Trickster’s Hunt

by Kel Carpenter

  He threw the healthy snack at the dog, and Bruno caught it before dropping it at his feet and nudging it with his nose. “You’re your mother’s son, aren’t you?”

  Bruno grumbled again, then walked away to find a chew or bone or something to wash away the taste.

  “I eat veg,” I protested, pointedly sweeping a chip around in the salsa. “Look!”

  “Condiments don’t count, Maia.”

  I screwed up my nose and stuck out my tongue. “Green doesn’t suit you.”

  “Every colour suits me. What shit are we watching today?”

  It was true. He could pull off any look. Even skinny jeans and pumps. So could I, really, if I made the effort, but I dressed for comfort most of the time. He looked studio ready just getting out of bed. Made me sick.

  “Island. Shawnee is dumping Joolz tonight according to the Island Spy updates on their page. She’s gonna lose her shit. Fiver on Dempsey sweeping in to slip her a sympathy crippler.”

  “Eww.” He screwed up his face in disgust and nodded at the TV. “Turn it up.”

  I smirked, increasing the volume.

  “You packed and ready?”

  Why did he say to turn it up just to talk to me?

  Pushing my tongue into my cheek, I swallowed the question. “Yeah. It’s five nights if I win.”

  He frowned. “I can only stay for two. Bastards wouldn’t give me any more time off. I’ll be catching the three o’clock train home on Sunday.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll just come back with you.”

  “You bloody won’t! May as well lay about stuffing your face in luxury. You haven’t had a holiday in forever, so you stay. Spa treatments are included, remember?”

  “Can you get Bruno from the kennel after work on Monday, then?”

  He glanced out into the hall and grimaced at the slobbering giant chewing on his bone.

  “Yes. We’ll have a chat about his table manners, man to man.” I rubbed my foot against his thigh in thanks and turned back to the television.

  3

  “Close your mouth,” I murmured from the corner of my mouth as we approached the check in desk. “Hi, Maia Reeves, checking in. I’m here for the contest.”

  The perfect specimen behind the desk gave me an odd look but began tapping on his keyboard immediately. “Do you have your entry details and identification? Driver’s license, passport?”

  Of course he was gay. Adam had all the luck.

  Adam nudged me, knowing me well enough to know I was about to ask him where he thought we were. It was a hotel booking, not a damn airport. I rifled through my bag for my paperwork. Slapping the envelope holding the proof of entry and hotel booking on the desk, I then began the search for my purse.

  “And you, Mr. Reeves?”

  I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. With his perfect high-definition brows, whatever that meant, and his “smart casual” attire, it was clear we weren’t a couple, let alone married. I wasn’t his type.

  Adam tittered, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet and producing a driver’s licence. “Did Miss Reeves remember to request twin beds?”

  He glanced to me with an arched brow.

  “She did. Thank you, Adam. I have no wish to wake up to your flatulence.”

  “Bitch.”

  He was smiling as he hissed the insult, but I knew he wanted to slap me, so I winked and looked back to the desk clerk trying not to laugh. “Do you need anything else?”

  His eyes narrowed, and he looked back to Adam as he reached beneath the desk. Instantly brightening, he handed him the guest welcome pack. “You’ll find information on concierge, room and chauffeur services, along with the booking number for the spa. The spa is situated on this floor, down here to the right. Your room has a balcony with views—”

  “And the key?” I cut in, tired of his shitty attitude toward me. If he wanted to get into Ad’s pants, he could save it and make a pass on his time. Not mine.

  Fixing a smile on his face, he turned back to me and handed me a key card. “Enjoy your stay and good luck in the contest tomorrow, Ms. Reeves.”

  So, it was Ms, now? I wanted to tell him where to stick his luck, but Adam wouldn’t have been pleased, so I gave him a tight smile and took my key. “Cheers.”

  Turning around, I noticed a porter hovering nearby. “Don’t bother. I’ve got it,” I said as he took two strides in my direction. “Really…”

  I got a really bad vibe from the guy. It happened now and then and I didn’t know why. People just freaked me out, but I didn’t want him near me or touching my stuff. I know it was ridiculous. He was a hotel employee. He’d have been police checked and all sorts, but my stomach flipped in warning and I stepped back.

  Adam tugged my bag from my hand and passed it to him. “Don’t mind her. She’s very independent.”

  Following the porter to the lifts, Adam gripped my elbow. “What is wrong with you?”

  “You know these swanky places always stress me out. I’ll be alright when I get up there and settled. I don’t do well being up at the arse crack of dawn, either.”

  The porter practically ran for the door as soon as he’d deposited our bags and I stood in the middle of the room glaring.

  “This. Is. Amazing.” He was wandering around the place touching everything: lampshades, some awful ornament that I think was supposed to be an abstract naked woman, the TV. “Maia, look, that’s got to be sixty inches.”

  “Yeah…”

  I hated the formality of those places, but that room was amazing. Adam was already opening drawers, and the next I knew there was a remote control sailing past me and landing on the bed.

  “Alright, you have half an hour. It’s almost lunch time. You’re hangry; don’t look like that, I can tell, and we’re going out in search of sustenance and shopping.” He pointed to the bed. “Lie down.”

  I did as I was told, sinking back into the cloud of pillows “Where are you going?”

  “I left something at the front desk.”

  My brows rose. Your fucking dignity?

  “Fair enough. Try not to get the poor bloke fired.”

  He cringed. “That was not my fault and you well know it.”

  “You were caught with your pants down. Quite literally.”

  He scowled, pursing his lips. “Shut up.”

  I turned my attention back to the television and popped it on channel three and I heard his amused huff as he made for the door.

  “Never again, Adam. Ever. I hate that department store with every fibre of my being,” I fumed, kicking off my shoes. “Eight quid for a fucking tart? I needed four!”

  “Moderation, Mai,” he sighed, laying his bags on the bed so carefully you’d think they were filled with glass and not clothes. “One is enough for your average human.”

  “Since when have I been average? Is Romeo meeting you here, or somewhere well away from the hotel?”

  He frowned at me. “Are you sure you’re okay on your own? You can come with. Or I can cancel.”

  I couldn’t tell if he really gave a crap, or if he was just trying to make himself feel better about ditching me on our weekend away. I mean, he wouldn’t have been there without me, would he? But I really didn’t mind. The night before a comp was a battle between not eating and actually sleeping, and this one was a big deal. I didn’t really have to fast, but I was conscious of how well prepared the others would be.

  I was better staying in and relaxing. Not only that, he’d dragged me through hell all afternoon. I was done.

  “Yeah! Get yourself off. Be nice for one of us to see some action this year.”

  He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Love you.”

  I smoothed a hand over my head. “Yeah, yeah. Next you’ll be telling me I’m your best friend.” He tugged his top over his head to reveal his rock-hard abs and golden tanned skin. The tan was a la salon, of course, but he hadn’t gone mad. It looked natural if you lived in St. Tropez. Flashing a perfect smile, he tossed
the top onto the bed and made for the bathroom. “Aren’t you?”

  “I’m your only fucking friend,” I said, jumping into the middle of my bed, and sitting cross-legged as I reached for the remote.

  “Hag.” He said it as he closed the door so I couldn’t respond.

  Prick.

  I didn’t do alone very well. At home I always had Adam and Bruno. Here, short of ordering more room service, my only option for conversation was to talk to that hideous abstract woman. Tired of the TV, of that room, and my own company, I decided to go for a walk. I knew the hotel had a small patio garden after reading the guest information booklet three times, so I went out in search of that.

  It took all of four minutes to find, and two of those had been waiting for the damn lift. It was one of those ultra-modern, clean lines and plastic plants types, which was fine since it was dark. Two of the walls were constructed of glass, and through the one to the right, I could see the bar, so I decided to nip inside for a drink.

  I received a few odd glances from the others in the bar, and I wasn’t sure why until I looked down at my legs. Okay, my shorts were short, but I was wearing tights. Sheer tights…but I was, essentially, dressed. Prudes.

  After ordering my drink, I returned to the darkened garden with a half globe of gin and tonic stuffed with so many herbs it looked like a water feature. I had to make sure I was sitting at one of the tables before I dared take a sip, just in case I misjudged and tipped the whole drink down myself.

  There was no one else there, and I was about to go back to my room when a cat sauntered over. I didn’t see where it had come from, but it had a collar and was a grey striped colour.

  It sat there for ages, staring me out, its tail flicking from side to side. Then it walked around the table a few times. When it came right up and pawed at my leg, I wasn’t sure what to do. “Umm...go on. Shoo.”

  It didn’t.

  It kept tapping at my leg. I was going to swipe it away when it jumped up into my lap, purring and pressing its face down the side of the chair next to my hip. I grabbed it and dropped it on the floor next to me.

  Rather than take the hint, the tenacious little shit leapt effortlessly onto the table, barely avoiding knocking the glass over, and turned to face me as it sat down. It looked pissed off, until it sat its arse down, lifted its leg, and began to clean itself.

  “What the fuck? Are you enjoying yourself?” I don’t know why I was talking to the thing, but I didn’t know what else to do.

  Its eyes narrowed, then it jumped down and walked around my chair.

  “You’re a creepy little bastard, aren’t you? This is why I like dogs.”

  That seemed to do the trick. It turned and hissed at me, then sauntered away with its tail in the air.

  It’s like he understood what I was saying to him. I wasn’t sure what the hell had just happened, but I was damn sure I needed to go to bed. I managed to tear my confused gaze away from the retreating cat and picked up my gin-terrarium. The alcohol wouldn’t make a difference to how I slept, but after that weird exchange, I felt like I really did need a drink.

  4

  The function room was packed solid. It was so full I couldn’t see the bar at the far end of the room, even from my elevated position on the stage.

  We each had our own square table, set for I don’t know how many courses, and a stand at the side to hold a tray. Six of us were competing in this semi-final. Only two would make it through to a head-to-head the following weekend in the same hotel, our prize today would be spending the week in the hotel on a full-board basis and a thousand pounds cash.

  That wasn’t my goal. I wanted the ten grand and the video of me winning, but a free week in a hotel while I got there would be lovely, thanks very much.

  I hated the waiting, so I allowed myself to drift off and daydream. It took over half an hour for the dishes to be brought out and I looked at the food with my eyebrows raised.

  The steak was fillet. The potatoes were dauphinoise. The slaw was celeriac and who knows what other weird and wonderful vegetables, and the whole loaf of sliced bread was still warm from the oven.

  It was an eating contest.

  I mean, okay, I appreciated the effort the chef had gone through, and it was nice to have such exceptional quality, but the other competitors didn’t give a crap what it tasted like. I think I was the only one who bothered to chew. Oh, but it was good.

  Adam was silent, holding my camcorder in a well-practiced and steady grip. This would be uploaded the first chance I got and would be worth at least two months’ bills when it started gaining likes. The room was silent as I finished my fifth steak with the last forkful of potatoes. As I started on the bread and slaw, I made sandwiches.

  I looked up and down at my competitors. Two were flagging. I mean full on meat sweats. Red-faced, sweat dripping, could-well-blow-chunks-all-over-their-plate, flagging. The other woman was done. She’d left the table.

  It was going to be between me and two blokes. And they, too, were ridiculous. Big brawny beasts of men, they looked like they could pull a plane with nothing more than a neck strap. They looked the part and talked a good game, but they didn’t have what I had. Hollow fucking legs.

  An odd sound made me look around again just as someone in the crowd gasped. Three seats away on my left, another competitor leapt to their feet and bent over the table. It didn’t occur to me what was going on when he didn’t throw up. He was wheezing, hands clutching at his throat and banging on his chest as he gasped.

  That did it. No one else seemed to know what was happening, so I stood up quickly, pushing my chair back with the backs of my knees. I didn’t register it topple as I rushed to help.

  I’m no first aider. Not by a long shot. I don’t go anywhere to need it and if I’m choking alone at home, well, I wouldn’t be thinking well enough to help myself, so I never bothered to learn. But I’d seen enough on TV.

  Arriving at his side, I slammed the heel of my hand down between his shoulder blades. The sound of the impact thudding through his chest seemed to rouse the rest of the room into action. I heard someone shout something about an ambulance as the burly two who had been sat between us flanked me. I didn’t hear what they said, concentrating on giving another back slap.

  He turned to look at me, eyes glassy with tears, mouth opening and closing as he gasped for air, and I felt a surge of dread. He was going to die and there was nothing I could do to help. My heart stopped. “Please. Please don’t let him die.” I don’t know if I said it or thought it, but he seemed to register my fear and it deepened his own.

  He panicked. I grasped his shoulder and turned him back, bending him over the table. I am not large, and I am not strong, so where the strength came from with my next slap, I could never have said. But it was hard. It was so hard, the offending piece of steak flopped out of his mouth and landed on the pristine white tablecloth.

  I closed my eyes and blew out my cheeks.

  He turned back to me, drooling like a rabid hound, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Thank you, Maia.”

  At least that’s what I thought he’d said. Couldn’t tell past the slobber.

  I didn’t know who he was. Hadn’t bothered to so much as say hello, let alone learn his name, so him thanking me by name made me feel a bit guilty.

  “Don’t mention it. You okay?”

  Assessing himself, he nodded and reached for a napkin, apparently only just aware of the excessive fluid pouring from his mouth.

  I noticed Adam, then, standing before the tables looking close to tears.

  “He says he’s ok,” I said as the adjudicators made it to the table. “Is there an ambulance on its way?”

  Captain Birdseye gave me a curious look. “Yes. I must ask you to return to your seat, Miss Reeves. You risk disqualification having left it.”

  I opened my mouth then closed it again. I didn’t have the words. The poor bloke had almost died, and he thought I gave a shit about the comp? Arse. I rubbed my opponents b
ack and stepped back. The other two moved back to the table and I followed them, straightening my chair, and sitting back down.

  The choker was led away and Captain Birdseye looked up and down the table. “We leave the decision to you all. Following the disruption, there are two choices: cease and begin again tomorrow, or resume on the assumption all contestants ceased at the first sign of disruption.

  I shrugged. “May as well carry on now.”

  The burly two agreed and I watched as Captain Birdseye conferred with the other two judges.

  “Very well. On the count of five…”

  So, I started folding slices of bread and filling them with the slaw. I didn’t bother to butter them. I hadn’t touched my drink yet, so it would wash down no problem. I glanced up, making eye contact with Adam as I finished the first sandwich in three bites. He grinned and mouthed, “go on, you greedy bitch!”

  I had to try not to laugh, but Captain Birdseye was glaring at me, so I kept on eating, concentrating on my plate instead of the crowd.

  I was so focused I didn’t realise I was on my last sandwich until I stuffed the last morsel into my mouth and necked my glass of water. It was the groan from beside me that told me I’d won. I was in the final and had a shot at ten grand in cash, the title, and automatic qualification to the semi-final the following year. Not to mention the whole week in the hotel. Certainly not to be sniffed at. The crowd began to murmur and I heard a “YES!” from Adam.

  “We have an empty plate,” Captain Birdseye announced, hushing the room. “The fifteen-minute countdown will begin at the bell. The contestant must remain seated, must consume no more than sips of water for the duration, and if she completes the time without expelling any of the foods consumed in this challenge, she will be named semi-finalist.”

  There were a few mumbled curses from my right, but I didn’t particularly care. I wasn’t there to make friends. I was there to win. Someone had to, and if their fragile male egos couldn’t handle a woman eating more steak than them, well, I’d think of them while I spent my winnings. And I’d see them next year.