Stranger at the Wedding

by Jack G. Hills

  “I need a piss Rachel.” Tom’s succinct summing up, attracted the attention of the people at the next tables, who looking disgusted at the loud announcement, turned their backs on a bemused Rachel, who in turn could only offer her apologies for her husband’s rudeness, as he stumbled drunkenly across the restaurant in the direction of the toilets.

  The vibrating glass snapped Rachel out of her solitary embarrassment and drew her eyes from the floor to the mobile, which Tom in a casual, careless moment had inadvertently left on the table, as he’d earlier and recklessly emptied his pockets in order to find the piece of paper that he was sure would prove Rachel wrong in their argument about the cost of the hotel. More out of her annoyance at Tom and the way he always seemed to ruin even the most perfect evening, rather than any doubts she had about his fidelity, made Rachel grab the mobile and look to see who was bothering them at such an unsociable hour and on a weekend.

  Hi Sexy

  Hope you enjoyed watching the video as much as I did making it. Call me soon

  Lisa XX

  Confused and enraged with just a moment of uncertainty, Rachel flicked back to Tom’s inbox and saw the long list of texts and emails that Lisa had sent him. Suddenly in a blind rage, the last of Tom’s possible defences collapsed… Lisa obviously hadn’t sent her message to the wrong person. Whoever she was, she knew Tom… her Tom. With a sickly feeling starting to well up in her stomach, she swallowed hard and fought back the temptation to hurl the mobile across the room into the fire. Instead after taking another deep breath she flicked down the list of messages, found the last one with an attachment and opened it.

  The girl, who she presumed must be Lisa, was blond and young. Apart from the tattoo of a small butterfly just above her navel she was wearing nothing but a provocative smile. Rachel could feel her already ruddy complexion bursting into a rainbow of reds and oranges, as without thinking she moved her head in a shadowy rhythm to the girl’s copulating gyrations. This was a selfie like no other she’d ever seen.

  Like a hypnotist clicking their fingers, the crash of plates and cutlery dragged her unwilling eyes from the small screen and caused her to look up like a naughty child caught with their hands in the jar of sweets. Across the restaurant Tom had collapsed through the toilet’s swing door and had collided headlong with one of the waiters, who’d been heading back to the kitchens with a tray full of dirty plates and glasses. The ensuing melee of bodies, food and crockery was finally sorted out by Henri who’d rushed from the kitchens ready to admonish his errant employee, only to see Tom sprawled amongst the mess of leftovers and shards of plates that had been liberally scattered across his normally pristine floor.

  Henri, more concerned for his other guest, left the waiter to help Tom and headed straight over to Rachel.

  “I’ll take him back to the hotel Rachel. Will you wait here until I get back?” He asked in a very imploring sort of manner that sent a shiver up her spine.

  “Don’t go.” Rachel replied holding out her hand. “Please send one of the waiters or better still just point him in the right direction, with a bit of luck he’ll fall in the harbour and drown.” She squeezed his hand but didn’t let go.

  “Alright… if that’s what you want. I’ll send Ricardo with him. Now that Tom’s broken most of the washing up there’s less for him to clear away.” Henri joked trying to lighten the mood. Something he could sense, had made Rachel withdrawn and moody… what she needed was a drink to calm her body and relax her senses. Turning round, he caught sight of William and summoned over his other waiter.

  “Get me two glasses of the Dalwhinnie, will you William?” The man merely nodded and walked off to the tiny bar. What was it William wondered, as he poured the two shots, about some men that made them drink to such excesses, especially when they were in the company of such an attractive and sensuous woman? Henri’s friend, he concluded was a stupid moron and didn’t deserve such a woman.

  “Look let me go sort Tom out.” Henri said turning his attention back to Rachel. “We only have four customers and we’ve just called a taxi for them. When they’ve gone I’ll send William and the others home early… we’ll clear up in the morning. Come on, you can sit by the fire and I’ll join you shortly.” Henri stood up and still holding her hand, escorted Rachel to the comfort of the armchair and the warming glow of the fire’s dying embers.

  “You won’t be long will you Henri… I don’t want to be alone tonight…” Her eyes pleaded, as she took the drink from William. Before Henri could reply, she’d downed the contents of the glass and murmured with pleasure, as the soothing amber liquid warmed a path all the way to her toes and instantly gave her that fuzzy feeling all over.

  “You know it’s supposed to be sipped and appreciated, not guzzled down in one go.” Henri gently admonished her with a reassuring smile.

  “I feel like guzzling everything tonight…”

  Even a deaf blind man couldn’t have mistaken her intentions and Henri was neither hard of hearing nor short-sighted.

  “I’ll be very, very quick.”

  After wishing the last of the restaurant’s diners a safe journey home, Henri told Ricardo to escort his more inebriated guest back to the hotel before heading home himself.

  “We’ll clear up tomorrow Ricardo. Grab an early night for once.”

  The overworked Columbian didn’t need to be told twice. He normally didn’t see the outside of the restaurant until one or two o’clock in the morning, so finishing early was like being given the day off. Without waiting for the inevitable change of heart, he grabbed his coat and then hung Tom’s arm around his shoulder before heading for the door and the fresh night air… and that’s when the problems really started.

  Stepping out from the soporific warm atmosphere of the restaurant with a mind and body soaked like a trifle sponge in alcohol, the cold, sharp night air momentarily revived Tom’s flagging spirits. But the initial blast of stimulating air merely delayed the inevitable reaction … and its effect lasted only as long as it took them to stagger awkwardly down towards the harbour and the first dark, quiet alleyway, where Tom violently deposited his undigested meal and most of the alcohol that hadn’t already been absorbed into his bloodstream, into the cobbled gutter.

  “Christ I needed that!” He eloquently declared, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his jacket sleeve then followed that immediately with another tidal wave of yellow bile and asparagus tips. “Bloody hell, I’m glad we weren’t picking up the tab tonight…” He stared up at his dumbfounded escort, whose name he didn’t know and quite frankly had no interest in finding out. “Have you seen what that French twat charges for three sticks of bloody thick grass? Twelve pounds! …and I’m still hungry.”

  Tom, refreshed by the loss of his stomach contents, looked up and down the dark alleyway. “Hey Pablo…” He shouted at his escort. “Where can I find a fish and chip shop round here… I mean, there’s got to be something to eat in this town that you don’t have to re-mortgage your house for.” He muttered drunkenly, as he tried in vain to find his wallet and loose change but merely managed to get his hands entangled in the depths of his pockets, so that after a minute or two of struggling he looked like Houdini having a bad night with his straightjacket.

  Ricardo simply ignored the drunken, racist slur. He’d heard worse and anyway the man had merely drunk too much, he’d not been threatening or violent. Beaming his most warm smile, he took hold of Tom’s arm and guided him away from the sickly mess towards the cobbled pedestrian area just by the harbour. Like a pair of drunks trying to walk a tightrope, Tom with Ricardo’s valiant but somewhat ineffectual help, stumbled his way to the next turning, where pulling himself free from his new best friend’s grasp he leant against the nearest building for a rest. Ricardo, already tiring of his ward’s antics checked his watch… again. Suddenly the early finish to his shift, which he’d been given in return for the task of escorting Tom back to his hotel, looked more like a poison chalice than a reward. At their presen
t stuttering rate, Ricardo thought it would be daylight before his head touched his pillow and Henri would still expect him to clear up in the morning, before starting all his other daily kitchen chores. Life, he thought, could be a real bitch at times and certainly wasn’t helped by idiots who couldn’t hold their drink or appreciate superb cuisine… When he had his own restaurant, he swore that alcohol would be banned and his customers would come to savour his food, not get pissed.

  For his part, Tom was still a little unsure what he was doing propped against a building in the dark street with his head spinning like a child’s toy, whilst being stared at by some foreign chap who was impatiently sneering at him with a look of utter contempt. Pushing himself free of his solid support and feeling more alive and awake than he had for the last hour but still another wasted day away from complete sobriety and the common sense that usually went hand in hand with it, Tom thought food rather than a good night’s sleep would aid his improving disposition. Ricardo though wanted nothing more than to get the man back to his hotel and then go straight to bed himself, so as Tom started to stagger off in one direction, he made a quick grab for his jacket and yanked him backwards. But the sudden eruption of cackling laughter stopped both of them in their tracks and allowed Tom the briefest of opportunities to yank himself free of Ricardo’s helping hands and stumble off across the cobbles towards the group of women who were standing together chatting idly whilst eating their fish suppers.

  Like a bee seeking out its next meal of nectar, Tom’s nose followed the greasy pheromone trail of battered cod and chips, which had been doused in vinegar and laced with tomato ketchup all the way back to its source.

  For his part, Ricardo was less keen to become embroiled with some of the locals, who in his experience seemed to resent all outsiders. So he kept his distance and watched Tom stagger and weave his way unerringly towards the group of local females, who all seemed oblivious to his approach.

  Unfortunately for Tom, he wasn’t the only person interested in the women and the three burly trawlermen who had been paying for the late night snack and chatting to owner of the fish shop about the poor state of the local fishing fleet, suddenly re-appeared just as Tom placed his arm around one of the women and helped himself to one of her chips.

  Ricardo fearing the worst but deciding that he didn’t get paid enough to take a beating for some drunken idiot, recoiled into the shadow of the nearest doorway. The knot in his stomach and his pounding heart told him that the unwise encounter might not end well and he was right…

  The first blow caught Tom unawares and squarely on the jaw, as he was spun round to face the group of men. The strength of the fisherman, added to the size of their bear-like hands and Tom’s own pathetic inability to offer any form of defence, let alone stand up straight, sent him sprawling backwards onto the wet cobbled slipway. In some ways, he was fortunate enough to be as drunk as he was, for the alcohol, like any anaesthetic, masked the pain of the blow and the hard impact as his head met the unrelenting surface of the granite cobbles.

  By the time his head had bounced along the ground for the third time and he’d rolled through one puddle after another, all thoughts of a cheeky chip followed by quick fumble with any one of the three women had disappeared into the dark deep chasm of unconsciousness.

  Seeing their victim inanimate and defenceless and feeling he needed to be taught a valuable lesson in manners and conduct, the rest of the blows rained down on Tom in a frenzy of fists and boots. One after the other, they kicked Tom’s prostrate bloodied body until finally they were pulled away by the women, who satisfied that their undoubted honours had been salvaged, suddenly realised that the stranger might actually be killed if their idiot boyfriends kicked his head one more time.

  Whilst the men congratulated themselves on the brave and noble beating that the man obviously deserved, one of the woman, a first-aider at the factory where she worked, bent down to take a closer look at the victim.

  “You’ve only gone and killed the silly bugger!” She proclaimed. “That’s the problem with drunks, they can’t take a beating like someone that’s sober… well as far as I’m concerned he got what he deserved. For all we know he could have raped all three of us defenceless women… Men!” She added with just a little too much indignation, “… they think they can do just whatever they like.” She declared staring up at the three men, whose faces had all turned from smiles to looks of bewilderment... they’d given a good kicking to blokes before and never killed them… bloody outsiders.

  “Come on Tiger, let’s get out of here. He won’t be missed until the morning and I’m suddenly feeling as randy as hell.” The woman smiled seductively, as she grabbed a handful of the nearest man’s crotch, whilst still holding on to the cardboard tray of cold fish and chips. If an aphrodisiac was needed to counter the fifteen pints of ale the men had drunk, bloody knuckles and the taste of greasy batter worked better than any little blue pill.

  Walking casually away into the blackness of the night, as if what had just happened had all been part of their normal night out, the three couples disappeared laughing and joking about the kicking they’d just given the drunk, whilst pushing great handfuls of cold chips into each other’s cackling mouths.

  Ricardo, unsure as to what to do next, stood and waited for someone to come along and find the body but when after a further ten minutes no one had appeared and the sounds of the people were nothing but distance echoes, he ventured out from his place of concealment and approached the lifeless body of the man. Monsieur Henri had told him where the man was staying but not his name and as he approached the bloody figure, Ricardo’s one and only thought was for his job and the priceless accommodation that came with it. He’d been asked to see the man back to his hotel but instead he’d merely watched, whilst the man had been kicked and beaten to death.

  Unsure what to do next… fetch help or protect his own interests by doing nothing, Ricardo chose the safer middle ground and with one huge monumental effort picked up the lifeless weight and slung the body over his shoulder.

  The logic was undeniable. If he saw the man back to the hotel and then something happened to him, well there was no way he could be held responsible, he’d told himself as he’d stumbled through the town carrying Tom’s lifeless body.

  Unfortunately, his plan had come unstuck at the first hurdle… as the key to the ‘night door’, which Tom and Rachel had been given by the hotel and which was to be used after hours when the night porter was making his rounds or more likely watching the television in the office, was safely stashed away in Rachel’s handbag.

  So with no means of getting the man inside and seeing the hotel clothed in semi-darkness, Riccardo carried the limp body around the side of the hotel where he luckily found the gate to the gardens unlocked. Now all he had to do was to leave him somewhere safe, perhaps a shed or a summerhouse… but somewhere he might be found the following day and then get himself home to bed.

  His excuse would be simple, he’d left Henri’s guest at the front door to the hotel, said goodnight and gone straight home…

  “But did you see him go inside the hotel Ricardo?”

  “No but the man said he had the keys and I wasn’t to worry. He then thanked me for my help, waved and I turned round and left him on the doorstep.”

  “But he didn’t have a key to get inside, did he?”

  “Well I know that now, but the man assured me he did. I’m sorry but you only asked me to make sure he got back to the hotel… you didn’t say I had to tuck him up in bed as well.”

  Yes Riccardo decided, as he pushed through the side gate, it all sounded very plausible and anyway why was it that the man’s wife hadn’t take him back to the hotel… what had she been doing when the man had been killed?

  The garden at the rear of the imposing property had been landscaped into a number of terraced lawns and it was upon the last of these flat, grassy surfaces that Ricardo saw the ideal place to leave the body.

  The helicopter had bee
n the talk of the town and the restaurant, when the hotel’s owners had first purchased the aircraft and although there’d been some initial consternation over the noise pollution and the possible danger from its constant take offs and landings, the sight of it appearing and disappearing had soon become so commonplace that no one seemed bothered anymore.

  In the lea of its shiny black fuselage, Ricardo dumped the body unceremoniously onto the wet grass. He refused to feel any sympathy for the bloody and beaten man, as he’d seen his type too many times before. Men like him thought people such as Ricardo were nothing, merely dirt to be trodden on or kicked away when they were no more dishes to wash or mess to clean up. They were like pigs feeding at the trough and had all the good grace and table manners to match.

  But the woman, she was different… she’d seemed a nice lady when Monsieur Henri had introduced her to his staff and she’d been particularly kind and courteous to him, even though he’d been up to his arms in soapy water and dirty plates at the time. So, if he was going to have any sympathy, it would be for the lady and how she might feel when she learnt that her husband had been kicked to death for nothing more than drunkenly groping the greasy woman.

  He shook his bowed head at the waste of the man’s life and the brutality shown by the trawlermen. On another night, in a different town it might have been him that the three men had picked on… oh he wouldn’t have done what the man had done but maybe that didn’t matter in the end, maybe they’d just taken their brutal frustrations out on the first poor idiot that stumbled into their path.

  Catching Ricardo unaware, as the clouds slid silently apart and allowed the moon to come out and play. In the bright light of a near full moon, he saw what he’d missed in the darkness… his clothes were covered in the man’s blood, bits of asparagus and a yellow sickly slime. Without thinking and as if he had no control over his hands, he trailed his finger through the mess on his jacket and casually wafted it under his nose. The acrid, pungent aroma of sickly bile, like any effective dose of smelling salts, made him jerk his head back and cleared his muddled thinking. At that moment, although innocent of everything except indifference to the man’s attack, Ricardo knew that he’d have to burn his clothes… he’d watched too many episodes of NCIS to know that washing would never clean the blood and body fluids away completely and the police would never believe his innocent explanation of their presence. But right at that moment, worse than being found guilty of the man’s murder was the thought that his clothes, which had so recently cost him nearly two weeks wages were utterly ruined.