the doorbell. Prometheus himself answered. His long black hair fell down to his shirtless, bare shoulders. Leather pants were slung low over his hips.

Tattoos covered his muscular body. There were so many of them; it was hard to tell where one image ended and another began. I was able to make out a skull and crossbones, a smiley face, a dragon, and what looked like a dog riding a submarine sandwich. Tattooed in black across his forehead was an eagle with its wings outstretched.

Standing so close to Prometheus made my nose burn and my eyes water. He smelled like he’d just jumped into a pool of aftershave, cologne, and bleach. I figured he was trying to cover up the smell of his innards, which were spilling from a huge wound in his stomach. Cords of intestines hung almost to the floor, crusted with dried blood. He could’ve stuffed them back into his belly before answering the door. That would have been the polite thing to do.

Prometheus’s blue eyes latched onto Aphrodite. His jaw dropped and he swayed in place, clutching his chest as though he were having a heart attack.

“Whoa, man, have the planets aligned and created an alternate reality? Or is the Goddess of Love actually standing on my doorstep?” His deep voice had its own built-in echo.

Aphrodite smiled cordially. “Hello, Prometheus.”

“Hey, yourself.” Prometheus took a step back. His intestines quivered, shedding flakes of dried blood. He looked Aphrodite over and shook his head. “You look great. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you here for the festivities?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

Prometheus nodded. He looked at me and grinned. A silver ring flashed in his bottom lip.

“I see you’ve brought a pet,” he said to Aphrodite.

“This is Plato,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Plato.”

I held up my hand. “Same here.”

“Is Dionysus around?” Aphrodite asked.

“Inside.” He stepped aside and allowed us to enter.

Aphrodite wasn’t lying when she said Prometheus was a strange character. The guy was a contradiction made flesh. He looked like a biker, talked like a stoner, and smelled like a chemical plant.

Genius
was not a word that came to mind. But he was acknowledged as one of the most brilliant minds in existence. And he had managed to pull off one of the biggest heists of all time—stealing fire from Olympus. An idiot couldn’t have accomplished that. No, he was smarter than he let on.

A lot smarter.

63

The foyer was roughly the size of a football field, packed with half-naked bodies writhing to the beat of the music.

I couldn’t take one step without witnessing a crime against nature. Guests were cutting each other, dismembering each other, burning each other, breaking each other’s bones, and of course, having interspecies sex. Lots and lots of interspecies sex. Overhead, a number of people hung from the ceiling by meat hooks. Their sliced-open bodies dripped blood onto the crowd. Shockingly, all of them were still alive.

“I have to go check on the other guests,” Prometheus said. “Enjoy yourselves.”

And he walked away, towering over everyone.

“Thanks,” I called after him.

“Now what?” Aphrodite asked.

“Now we find Dionysus.”

“What about Prometheus?”

“I’ll catch up with him later. He’s not going anywhere. This is his party, after all.”

Aphrodite and I threaded our way through the crowd, looking for Dionysus. We found him lying at the base of the grand staircase, making out with two naked women. One was a blonde, the other a brunette. Either could have been a supermodel.

He held a golden chalice in his right hand. Red wine sloshed over the brim, spilling down the women’s bodies and splashing onto the floor. I had heard about Dionysus’s chalice. No matter how much wine he drank, it was always full. I could’ve used one of those, only with beer.

“Hello, Dionysus,” Aphrodite said, frowning at his display.

Dionysus glanced at her and blinked. “Aphrodite?”

“Having fun?”

Dionysus pushed the two women away and stood up. He looked like a cover model from a cheesy romance novel. Tall with chiseled features and curly black hair cut short. He wore a pair of blue jeans and no shirt. His dark eyes sparkled merrily.

“It’s good to see you.” Dionysus tried to hug Aphrodite. She backed away.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

Aphrodite glanced at the women, who were at Dionysus’s side, rubbing his arms and chest.

He got the hint. “Give us a moment, ladies.”

“Aww,” they said in unison.

“Go.”

“Oh, alright,” the blonde pouted, and both women left.

Dionysus watched them vanish into the press of bodies, and then returned his attention to Aphrodite. “Mortals can be so childish sometimes.”

Aphrodite crossed her arms “The same can be said about certain Gods.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t know you were a fan of torture parties.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“A friend of mine would like to speak with you.”

“A friend?”

Aphrodite inclined her head toward me.

“Plato Jones,” I said.

Dionysus and I shook hands. He had a firm handshake. Any firmer and he might have broken my hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones,” Dionysus said.

“Same here.”

“What would you like to speak with me about?”

“Something important. Can we step outside for a minute?”

“I don’t see why not.”

The three of us went outside to my car. There was no one else around, so we could talk freely without being overheard. I leaned against the driver-side door. Aphrodite stood beside me, glaring at Dionysus.

“Thanks for cooperating,” I said.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Jones, but what is this all about?” Dionysus asked.

“I’m a private investigator. Zeus hired me to investigate a recent string of murders in New Olympia.”

“They must not be very high-profile if Zeus is hiring mortals to look into them.”

“Plato was once a member of the OBI,” Aphrodite informed him. “He was the best. That’s why the president wanted him on the case.”

“If you say so.” Dionysus didn’t sound impressed. “Who were the victims?”

“Eileithyia, Hephaestus, and Enyo,” I said.

Dionysus cocked his eyebrows. “The Gods?”

“Yes.”

He laughed. “You’re joking.”

“Afraid not.”

He continued to laugh, so hard that he doubled over and clutched his side. He glanced at Aphrodite. “Is he serious?” he asked, through spurts of laughter.

Her head sank and she said nothing.

Dionysus’s laughter faded. “You
are
serious.”

“Unfortunately,” I said.

The sparkle in his eyes dimmed for an instant. He took a sip of wine. Red liquid swirled upward in the chalice to replace what he’d just taken.

“I’m sorry to have to break this to you,” I said.

“It’s okay,” he said casually.

The reaction caught me by surprise. I mean, I wasn’t expecting him to cry his eyes out or anything. But I did anticipate some show of regret. Instead, I got nothing.

“You’re not upset?” I asked outright.

Dionysus shrugged. I didn’t know what to make of the gesture.

I glanced at Aphrodite, hoping she could she could shed some light on Dionysus’s lack of reaction. She was too busy making bedroom eyes at him to notice me. Apparently, she had forgiven him for the two bimbos near the staircase.

I turned my attention back to Dionysus. “I’m trying to find the person responsible for the murders, but I’m short on information. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

Dionysus swallowed another mouthful of wine. “Ask away.”

“Thanks. First question. Is it true you’ve been at this party for the last month?”

“Yes.”

“Have you left at all?”

“No.” He grinned. “It’s a killer party.”

“Is there someone who can verify that?”

Dionysus tilted his head toward the mansion. “Ask anyone, they’ll tell you. Especially any of the women.”

“Okay, next question,” I said. “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt Eileithyia and the others?”

“The Gods have many enemies.”

“What about Prometheus? Is he your enemy?”

Dionysus chuckled. “He’s a lot of things, that one. But he’s no killer.”

“Last question. Is there anything that can kill a God? Anything at all?”

Dionysus shook his head, his lips pursed. “No, nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he said. There was an undercurrent of annoyance in his voice. I kept forgetting how sensitive the Gods were about repeating themselves.

“Alright,” I said.

“Is that all?”

“For now.”

Dionysus nodded. He glanced at the sky. It was a starry night. A haze of pale light encircled the moon.

“Nice night,” he commented.

“It is,” Aphrodite agreed.

Dionysus shifted his gaze to her, grinning deviously. “You remember what we used to do on nights like these?”

“How could I forget?” Aphrodite replied, matching his expression.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Too long.” She moved closer to him until they stood only inches apart. “We should find a quiet spot and get reacquainted.”

“Here is fine.”

Aphrodite turned to me. “Plato, would you care to join us?”

I smiled graciously. “I think I’ll pass.”

“That’s too bad. Do you want to watch instead?”

I took a few steps back, my hands raised. “No, I’m going back inside to talk to Prometheus.”

Aphrodite nodded, looking marginally disappointed. “I’ll look after Dionysus while you’re gone.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Dionysus chuckled.

“Have fun, you two.” I turned and started back to the mansion.

I kept my eyes straight ahead, ignoring the compulsion to look back. Though Aphrodite and I weren’t romantically involved, I still hated the idea of her having sex with other guys. I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—have sex with her. But I didn’t want other people to have sex with her either.

What bothered me even more was the thought of leaving her alone with a suspect. Everyone had their own methods of coping with tragedy, but Dionysus’s lack of compassion bugged me. It bugged me a lot.

All the same, I couldn’t stop Aphrodite from doing what she wanted to do. And I knew better than to try.

I was almost to the front door when screams of passion rose up behind me. I almost wished they’d been screams of terror. Then I could have run to Aphrodite’s rescue with guns blazing.

I would have gotten my ass handed to me, but at least I would’ve looked heroic doing it.