Oh, Spencer

[The prompt for this piece was randomly-derived. A client had left a bag of fiction books sitting in our office. I took one of them, and rolled two six-sided dice. One die indicated the 10's and the other die indicated the 1's. The result was the page in the book I would turn to, and I would start off the story with the last sentence or thought from that page. This is the result, dashed off in about 25 minutes.]

Another flash of light whitened the windows, followed by a roar. "I suppose you're all wondering why I've gathered you all here this evening," Spencer Chillingsworth intoned. The man knew how to always milk a thunderstorm for dramatic effect. Framed by two rain-slicked, gabled windows of dark wood, his fingers steepled like the blades of scissors as he reclined in his plush leather easy chair... He looked every part the evil genius.

Georgia was having none of it. "Spence, let's hear it." The former district attorney reclined on a nearby loveseat, tucked into a tweed skirt and high-collared, midnight-blue silk blouse. One of her patent leather flats tapped impatiently on the rich Persian rug of the mansion's library, where we were all testing our various capacities for patience and alcohol.

I scanned the motley crowd. Some were clearly confused, some were amused, some were already too deep in the copious cocktails. I was simply tired. Spencer's summons came to me immediately after nearly two days straight at the ranch, bouncing between shearing alpacas, bagging their precious fiber, or hosing myself down to wash off the coatings of ruminant-spit they showered me with. I bet I still smelled like the barn, but I didn't care.

"It's true, I can be long-winded," Spencer finally replied, loitering with the vowel sounds. "But tonight, it's for a worthwhile cause, I assure you." His unblinking gaze floated over the crowd. "I'd rather speak my mind in front of you all, before it's too late."

I'd known him personally for the past fourteen years, but he and some of these folks probably went way back. He was the reigning fiber champion for thirty-three of the last forty years: no small feat for an alpaca breeder. But his dramatic flair on top of a champion's record had earned him a score of enemies. But Spencer's touch for the melodramatic never surprised anyone, anymore.

"My... touch for the melodramatic likely doesn't surprise any of you, anymore. And the truth is--" he paused expertly before continuing-- "It's won me no friends. Indeed, it's likely I've gathered together this very weekend not only the National Alpaca Breeder Association's most gifted and talented, but also some of it's most malicious."

Another damnable flash of light was accompanied by a booming blast of thunder. The manic glimmer behind Spencer's eyes proved he wanted to keep riding that wave.

"Yes! Malice!" he exclaimed. Some of the crowd chuckled, others huffed in their derision. "I know I've been the best, for decades. And it's also true I've never shied away from the spotlight. But excellence..." he paused again, "...Has its consequences."

"We're waiting!" Georgia called out. Behind her, Wallace Roundhead strode up, a Dark n' Stormy in hand with pinky outstretched.

"Yeah," Wallace agreed. "Just what are you gettin' at, Spencer?"

"Murder!!!" shrieked Spencer, bolting upright from his seat.