Golden Irish Crimes

Portrait of crime consciousness in mod-Europe for two travelers, self-made (private) detectives, with an eye for helmets.

A brooding crime-tale, set in the modern UK. Thanks for reading, 

----

====

I was staying at a hostel-station in the East Coast (USA) when approached by a beautiful woman with long white hair, of my 40-something age bracket and quite attractive to me. She told me to accompany her to Northern Ireland (United Kingdom) to investigate with her a series of bloody golden crimes (Belfast) where victims were laid in alleys in the snow of winter with toy axes laid by their bodies. She wouldn't tell me her name but insisted this was something I'd find most important to myself, since I was posting ideas on social media about the Christian 7 sins (pride, wrath, sloth, gluttony, greed, envy, lust). I decided at that hostel-station in the American Homeland this cerebral 'dare' was in deed some kind of detective-adventure worth a Selfie-culture like.

WOMAN: I keep my name unknown to you, friend...for it's mysteries.

ME: I'll just continue on this track, since I could afford the trip!

WOMAN: These victims with toy axes laid beside suggests ethics.

ME: I concur, lady-friend; the killer(s) may offer some sin-value.

WOMAN: Frailty and indulgence, but not vagrancy, no?

ME: No; this is some photo-synthesis image for a wonder-wall.

WOMAN: What's this Belfast-message for Euro-text?

ME: Something concerning 'shallow-graves' reveals cleats, ok.

What were these ethics-cleat value messages the killer(s) wanted to send through these random killings with toy axes laid beside? My lady-friend and I continued our private-citizenry trek and inquiry for 'examinations' in Northern Ireland (UK), a place of great historical pluralism complexity for text. I started falling in love with this white-haired stranger 'tour' guide in my wonderful case of Hell and social media (hmmm).

We started to think the killer(s) would frequent some local Northern Irish pub to mingle with the overground real-world while drinking to calculate the next move in this text from Hell. We met a gristly-bearded man who called himself Dartmouth and happened to be a toy-store owner/merchant/collector. We followed him to his house after-hours and chatted with him and learned of his special preoccupation with Halloween toys. Things began to click for us (damn).

DARTMOUTH: You don't doubt I'm just an affable Belfast-fellow, pals?

ME: We wonder if you're wondering of our Selfie-image for comics.

WOMAN: There's something unnerved about your fantasy-toys talk.

DARTMOUTH: What if I am in deed this toy-axe killer; would I say?

ME: Why don't you let us arrange an appointment for you with a doc.

WOMAN: Yes, a psychiatrist...Selfie-like.

Dartmouth consented to our unique proposition; but two weeks later, his doctor was found in an alley in the snow, with two toy-axes laid beside his corpse (wow). We knew the killer's ID now and reported the suspicion to the Belfast detectives/police and provided all our gathered clues, which were impressing them! One week later, he was being questioned and en-route to incarceration (damn). I returned to the American Homeland, to the same hostel-station (hotel!) and enjoyed some rich and thick Irish-stew...and decided to brood on incomplete-distances readings for the 'leviathan' of manmade ethics-downs (sure).

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

====

"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)