13 Mink Street

Chapter 12: Crown Ballroom

“Golden Casket: royalty, nobility, ducal lineage, luxury, honor, generosity.

“Lightwind Casket: elegance, restraint, composure, wisdom, intelligence, calm.”

Karon sat on a small sofa in the living room, leafing through the family’s casket catalog. What he had just read aloud were the catalog’s two most expensive models, each with long strings of descriptors. Their prices stood at 2.25 million rupi and 2.5 million rupi. He wondered, not for the first time, why the Lightwind Casket cost more than the Golden Casket. Perhaps “elegance” simply demanded a higher price.

Uncle Mason had told him that if the catalog price was divided by five, he would find the wholesale cost. Even so, 450,000 or 500,000 rupi for a single casket remained astonishing. If Karon remembered correctly, 500,000 rupi was enough to buy a decent three-bedroom apartment in their city. Even for the wealthy, a casket could cost as much as a home.

“Coffee.”

“Thank you, Aunt.”

Aunt Winnie set the coffee on the table and then sat down across from him on another small sofa. “Have you had some free time lately?”

“Yes,” Karon replied with a nod. Mina and the others still had school, but he did not, so he had spent the past few days cooking for the family. He had surprised them with what he could do in the kitchen. Just two days before, he had gone to the trouble of preparing spicy beef in broth. His family had proven more tolerant of the heat than he’d expected, especially Uncle Mason, who had been unusually delighted.

The next day, Mason could barely walk. His hemorrhoids had flared up.

Aside from cooking, there had been little to occupy his days. Tiz, while unwilling to help Karon’s re-enroll in school, had at least provided him with a set of high school textbooks and workbooks, yet aside from the history books, which he skimmed from time to time, the rest he found to be pointless.

“Things should be getting busier soon,” Aunt Winnie continued. “Two elders at Bloomwater Sanatorium are unwell, and there are several patients in critical condition at the two of the nearby hospitals we work with. There’s also someone in the congregation who’s bedridden at home, right on the verge. When the time comes, I’ll recommend your counseling services to the families.”

“Thank you, Aunt.”

“No need to thank me for promoting the family business. Drink your coffee. I added sugar to it.”

“All right.” Karon’s left hand curled slightly. Despite the cup resting on his left, he reached over with his right to pick it up and bring it to his lips.

Just then, the phone rang, and Aunt Winnie rose to answer. “Hello... Mm... Mm... I understand.”

The click of the receiver settling into its cradle was sharp, and sharper still was Aunt Winnie’s shout that followed, “Mason! Mason!”

Uncle Mason, who was upstairs drinking tea and reading the financial pages, set everything aside and charged down the stairs, shrugging into his jacket as he descended. His footsteps thundered across the floorboards.

Aunt Winnie called out, “The stage at Crown Ballroom collapsed. There are many casualties.”

“Oh, Crown Ballroom.” Mason nodded at once.

“Where is Crown Ballroom?” Aunt Mary called from the top of the stairs.

“Yes, where is that?” Mason echoed, a puzzled look on his face.

“I know, Mr. Mason; it’s on Hill Street. It’s an old ballroom, been there for years,” Ron offered. He and Paul had been sunning themselves by the flowerbeds. When there was no work, the hours often slid by in such a manner: waiting, lingering, and drifting along. That was the way of their business. When you needed a waiter, you could always find one in a pinch, but you couldn’t just call upon your neighbors to help carry a casket.

Mrs. Mark, who had arrived last time, had continued to complain, yet still hadn’t been paid by Aunt Mary. Not only unpaid, the woman had even argued about it.

“Oh, Hill Street.” Uncle Mason turned to look up at Aunt Mary atop the stairs. “Darling, you get ready too. I’ll try to bring a client straight home, if there is a client.”

“All right, dear,” Aunt Mary agreed with a nod.

From his seat on the sofa, Karon couldn't suppress a flicker of amusement. To an outsider, it might appear that his family ran the city’s emergency services, given how they were always ready to spring into action, but that was simply how their “business network” functioned. The family’s connections—hospitals and sanatoriums, yes, but also a larger web that connected to other places—meant that they had eyes and ears everywhere who were always ready to call when something happened.

That was how business got done.

“Are there really a number of casualties?” Mason glanced at Karon. “You come with us. We need another pair of hands.”

“All right, Uncle.”

Mason climbed behind the wheel. Karon joined Paul and Ron in folding up the gurney, and then stowing it in the hearse before collecting the body bags. The three then climbed into the cabin. Before the car started, Aunt Winnie shoved a thick stack of Immers Funeral Home pamphlets through the window.

“Let’s go!” Mason shot his sister and wife a steady, battle-readied look, like that of someone heading to war. Aunt Winnie and Aunt Mary stood at attention, faces grave, awaiting the victorious return.

***

As the hearse cut through the city, Karon noticed Mason run two red lights in quick succession. There were no cameras in this part of town, so unless they were extremely unlucky and crossed paths with the police, it would go unnoticed. Accidents were the bigger concern.

“Can a collapsed stage really be so serious?” Karon asked, curiosity creeping into his tone.

Ron began to reply, but Mason’s voice came from the driver’s seat, “Crown Ballroom has a special stage, a unique construction. It’s a reinforced glass platform that’s suspended nearly five meters in the air. Dancers—in skirts or miniskirts—perform on top of it, and from down below, you can look up at as much as you like. Some guests even pay extra for the thrill of dancing up there themselves. If that’s the stage that collapsed, then with people both above and below it, the result would be disastrous.”

Ron added, “Hiring a dancer costs five rupi a song, but to have them perform on that glass stage is fifty, not cheap.”

Mason gave a low laugh. “It’s not the money that matters. The problem is that the place is old, and probably not well maintained. I’d never set foot on that stage. I always figured it was just a matter of time before something went wrong. I’ve seen enough accidents, none of them pretty.”

“Did you go there a lot, Uncle?” Karon asked.

“I did, back when I was young. I stopped after I married your aunt. When I used to visit Roja City, I’d go with old friends, but I haven’t since moving back. I’ve lost touch with all of them.”

This was not a matter of status or money. Mason had once been an up-and-comer in the world of finance. His life had since shifted, and he was working with his family’s business. Different roles meant different people; the two were entirely separate worlds. What could he say? “Hey, friend. I know someone you loved died; want to go out dancing instead?”

Soon enough, they turned onto Hill Street. Mason kept his foot down on the peddle, easing into a narrow lane that barely fit the car. He threaded between alleys, darting from street to street. He handled each turn like it was second nature. The building in front of them was cluttered with signs for a cinema and a gym, but the one that dominated all of the others, blinking gold, was the sign for Crown Ballroom.

They had arrived.

The street outside the entrance was packed. People shuffled about in confusion; some bled from scalp wounds, while others wept or screamed. Panic was thick in the air. Karon and the others barely made it out of the hearse when a police car slid up beside them. In the front sat a police inspector; khaki trenchcoat buttoned to his throat, and a pipe clenched between his teeth. He stared at the Immers hearse in disbelief. He barked, “Goddamn it, Mason, how did you beat the police and ambulances here?!”

Clearly, the man was quite familiar with Mason. That was no surprise. Aside from hospitals, churches, and sanatoriums, the police station was another steady client. The family was often called to collect bodies from the morgue.

Uncle Mason replied, “Inspector Duke, it’s pure coincidence. We just happened to be close by.”

Inspector Duke’s glare lingered, unconvinced. The roads were filled with cars, and traffic was at a standstill. Given that the national team was playing a friendly match at Roja City Stadium, most of the police force had been siphoned over there for security, so help would not arrive quickly.

“You, follow me. Help keep order.”

“Yes, sir!” Mason straightened, snapping to attention. Ron and Paul stepped in at his sides. Karon, a moment behind, did the same.

It looked almost farcical, and even Inspector Duke couldn’t help a smile. He then turned away, reminded of the urgency, and called to the driver, “Mick, put on the siren. Get ahead and clear this jam and bring the ambulance through.”

“Yes, Inspector.”

Ron and Paul started pushing through the crowd. Inspector Duke surveyed the wounded along the road, survivors who’d escaped the ballroom after the stage had collapsed. They were bleeding, but still ambulatory. People wrapped improvised bandages around their limbs and bodies, trying to stanch the blood.

“Are there still people inside?” Inspector Duke asked.

Mason echoed him while catching a staff member in a ballroom uniform by the arm, “Is anyone still inside?”

“Yes... yes, there are.”

“Let’s go.” Inspector Duke led the way up the stairs.

There, they found more people being carried or helped down. Some had glass in their legs, others had shards protruding from their bellies, and were unable to walk unaided.

Uncle Mason paused over a man who had a gleaming length of glass in his calf. He moved on, only to kneel beside a young man in hip-hop clothes who had a jagged shard jutting from his midsection. “You all right? Can you hold on?”

Believing a doctor had arrived, the young man nodded quickly. “I’m fine. I can manage.”

Mason’s urgency faded, and he dropped the boy’s hand.

“Doctor?” the young man called after him.

“Sorry. I need to find the critical cases. They need me more right now.”

The young man nodded in understanding. “No problem.”

Inspector Duke, with the Immers family trailing him, glanced back at Mason and quipped, “Are you that eager to see a body?”

“It’s our off-season,” Mason said.

“Oh, the off-season.”

“When things get slow for you, you can go chase drug dealers or raid brothels. What should we do? Make some business ourselves?”

“I mean it; anyone badly hurt goes straight to the hospital. Ambulance or your car, it doesn’t matter, but don’t even think about taking anyone to your place unless they’re already dead.”

“As if I would do that.”

While talking, they entered the main hall. Most of the crowd was already gone. There were only a dozen or so still present. Glass littered the entire room, filling every gap and corner.

Just a few steps in, they saw a man slumped over a booth. Up close, it was plain to see that half of his head had been sheared away. Behind him was a single pane of glass that was nearly three square meters. It leaned against the booth. A direct hit would have taken half of the man’s head off as easily as slicing through a melon.

Behind the booth, the floor was a slick, sickly blend of colors, like the dregs of a butcher’s basin.

Mason hurried forward, only to awkwardly turn back to Inspector Duke. “Inspector, come check; this one’s well and truly dead, right?”

Duke lifted his foot as if to kick the man, but hesitated at the sight of the glass strewn across the floor and ultimately restrained himself.

The two had been close for years. Three years earlier, it had been the Immers family who had buried Duke’s mother. The family had never charged a single coin.

Karon had no memory of this. Back then, he had been a silent, distant boy, who had kept clear of the family business and never asked any questions.

“Ron, get the bag,” Mason said.

“All right.” Ron pulled out a body bag. He worked quickly, unbothered by the blood or shattered glass.

“Not cheap to book a booth here,” he muttered while wrapping the body. “And still, this is how it ends.”

The glass stage had been suspended right above the booth. Anyone seated there would have had the perfect view.

Ron worked efficiently, his hands steady. Both he and Paul earned every rupi, justifying their steady pay and generous time off. There was not a flicker of revulsion despite the mess.

Farther ahead, another man had drawn a tight circle of people around him. Thick shards of glass were lodged deep in his body, and blood bubbled at his lips. He could no longer even speak, only blink. His breath fluttered in shallow bursts. His wounds were so dire that no one dared move him; not his friends, not any of the bystanders. Each of them feared that even the lightest touch might end the man’s life.

Uncle Mason hurried to the man’s side and took his hand. “Hold on, hold on! You have to stay with us!”

He shouted over his shoulder to Paul, “Gurney! Bring the gurney, quickly!”

Paul rushed over, wheeling the gurney close before lowering it and locking the wheels.

Mason addressed those who clustered nearby, “Carefully now. Lift him, gently, steady. Let’s get him onto the gurney and take him out. The ambulance will be here any minute. He still has a chance. He still has a chance.”

Everyone moved to help. Karon understood Mason’s urgency; it came from knowing, as everyone else did, that without a miracle, the man would not survive. Still, Mason was right to act. It was indeed possible for the man to reach a doctor in time. Also, if he died at the hospital, Mason would already be a familiar face to the grieving family, which would make things easier later on.

Inspector Duke just watched. He knew Mason wanted the job, but also that the man was not one to act carelessly. Karon looked for a way to help, but there was no space left at the side of the gurney.

Just then, Karon heard Inspector Duke grunt sharply. He looked over to see the inspector at the center of the stage. There was a wooden platform at the center of the ballroom, which had been elevated three steps. The glass stage had once hung directly above it. When the glass had fallen, it had punched several holes in the wood. Duke was crouched beside one of those breaches, pulling aside some broken boards.

Karon walked over, only to stop short. A man’s body lay within the hollow beneath.

The corpse was naked, arms flung wide at odd angles, and palms up. Each middle finger was grotesquely pinned upright in a doubly obscene gesture. A white plastic flower rested just above his navel. Sutures crossed his stomach, both above and below, suggesting that the flower was not alone. There was an intact flowerpot buried within him. His face was caked with heavy makeup, including lipstick smeared from the corners of his mouth to stretch his lips into a distorted imitation of a smile. An open book lay on his chest: Song of Souls, the Bible of the Berai Church.

Karon remembered Aunt Mary complaining that Mr. Mossan’s children had deliberately claimed their father was a follower of the Berai Church, hoping to save on funeral costs. That church required cremation and simple burials, as death was just a return to nature. The more decoration or spectacle involved, the greater the heresy.

However, the body beneath the stage had been altered in far too many ways. His skin had been darkened. Death’s shadow had already settled in, and yet there was no obvious odor or sign of decay. He could not have been killed during the recent accident, and then undressed and arranged by those in the room.

Inspector Duke’s expression hardened. The ballroom accident was one thing. As long as order was maintained, it was not truly his concern, but this was something else. He bit down on the stem of his pipe and muttered, “If not for today’s accident, we’d never have found this murder.”

“I don’t think that’s quite it,” Karon cut in.

“Oh?” Inspector Duke turned to look at him. “And why not?”

Karon pointed to the hollow and the corpse within. “The killer staged the accident just to put his work on display.”