The funeral service for Al Nash followed an extensive investigation into his death.
I was the Senior Detective on the case and let me tell you it was a puzzler.
The body of Al Nash, a notorious interstellar traveller lay in a pool of blood, the weapon that had inflicted the injuries lay beside the body, finger prints visible for all to see in the blood left on the handle.
It looked an open and shut case. I had visions of being home for dinner that night, the case all wound up enjoying a quiet evening at home reading the Galaxy news and watching the Interface with my two wives, Adele and Belle.
My trusty sidekick, a man whose reputation as a crime fighter only surpassed his even more famous reputation as the best drinker in town, if not in our immediate constellation and that’s saying something for as you know a constellation covers a lot of space and there are a few places a few light years away where drinking copious amounts of a liquid now banned on this planet is considered a man’s way of proving to the universe he is the man he says he is.
He looked at the weapon and said to me this is from one of the moons of Mizor. I looked at Lenny, my sidekick, and remarked that Mizor had no moons. Lenny wise man that he is looked at me and said that’s what Mizor would like you think. Never trust anything you see on Mizor unless you can get up close enough to touch it and then a taste test is the best way to verify the authenticity of anything.
So that in itself was a puzzle.
As the days passed and turned in to weeks then months then years and finally light years and with Al Nash’s body getting colder every day it was decided to take a stab in the dark and try and hurry the case to a conclusion.
I had long suspected Al Jade as the perpetrator. But I had nothing I could pin on him other than his public hatred of Al Nash. The two men had run their own Galactic taxi service and it was common knowledge that the rivalry between the two men was legendary.
Competition was fierce, the two men had waged an unofficial war buying bigger and better taxis, offering Sunday discounts, undercutting each others fares, Al Jade had at one time even tired to entice customers by employing a band of women from the planet Zoton, a strange yet pleasant race of females their voluminous three breasts always a hit with any man who crossed their path and stayed a year or two. That venture faded out when it was revealed Al Jade was paying the women under-award wages and confiscating their more than generous tips.
I organised the funeral. My favourite funeral celebrant, Jen of the Park Mill had agreed to officiate and so Al Nash’s family gathered. He had a large family spread across various generations, and several racial and intergalactic racial types.
It was during the eulogy, skilfully delivered by Jen that Al Jade suddenly leapt to his feet. The mention of Al Nash’s generosity and love of family and tradition had brought Al Jade to his feet.
To his left and right his henchmen rose, galactic guns at the ready, the mayhem that followed could only be described as mayhem.
In the moments after, I looked above the pew in which I was sitting to see what was left of the funeral gathering. Jen the Funeral Celebrant was still standing behind her lectern, eulogy still in hand, her mouth opening and shutting with no sound coming out.
Al Nash’s family lay about in various states of dismemberment. It was chaos.
Al Jade and his men were making a be-line for the exit but not before my men blocked his way, disarmed his henchmen and placed Al Jade in custody.
Al Jade thought he’d got away with the perfect murder. If only he’d stayed away from the funeral he may never have been caught but I knew if we worded the eulogy correctly we would bait him and appeal to his own sense of misplaced honour.
It was a masterstroke and one, which became the talk of legends.
Three of Al Nash’s family survived the massacre. A son, his wife and baby daughter, all that remained of the Al Nash dynasty. The Al Nash taxi service still operates today years after the Funeral incident, on a smaller scale but with the then baby girl now the woman who runs a successful and at times notorious transport service.
I smile when I see her knowing Al Nash lives on.
Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/12/11/tale-weavers-prompt-the-funeral-of-al-naash/
Morpethroad 