The Face In The Ring

By Bill Bibo Jr.

“You have to admit, Ramses, this round of The Demigods of Demolition was awesome. Watching Hercules pin Nessus the Centaur in three rounds was amazing,” Bernie said.

We were waiting for a taxi and hiding from the varied rush of people and creatures leaving Asterian Arena, home to the Alliance of Legends Wrestling Federation. I’d never seen my partner so animated.

“This eliminates Nessus from the championship, and Hercules made it look so easy. I wonder if I could be any good at that,” Bernie said.

Everyone expects a golem to be silent and subservient, acting only upon specific direction. Thing is, with Bernie, it’s all an act, and I am one of the few who knows. It has proven quite useful in our work at Mythical Crime Scene Investigations. But even crimefighters need a night off.

A faun, one of the arena’s ushers, trotted toward us. It looked like that night off was about to end.

“Special Agent Ramses?”

I nodded. “Is there a problem?”

The usher looked around, making sure no one else could hear. “It’s Hercules. He’s dead.”

We followed the faun backstage to where a small group stood over a large muscular body crumpled face down on the floor.

Eddy Erymanthian, a bulky, boarish man always looking for an angle, saw us approach. Having lost to Hercules early on, Eddy had convinced the demigod he needed a manager and quickly filled the position himself. As Hercules’s status grew, it was well known he was looking around for more prominent representation.

“Ramses, thank you for coming.”

Eddy shook my linen-wrapped hand too eagerly. Once, in a previous life a long time ago, I had been Pharaoh. Mummified and since reanimated, I’ve had to be careful of my brittle bones.

“I was looking for Herc after the match and found him here, like this,” Eddy said.

A beautiful blonde sobbed on Eddy’s shoulder. Deianira, Hercules’s latest wife, his third by all accounts, was heir to the Oeneus Winery fortune. She’d funded Hercules’s current bid at the title while he’d still been married to wife number two. Rumor had it she was extremely jealous.

A slender man in oversized clothing fidgeted beside them. The muzzle, tight to his face, told me this was Wolfman Jimmy. Never a strong contender, Jimmy was a jobber. His purpose was to lose and make the main talent look good. He only needed the muzzle during a full moon, but he liked to wear it all the time.

“If Hercules is dead, do I win my match with him?” Jimmy asked.

I bent over the body. Hercules’s face was contorted, his teeth tightly clenched, nearly biting his tongue in half. He’d obviously died in extreme pain. A strong, bitter scent came off the towel he clenched in his hands.

“Has anyone touched him?” I asked.

No one had.

“I suspect he’s been poisoned.” I waited for the obligatory gasp, then continued. “Judging by how he’s clutching that towel, it may be how the poison was administered. Bernie, come here and remove the towel. Because of my partner’s clay fingers, the poison should not affect him.”

When I mentioned the word “should,” Bernie paused for the briefest moment. I saw it. I was meant to.

He gently pried the towel from the fingers of the dead wrestler and held it up to me. The bitter scent was a powerslam straight in the nostrils.

“That towel is not ALWF standard issue,” Eddy said.

“This smells like centaur’s blood,” I said, “with a dash of hydra’s poison. A foul mixture harmless to most creatures, but lethal to many gods and demigods.”

Deianira collapsed to the floor, lost in a wave of tears. “It wasn’t supposed to kill him. He said it would keep Hercules faithful to me.”

I knelt beside her. “Who gave you this fabric?”

There was a crash from inside the hall. Nessus, the centaur Hercules had defeated earlier that night, was galloping for the exit.

“Bernie, stop him,” I said.

But Nessus was ready and quickly had Bernie in a professional chokehold. I grabbed a two-by-four from a nearby bin of wrestling implements and ran to my partner’s aid. I swung at Nessus just as Bernie broke free. The lumber cracked over the back of Bernie’s head. I returned to the bin, this time grabbing a folding chair. I swung, only to hit Bernie square in the stomach when Nessus spun away.

Bernie turned and looked at me as if to say, “Stop helping me!”

Nessus took advantage of Bernie’s distraction and super-kicked him across the room. The golem made a tremendous dent in the wall. When the centaur turned for the door, a jubilant Wolfman Jimmy clotheslined him.

The police arrived and took Nessus and a still-sobbing Deinira off to jail.

“What would make Nessus do something like this?” Eddy said.

“When Hercules defeated him, it took away his only chance at the title,” I said. “It’s often difficult for some to live in their rival’s shadow. Nessus wanted to change that. He took advantage of Deinira’s insecurity and used it for his revenge. Schemes like that rarely work.”

Eddy’s eyes began to twinkle, and I knew a scheme was hatching.

“Ramses, my friend, would you consider loaning out your partner? I can see it now. The Great and Glorious Golem! Will he fight for us? Or will he kill us all? Magnificent! The plot line writes itself.”

I removed a battered shovel from the bin. I wasn’t losing another partner. Eddy’s eyes widened, and Bernie took a few steps back.

“Just think about it,” Eddy said and ran out.

When we were alone Bernie said, “I guess we know now I wouldn’t make it very far as a wrestler. Nessus grabbed me pretty easily tonight.”

I put my hand on my friend’s shoulder. “Nessus is a professional. You did your best.”

“Just promise me one thing,” Bernie said. “Next time, if I have to fight, don’t help.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bill Bibo Jr. lives in Madison, Wisconsin. Late at night he writes about friendly giants, intelligent mummies, incompetent zombies, and other things that scare him in the hope someday they no longer will. This story features the two main characters, Ramses and Bernie, of his in-progress novel, “The Wrong Side of the Rainbow”.

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