Sensational Macabre

Write a scene from the middle of a play that brings together two sources of inspiration. Originally published 9 January 2023

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Characters:

JELIZABETH - Private investigator, 40's BINKY - Bartender, 30's

Set in the realm of late night drinking establishments. Smoke curls in the air. Anonymous men slouch in booths, their faces half-lost in shadow.

[Enter JELIZABETH and BINKY.]

Jelizabeth: I'm tired of this shit man.

Binky: Your job?

Jelizabeth: These people.

She sighs, taps her empty glass on the bar for another drink. Binky refills it, slow and practiced.

Jelizabeth: It bothers me. They get under my skin...

Binky lingers, leaning on the bar.

Jelizabeth: On the one hand, I'm glad they're interested. I'm glad people out there care. Being Like-minded, yanno? Makes the world just a lil' less cold.

(beat)

Jelizabeth: But it's the way they care...

Binky: Go on.

She stares at her drink, as if the amber liquid holds all the answers.

Jelizabeth: They're meddlers.

Binky: Aren't you?

Jelizabeth: Yeah, but mine's for something. It has meaning, it's got purpose. Theirs don't! Just scratching an itch. Personal thrill. Like picking at a scab jus' to watch it bleed. Sickens me, man.

Binky: Right.

She knocks back her drink, gesturing for another.

Binky: It'll be your last one, J, you've hit the wall.

Her eyes roll, but she smiles.

Binky: So tell me, what's the real rub?

Jelizabeth: Issa whole mixture of things.

Binky: Go on. I don't have anywhere else to be.

Her smile drops.

Jelizabeth: It's all a game to them. These vultures. Interest and fascination 's all fair 'n' square to me; 's how i got into this line o' business. But these- these vultures- they're digging; through people's tragedies, personal lifes, all like it's pulp fiction. Like I said, meddling. Difference being, they don't want justice. They want entertainment.

A man staggers into the bar, signing for a glass of water. Binky pours it without taking his eye of Jelizabeth.

Binky: And yet, here you are.

Jelizabeth: And here I am.

She lowers her voice, bitter, and shakes her head.

Jelizabeth: Crime is no serious matter in their worlds. Nothin' but sensation to 'em.

She sighs. Binky looks at her with an sympathetic look.

Jelizabeth: They revere these bastards. Cutesy nicknames, endless "documentaries", turn crime scenes into punchlines. I'm starting to feel like a comic book character. Me, the gumshoe, them, the armchair heroes. Blood's invisible to 'em, only ever having eyes for the story. A good ending though? Not as common as they like to think. Some cases just grow cold...

Binky: Morbid curiosity?

Binky hands the glass to the man, waving him off as he staggers back to his table.

Jelizabeth: Sure, that's what pulled me in, once. But there's a line, Binky. And they've crossed it, chalked around it and began selling tickets to the damn crossing!

Jelizabeth sighs, it seems as if she's trying to calm herself down, but then quickly she begins again.

Jelizabeth: People're suffering and the lot talks about 'em as if they ain't real. Bullshit! These ain't tales to tell around the campfire! These're real people, dammit! Real people!

Binky begins to clean the bar, the counter, some glasses, etc.

Jelizabeth: I don’t want them sniffing around my cases. I don’t want ‘em sniffing around any case. I don't want them bothering anyone no more.

Binky: Most of 'em just want the truth out, don’t they? Shine a light, tell a story. Good intentions are the road to...something, right?

Jelizabeth: Yeah? Well light can blind too. Good intentions don’t always breed good practice, I'll tell ya. They just make a whole new mess.

She sips her whiskey, slower now.

Jelizabeth: They talk about injustice like it's, like it's.. Aw hell. I don't know. I ran out of metaphors. The post their theories online like it's a game of Clue. There, another metaphor for ya. It can help, sure, but most of the time they're wrong. Did I ever tell you about-

Binky: Yes you did. The bombing, the Reddit threads, misidentification.

Jelizabeth: Right. Sorry.

Shared silence. The light flickers in the dingy bar.

Jelizabeth: And the families? The victims? They're just... background props... I care about the injustice. Why do you think I stopped being copper, huh? Do you think I never noticed?

Binky: You're taking it person-

Jelizabeth: Don’t say personal. I am personal. That’s the whole damn point. Unethical, that's what I call 'em!

She glares at him, and Binky glares back, knowing all to well what aclohol does to people. Jelizabeth softens slightly and sighs.

Jelizabeth: I am calm, thank you very much. They're just in my way. Screwing up timelines. Spooking witnesses. Those're my clients! And God help us if...if..if...

She takes another swig.

Binky: Taking it too far...

Jelizabeth: Way too far. You seen the tours? The merchandise? Some murder house gets turned into a photo op and crime scenes a background for someone to try 'n' get likes or something...

She scoffs.

Jelizabeth: You wanna know how many cold cases become carnival rides?

Binky: Twenty percent?

Jelizabeth: Too. Fucking. Many.

She slams her glass down; soft enough not to shatter, hard enough to mean it.

Binky: Alright, alright. Cool your jets, now.

She swirls the whiskey in her glass, lowering her head a little.

Jelizabeth: Sorry. Sensation and macabre just don't mix. My job is entertainment and all these heartbraking, horrifying cashes are a damn joke.

Binky: People should know better.

Jelizabeth: They should, Binky, they should. But they ain't. Not in this city. Not in this line of work.

The last of her whiskey disappears down her throat.

Jelizabeth: Anyway, that's enough about me and my work. Tell me 'bout yours now, don't wanna give this any more thought. Might burst a bloody vessel.

Binky: You just want my customer gossip.

Jelizabeth: Best part of my day.

They smile. End scene.

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This story is linked with the art piece titled 'The Smoker' which depicts Jelizabeth smoking at the bar, which can be found here.