Early drafts of The Red Villa

I

One hour beyond sunset, Horatio Marx, a villain and horticulturalist of legend, committed suicide with a revolver.

At the time of his untimely end, he was under house arrest at his estate of Los Talas on the pampas of Argentina.

A single bullet was found in his heart; no single tear was shed as he crossed his Styx.

This garden variety suicide had one irregular kink: Two cops nearby reported two shots that nightly night.

What’s more, the other bullet wasn’t found.

Gary Chevalier, a detective with great muscle of mind, is bidden from Buenos Aires to find the missing bullet, thereby closing this high-profile case.

Our tale begins beneath the endless rows of eucalyptus…

…with a single bloom.
II

Do you remember gazing upon the garden? Surely you recall your secret mania for Marx’s roses. How hypnotic they were.

After three days of searching you return to the decaying villa of Los Talas.

Los Talas: lost atlas.

III

The bullet was not missing after all. It was just adrift in time, off course.

Or on a long course. A course that can’t be described in a straight line. Or a digressing course. A course full of digressions that multiply to the point that even Time loses its way. Marx didn’t hide the bullet so much as the time surrounding it.

The bullet is fated and inevitable: It’s meant for me.

©Michael Mills 2003

The Red Villa title-cards

THE RED VILLA

(based on police reports by Detective Francis Hugo)

09:43
O lusty huffs! O tired limbs!
A beastly Zonda batters the bushes
on the road to the Red Villa!

10:02
Ah, villa of rosy hue
and delicately shifting tempo!
Alas, my ill humour curdles the moment pronto.

10:04
I return from
the Lujan Constabulary to
resume my search
for a missing lump of lead
more precious than gold.

10:07
O turbulent,
stubborn memory!
You pace outside
no longer!

“?”
“*”
“.?”
“X”

11:25
Ah, trio of grave horns!
You signal the last act of
Horatio Marx.

“Lilies and roses!
They are for noses!”

11:27
O tainted lily!
You conjure up
visions of horseflesh!
What joyful trotting!

11:45
Ah, the need for
a druggy doze brings
a forecast that’s
not too sunny.

11:58
O stinking rose!
How you lead me
to a dim conclusion.

O thread of Time!
You knot a moment of
the vengeful past with
the fate and inevitable
present…

…and a bullet,
missing on this
strange tread,
reaches its
crimson harbour.

12:00
And, so, it ends,
with the knell of
a highly saturated
tank.

©Michael Mills 2003

In Which…

In which you will see a prelude composed of vegetables and wind.

In which a place is introduced and a mammal enters the picture.

In which a detective reenters the scene of crime.

In which a reverie invades.

In which one memory unseats another.

In which an investigation is interrupted by 10,000 pounds of horseflesh.

In which Queen Anne competes with Rustic Normandy.

In which, as you can see, the details provide no clues.

In which a dream offers a solution.

In which a final scene remains obtuse.

©Michael Mills 2003