text: ...the small town murders that never took place Karaoke Killings The scene opens with a mist over the harbour in the early hours of the morning. A homeless man, hoping to find refuge, lifts his head as he hears the sound of a ‘plop’ in the water, and says, “Man, I hate cops”. There was much commotion earlier, and the police had already been by. There is no jail in this small town, and the cops do their own thing, primarily putting drunk and disorderly, the homeless, or even mental patients in nearby hotels. It makes the innkeepers the jailers, and they are paid by the City for their room as there is no other alternative. That is for the first few offences; the next once are far more macabre option for justice. The homeless man knows that there will be a very distinct, foul odor at the rendering plant. These crimes are covered well, and no one ever wonders what happens to the transient people that are dumped here from neighboring towns. No, he is better off not questioning and remaining hidden in the make-shift camp he has in the bushes by the sea... Henry is an amiable sort. He and his wife Evelyn came to live in the small town, with only childhood memories of its charm. Beautiful Victorian mansions, a thriving art and maritime community and the sea makes it ideal for retirees or transplant people that want a change of scenery. Henry works in one of the local inns as a front desk manager, although his education could afford him much better. He is used to such temporary tenants in his hotel; the young woman Melissa with the Harry Potter scar who steals and screams obscenities as the drums in her head drive her schizophrenic brain; the homeless that have no place to go, the non-locals that commit small crimes...yes, they are booked in, not booked, at one of the fort less expensive hotels. That is a loose term; the whole town is expensive, but these would be budget hotels anywhere else. It just so happens that Henry had this particular rabble-rouser in his hotel the night before. This having nowhere to go theme runs rampant, and Henry has to accommodate those paying top-dollar, along with the Melissa’s of the world; stealing sandwiches and trinkets from local shops that she hoards in her room. Her number will come up eventually...but right now it is this chap that started a fight locally that was taken to his inn. The guy started yelling in the middle of the night, upsetting the paid customers, so Henry called the cops again. One older cop got out of his vehicle, and for some reason, tripped and fell straight down in the parking lot; you would think by now he would know it as well as his own backyard. Bleeding and in pain, he was screaming as loud as the noise complaint, so that night the cop was not in a mood to negotiate. The young man, who went by Talbot, although we don’t know if that was a first, last or pseudonym, was causing a ruckus. Henry was on night duty, as usual, that his wife begrudgingly was used to by now but hated going to bed alone and leaving the light on. So, on this night, the commotion started again, and Talbot was removed, saying he knew someone in a boat, and would the cops take him to the harbor. They did, it seemed reasonable...although he was to be left there, and never seen again... The town was small, with not that much to do in the off-season. A few bars and restaurants stayed open, but not much to do for entertainment. Evelyn, a Southern belle-type beauty, loved to sing, so she and Henry went to karaoke as often as his schedule would allow. What they didn’t know is the seedy underbelly of the town, how money was made, and why there was that terrific stench at the rendering plant which inevitably got worse on Sundays after the weekends out. A strange character known only as the Professor liked to hang out there. Skinny and wily, he was always surrounded by a team of mooks; muscle men that appeared to be hangers on but clearly where bodyguards of some type. The professor wasn’t like the other patrons; he didn’t sing, he didn’t like beer or honky-tonk music but considered himself an English gentleman. Ironic, because he looked more like Mr Burns of The Simpsons fame. No, he had a special seat always reserved, his favorite muscleman Rick made sure it was available, so he sipped his whiskey and water and simply took in, with great disdain, the audience. He thought them all too far beneath him. But, there was a more cynical reason he liked to people watch, particularly the young transient people who came to the town to busk...no one would miss them if they were gone, right? A rare exception was Evelyn; he found her charms and talents exceptional. She dressed like a Lady, sang like a bird, and had polished manners for this hick town. No, she was a rare bird indeed. If it weren’t for that husband of hers, he would have her as a bride. Now, if only he could get Henry drunk enough and have Rick ‘accidentally’ trip him down the three flights of stairs it took to find entertainment in this town...oh well, another day. The town itself had a history of booms and busts over the past hundred-odd years. There was no real viable industry, and the rendering plant, which made paper products, was often closed. No, this was a place hippies young and old went to do their art and music and old wealthy baby boomers went to retire. It wasn’t the kind of place you went and found a job! That’s why Henry was happy to find the one for minimum wage at the dive motel. Heck, he got it carrying a mannequin to help his wife set up a fancy shop, so that didn’t deter the owners; they were so glad to get good help. No, the real economy was something else...something illegal. Neighboring village-like towns didn’t allow transients. They didn’t want buskers, had signs that if you had a backpack to just keep on passing by. They even took busloads of homeless people and dumped them off here, in the beautiful town by the sea. The tourists didn’t mind, they liked the music on street corners, so it seemed a win-win. A lot of these people, mostly kids that had a falling out at home, didn’t have any more ties than the ones on their shoelaces, if they even had those. No, it was urban legend to come here and make enough money for pot and beer, so come they did. What they didn’t know is how truly dangerous this idyllic setting was... The Professor was at the head of it. The police were in on it, neighboring towns got a cut of it for bringing transient people there, and the town commissioners knew all about it. What sinister way to make money was that the Professor, from his perch in the bar, was scouting illegal organ donors. The younger, the more organic food-fed, the more talented, the better. The bar was in on it as well, once given the signal, doctoring the drinks of the homeless musicians after they did their karaoke renditions of House of the Rising Sun. There is no evidence as it is all covered up by these townsfolk who really don’t care how the town gets revenue, as long as they can do their own thing. Just like Talbot, who got drunk and loud, they too would be sent to check in at the inn, but never really check out....A discovery that Henry and Evelyn would find out the hard way as the Professors ardor for her would let his guard down as he tried to make her his Queen of the small town.