A Right Old Fiasco in Borrington

by M W Foolster

  "Yes, but I see not fifteen, Monsieur."

  "I did call earlier, explained that due to the weather, there would only be the five of us. And that we might be a few minutes late. Was told that would not be a problem."

  "Oui Monsieur. I can see the note regarding this."

  Having huffily snapped his fingers to attract the attention of another waiter who'd taken their jackets, and passed a snooty comment in French as he'd pointed towards the five of them, the waiter had finally introduced himself to them as Jean. A theatrical movement of his hand as he'd brushed past them, speaking over his shoulder.

  "Mesdames et Messieurs, par ici s'il vous plaît,"

  Having almost begrudgingly shown them to a window table, another snap of his fingers had brought a harassed looking waitress scurrying towards them. She, at least, had the courtesy to smile at them warmly as she'd quickly organised the table. Tammy, Jazz and Jessica immediately excused themselves and made a dash for the toilets, Robbie slumped down moodily into a chair and Jason ordered them all aperitifs. Jean, their less than enthusiastic waiter, mumbled something inaudible under his breath before heading off towards a small bar near the entrance. Robbie, with a face like thunder, sat tutting to himself as he'd looked around disapprovingly at what he considered to be the overbearing decor. Had then questioned Jason's reasons for choosing this pretentious restaurant as opposed to Mama Vesuvio's, the nearby Italian they normally frequented. Jason had already asked himself the same question, not that he'd admit it to Robbie, but justified his reasoning as being that it had only recently opened and would be a new experience. But there was no pleasing Robbie, and his explanation had only led to an uncomfortable silence. Jean soon returned with their aperitifs, fiddled around with the freshly cut flowers in the vase on the white table cloth, before leaning forward, and lighting the candle that served as the tables centrepiece. That, at least, had helped to create the illusion of an ambient setting. Well almost. Robbie continued sulking, Jason ignoring him as he'd looked down at his watch, and after what had felt like the longest fifteen minutes of his life, a sense of relief when Tammy, Jazz and Jessica had finally returned to the table. They at least had been somewhat more positive about his choice of restaurant. Jessica admiring the setting, Tammy and Jazz both appreciative of the general decor. Jess smiling approvingly as she'd sniffed at the flowers, but having then noticed the expression on Robbie's face, had elbowed him in the ribs and demanded that he snap out of his mood. And perhaps it worked, because even Robbie's frowns eventually turned into smiles as they'd discussed the days events, the episode with the three drunks, most notably, Charlie and that wheelchair. They'd sat and sipped on their martinis as they'd reminisced about the summer, at having seen Charlie rummaging around in a skip opposite the library, and at how he'd come across the wheelchair by chance. Jess laughing as she'd described witnessing Charlie falling out of the skip in his attempt to drag the wheelchair free, and of how he'd crashed into a small pallet packed full of bags of builders finishing plaster, the wheelchair having landed on top of him. The air had then turned white, the bags of plaster having all split open, and Charlie had finally emerged through the white plaster cloud looking like a Dickensian ghost. With shouts of anger having erupted from the builders refurbishing the old antiques shop, Charlie had leapt into action, pushing the wheelchair in front of him as he'd gone running down the high street. Jason laughed and after a brief pause, reminded them of what had happened next. Charlie, most likely exhausted following his exertions, had only got as far as the train station when he'd collapsed into the wheelchair, and promptly fallen asleep. He'd awoken several hours later to find the woolly hat on his lap full of coins. Albert, the station master, had told Jason that commuters had probably assumed Charlie to be a beggar, and taken pity. And from that day onwards, Charlie hadn't once been seen in public without that damned wheelchair.

  Jean had then reappeared, and having cleared his throat in a somewhat dramatic fashion, handed each of them a menu. Having read through the wine list, and grimaced at the prices Jason had been about to suggest they opt for the house white when he'd heard a gasp from across the table. Jazz and Tammy, heads down as they'd cast their eyes over the menus, Jessica, however, was staring across at him with a look of sheer horror on her face. With her mood having changed almost immediately, she'd reached for her bag as she'd barked out.

  "Sorry Jay, but I am out of here hon."

  Robbie was quick to add his support.

  "With you on that Jess, let’s get the hell out of this shit hole."

  Tammy and Jazz had looked at each other with puzzled expressions, Jason taken by surprise.

  "Look guys I know it's a bit pricey and, well fair enough, the service isn't great but don't you think you are over reacting?"

  A stern faced Jessica.

  "Jeez, will you top studying the wine list Jay and take a closer look at the menu. Can you find a single dish on it that doesn't contain foie gras? Sorry hon, but you know my feelings about that."

  Robbie nodded his agreement, and Jason with his head in his hands had muttered

  "I am so sorry, Jess."

  A confused looking Jazz staring at Jason as she'd asked

  "Foie gras?"

  And Robbie had been only too willing to enlighten her.

  "It's the liver of a duck or a goose that has been unnaturally fattened by being force fed a corn mush supposedly to give it a more buttery taste. The poor bird normally has a tube forced down its throat and the mush is pumped in. Many countries have banned it and, personally, I find the mere thought of it bloody repulsive. Said that we should of gone to Mama Vesuvio's."

  Jazz and Tammy had suddenly looked nauseous as they'd whispered. "That's disgusting."

  Jason despondent, reluctant to raise his head, to meet their eyes, stared down at the table as he'd muttered.

  "Yes, it is disgusting. And you are right Robbie, it is a cruel practice and just never occurred to me... I just don't know what to say. Am so sorry. I should of looked the menu over before booking the table. Look, if you want to all leave, head down to Mama Vesuvio's, that's fine. My screw up. I'll pay the bill and meet you down there."

  Robbie was about to stand, that was until Jessica had snapped at him. "Sit down Robbie."

  Robbie looking perplexed. "But you said.."

  "Just sit." Jessica had then reached across the table and taken Jason's hand.

  "Don't be so hard on yourself, Jay, it's an easy enough mistake to make. And look hon, we are all really grateful, we know how much effort you put into making tonight a success. Damn it... Tell you what I think we should do.."

  Jason had looked at her inquisitively.

  "That we should look on it as our own personal protest. We can all order a veggie dish, have a few glasses of wine and enjoy each others company. And once out of here, we will all make a point of crucifying the place with negative online reviews. Right, Robbie?"

  Robbie's response had been an indignant shrug of his shoulders, Jazz and Tammy, most likely because they'd sympathised with Jason, had happily agreed. Several bottles of house white later, and with them all enjoying a very palatable sweet and sour vegetable dish, and despite Jean having continued to be an irritant as he'd hovered around the table constantly yawning, their moods improved dramatically. And yet again they'd soon found themselves reminiscing about Charlie. Jazz and Tammy giggling as they'd discussed at how Charlie had rolled in one morning and enquired about IT training courses. Jazz unfortunate enough to of drawn the short straw, and consequentially, had been forced to endure several painful hours in Charlie's company as she'd attempted to teach him IT basics. And apart from her having to give him very a stern warning after she'd caught him swigging from a brandy bottle, sneakily concealed in a brown paper bag, it had been tolerable, just. With Charlie having gained the confidence to surf the internet and use a PC unassisted, a relieved Jazz had then shown him how to pre-book his own sessions. Problem solved, or so they'd thought. A few weeks passed by without incid
ent, Charlie the first through the door each morning to use a PC, amiable to the staff, a friendly wave to them all when he departed a few hours later. But then Jason discovered that a PC mouse and keyboard had gone missing. A few days later, and with two more keyboards having disappeared from the public IT suite, Jason and Robbie decided to take it in turns to hide amongst some shelving units, and keep watch. Come the following Monday, and with a vigilant Robbie on surveillance duty, Charlie had arrived just after 9am and headed straight for the IT Suite. And much to Robbie's amazement, he'd promptly proceeded to pull a pair of pliers from his pocket before attempting to cut through the cable securing a PC base unit to a desk. Having been startled by Robbie's yelling at him, and disregarding the fact that he'd been caught red-handed, Charlie had still grabbed at a keyboard, shoved it under his coat and sped off with Robbie in hot pursuit.

  Robbie then reminding them that Charlie had been moving so fast that he'd become a blur. That he could only watch on as Charlie had whizzed out of the entrance, several customer shrieking out in surprise as they'd leapt out of his path, and gone speeding down the library’s ramp in making good his escape. But with the wheelchair tearing down the ramp at such a ridiculous speed, it was impossible to control, Charlie nearly being thrown from it at the bottom. As it was, the wheelchair had nearly toppled over, but with it tilted dangerously to one side, it had spun around in circles on just the one wheel before colliding heavily with a public waste bin. Having shown Robbie his middle finger, Charlie had once again sped off, dragging the bin along the pavement behind him.

  With Jazz having mentioned that they had, at least, retrieved the keyboard, it having flown into a nearby tree when Charlie crashed into the bin, Jason had burst into hysterical laughter. Definitely not the most sensible thing to do with a mouthful of food. Unable to breath and gasping for air, he'd leapt to his feet, his eyes watering. Jazz shouted, "Help! He's choking."

  Robbie was the first to react as he'd quickly moved behind him. And having gripped Jason tightly below the ribs, he'd then performed the Heimlich manoeuvre, successfully dislodging the trapped food which was jettisoned from his mouth. Jean, who was stood opposite them, yawning loudly as he'd watched on, had suddenly clamped his jaws shut. But too late. With a look of horror etched on his face, he'd shaken his head in disbelief, refusing to accept that the lump of food had flown straight into his mouth. But it had. Hands at his throat, his eyes bulging from their sockets, Jean had staggered backwards and fallen into the table behind him. The young couple who'd been sat there enjoying a romantic meal, leapt to their feet, the table having collapsed under Jean's weight. The woman, her hands raised to her face, had screamed out in panic. Her shocked partner stumbled towards Jessica, tripped over an upturned chair and instinctively grabbed at a table cloth. Plates, glasses, several wine bottles, two candles and a vase were sent crashing to the floor as the table cloth was ripped free. And it was just unfortunate that the candles happened to land amongst a pile of napkins, which had then started to smoulder. The commotion led to a plump chef running out from the kitchen. With his fierce bloodshot eyes glaring out from beneath his toque, the chef wiped one of his hands on a heavily stained white apron. Jason had gulped nervously on seeing an enormous meat cleaver in the other. Jean, his heavily starched white shirt covered in a rich, brown sauce, red wine and fresh flowers, still coughing and spitting out food, crawled towards the chef mumbling in French. That resulted in the chef waving the cleaver at Jason in a threatening manner as he'd bellowed out, "Mon calisse de chavirer!"

  Jason thought the chef had called him a crazy fucker, but he wasn't about to ask for confirmation, not with the chef having then charged across the broken table towards him. A woman's voice had suddenly yelled out fire, which proved to be somewhat fortunate in that it had temporarily distracted the chef. Chaos ensued as the party of four who'd been sat at the table next to them stampeded the door, knocking over yet more tables in the process. A quick thinking Robbie had snatched up a vase from the floor and extinguished the flaming napkins, Jazz, Tammy and Jessica having joined the stampede towards the exit. But it had been the sight of Jean, crouched on all fours, eyes blazing and dribbling gunk, in fact, doing a pretty good impersonation of a rabid dog, that had finally stirred Jason into action. With the chef bearing down on him , and Jean having looked about ready to make a pounce for his jugular, Jason decided it that it was probably a good time to vacate the restaurant. Having shouted out to Jean that the £150.00 deposit would cover their bill, Jason had hurdled several tables and dived towards the door, plates flying past his head as he'd darted out of Club Escargot .

  11 Ghost Hunt

  "Who a’ you?"

  Holding a frozen bags of peas against his bruised forehead, Carlo has a look of consternation on his face upon seeing the two strangers appear at his doorway. DI Jordan elbows DS Fuller hard in the ribs before he has a chance to speak, and flashes his warrant card.

  "The police."

  Now confused, Carlo pulls a mobile phone from his jeans, stands staring down at it shaking his head

  "The polizia? But I no’ a call you yet."

  "But yah wis aboot tae?"

  "Che?"

  Ignoring the frowning DI, DS Fuller leans towards Carlo

  "But you was about to call the Police?"

  An understandably irate Carlo has both detectives cringing as he shrieks at them, "Si! Some bastardo, he a rob a me."

  "Robbed yah?" Tutting sympathetically, DI Jordan twiddles with his moustache." Whit wis taken? Sorry, you're Mr….?"

  "Carlo Fernandes. And the bastardo he a take my money. Five hundred pounds."

  DS Fuller casts the DI a questioning look, Carlo lowering the pack of frozen peas to reveal a large purple bruise. With a sharp intake of breath, and attempting to look concerned, the DI pats Carlo on the shoulder.

  "Aye, that daes look painful Mr Fernandes. And he did this tae yah?"

  "Si. He a smack head."

  "A smack heid? Hmm. Are yah getting this down, DS Fuller?"

  The DS pulls a notepad from his jacket and starts scribbling away.

  "Sae, Mr Fernandes, yah wis attacked and robbed by a druggie. Is that correct?"

  "I no understand."

  "Yah have just stated that yah was attacked by a smack heid and I am assuming a male, because yag look more than capable o' defending yurself."

  The DI with an earnest expression on his face as he looks down at the small and slender male in front of him.

  "Aye, Mr Fernandes. There can be little doubt that it wis a male who robbed yah and that he wis almost definitely drugged up tae the eyeballs. I dare say that he wis after cash tae feed his drug habit."

  "The bastardo. So, he a pissed out of the head with the drugs, yes? And he a take my money for more?"

  "Correct, Mr Fernandes."

  The DI barges past a thoroughly confused Carlo, flicks the light switch before linking his hands behind his back, and pacing the room. DS Fuller close behind, still scribbling away in his note pad.

  "Now, Mr Fernandes, I want yah tae think aboot this very carefully. Wis it a tall and thin white youth wearing a black beanie hat and smelling o' talcum powder?"

  "But I no’ a see him and what is this a talcum?"

  DI Jordan stops suddenly, and leans into Carlo. DS Fuller, who'd been following the pacing DI around the room and scribbling away in his notepad, walks straight into the back of him. A yelp from the DI at being stabbed in his backside by a pencil, DS Fuller groaning in pain at having smacked his nose on the DI’s shoulder. A filthy look from the DI, followed by the threat of having his neck snapped, sends the DS scurrying across the room to a safe distance. DI Jordan, smoothing down his jacket, takes a few deep breaths and returns his attention to Carlo. Piercing eyes study the azure top Carlo's wearing, "Hmmm.” The DI retreats several steps, his stubby digit suddenly pointing at the clearly visible white finger prints on the blue t-shirt.

  "That Mr Fernandes, is talcum powder."

  Carlo gasps in
surprise as he looks down at his top, "Talco. The bastardo."

  "Aye indeed, Mr Fernandes. Now I need yah tae think aboot this. Dae yah remember it being a tall and skinny white youth wearing a beanie hat on his heid?"

  "I no’ a sure."

  "But it is distinctly possible?"

  Carlo scratches his head, now looking totally perplexed, and shrugs his shoulders. The DI approaches him, inspects the bruise, starts pacing backwards and forwards across the room.

  "Yah see Mr Fernandes, judging by the angle at which yah have been struck, it would had tae o' come from above. Would yah nae agree?"

  "Si. If you a say."

  "Indeed I dae, Mr Fernandes. If the robber had been the same height as yurself, then yah would o’ been struck in the face. Agreed?"

  "Si. That a make sense."

  "But wi’ the bruise being sae high up on yur forehead, there is absolutely nae doubt in my mind that yah have been struck from above. Now I want yah tae ask yurself a question, Mr Fernandes."

  Frozen peas pushed against his throbbing forehead, Carlo stands staring up at the DI.

  "Where wis the crime committed?"

  Deep in thought, Carlo closes his eyes. On reopening them, and now very animated.

  "I eat a my breakfast and hear the doorbell. As I answer, it all a goes black."

  Wagging his finger enthusiastically, the DI grins.

  "Correct, Mr Fernandes. The crime wis nae committed in here. Having viciously attacked yah at the front door, our perpetrator dragged yah inside. Agreed?"

  "Si Ispetorre."

  "That, Mr Fernandes, explains the white finger marks on yur top. And, jist as significantly, tae be capable o' pulling yur unconscious body along the hallway and into yur flat suggests somebody in good physical condition. Somebody young and powerful."