SCENT

June - The Breathless (2)

"Jesus, Max, have mercy on my body and soul!"

I could smell his lunch before the elevator door opened. To be fair, I think everyone could. The fragrance was so intense it'd upset even the normal humans. Probably.

To me, it was like a camera flash in a perfectly dark room. It hit me like hammer, staggering me and making my stomach churn. I somehow managed to hold my breakfast on the crime scene, but the overwhelming scent of food sent it right back up my throat.

"Oh, hey, Morgan. Sorry, the delivery got delayed," the senior detective replied with an apologetic smile.

He sat on a cushion at our lunch table, carefully holding a huge pizza slice with three fingers. The rest of the squad minus Dan lingered around, looking at the huge, family-size pie with agonised expressions. I wasn't sure whether they wanted on the meal, or couldn't wait to see it disappear.

"Real parmesan and pepperoni. Where did you get this? Most places push fakes onto the big pies like their liquidity depended on it."

At least today he had the decency to order mild ingredients. Hopefully, he remembered that time when he took extra onions. I'd cried like a beaver, and we had to ventilate the offices for the rest of the day.

"Do you want a slice? I'm sure there's enough for everyone, including me," he asked with a friendly smile.

"Max, I just returned from a quadruple homicide scene. Believe me, holding my last meal is hard enough."

"Oh. Of course. Sorry." He stuffed the whole slice into his maw and devoured it with one snap of teeth, then went for another.

"I'll just shower instead. I reek like a slaughterhouse." I made my way through the break room as fast as I could.

"I don't smell anything," Max offered politely.

"But I do."

"Just make it quick," Dan's voice reminded me from the office. "The city doesn't pay you for singing in the shower."

"Aye aye, sir." I ran from the food aroma into the restroom complex. A thunderous snap indicated Max just swallowed another pizza slice whole.

The worst was still to come, I realised. The scent of food was heavy but relatively pleasant. The real problem was Max' metabolism. He'd digest this enormous lunch in just below an hour. Once he did, the nutrients and calories would go straight into his starving muscle mass. Whatever happened there was anyone's guess, but they would get consumed at an inhuman rate.

This process released a low-key but intense odour. It was undetectable to the human nose, yet somewhat unsettling to everyone around. I could experience the full bouquet, of course, together with all the poisons released in his sweat. His kidneys were extremely efficient, isolating harmful substances and throwing them out of his body.

The resulting scent was somewhere between intense muscle growth and acute food poisoning, with a deep, unnatural aroma mixed in. It was quite disturbing, especially on hot summer days like this one.

I knew it wasn't his fault. His body just worked that way.

Max Stone had a name of a pulp fiction strongman and a physique to match. At 7 feet 10 inches and 550 pounds, this mountain of a man had serious problems fitting through some doors. Not to mention using most furniture, vehicles, and other blessings of civilisation tailored for smaller people. He often said that if he had a choice, he'd rather be a regular Joe. I could sympathise. Neither of us had any choice, though.