Tales of the Bright, the Dark & the Bizzare

by Maurice Connolly

  Then what she was told about Madge and the accident: Madge was renowned as a fast driver. The guy in the other car wasn’t ‘drunk as a skunk,’ to quote Madge. He was just marginally over the legal limit. A girl was killed though, and Madge was exonerated. She was also awarded a large sum of insurance money. That accident still worried Madge though, Linda felt.

  She decided she’d have another cup of coffee. She crossed over to Sundance with the moustache. He appraised her coldly.

  “How much is a cup of coffee?”

  “Four fifty.”

  “Four fifty!” she gasped in disbelief. “You’re joking? That’s outrageous!”

  He shrugged his shoulders in a haughty manner. This one, he felt, was more of a nuisance than anything else. He had his pride. He didn’t have to listen to this cow complaining. After all, he was part of The Ranch. He turned to move away.

  “I’ll have a glass of water.”

  “Tipperary or Ballygowen?”

  “Tap water.”

  “We don’t serve tap water.”

  At that moment a man with a managerial bearing and a grey pin-stripe suit was passing. Linda clicked her fingers in his direction. He came over.

  “Listen,” she said, “I just spent nearly a hundred euro in there,” pointing to the dining room, “and now this dickhead won’t serve me a glass of tap water.”

  “I’m sorry,” he responded. The last thing he wanted was a scene of any sort.

  He indicated to the barman to comply with her request, saying, “It’s all right, Bruno.”

  To Linda he then added, “I hope you enjoyed your meal?” expecting her to answer in the affirmative.

  “I didn’t.”

  “In that case I’m sorry again.” He flashed a false, watery smile and continued on his way. Bruno looked none too pleased.

  “You be careful about the type of remarks you pass,” Linda said, still smarting over what he had said. “You hear me?”

  “What remarks? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know well.”

  “Here you are. Would you like a slice of lemon in it, Madame?”

  “No.” He gave her that cynical look again as he moved up the bar.

  “Far from ‘Madame’ you were raised, you little prick,” Linda flung after him. He appeared as if he was about to turn and come back but there was an impatient looking customer at the other end of the bar. Linda returned and relaxed back in the comfortable upholstered leather seat. She closed her eyes, savouring the soothing music from next door. She wondered why she was so impulsive on occasions.

  Maybe she should have said nothing to that guy behind the bar. After all he was only obeying instructions. It cost a lot to run a place like this. She realized, with a slight shock, that her behaviour was very similar to the behaviour of the two guys in the pub. But for some reason she just couldn’t abide this particular barman. She felt there was something slippery and underhand about him.

  She opened her eyes and there he was, staring daggers across at her. She glared back at him. She felt that if each had a duelling pistol right then shots would be exchanged across the plush carpets of The Ranch.

  Bert and Madge emerged from the dining room and came over to join her. Larry hadn’t appeared and Bert had a sour look on his face.

  “Larry must have been at the races,” he announced. “That crowd behind us were at Mallow.”

  “Pity they didn’t stay there,” Linda remarked.

  “They were inclined to be loud, all right,” Bert agreed. “They must have won money. Here,” he said, “we’ll have one for the road. What’ll it be?”

  “I’m alright,” Linda said, indicating the water.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll have a Bacardi and Coke, please,” Madge requested.

  “I think I’ll stick with the Scotch an’ soda,” Bert decided.

  Bert crossed to the bar.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” Madge asked.

  “Yeah, everything is great,” Linda lied.

  “The meal was smashing, wasn’t it?”

  “Delicious.”

  “The desert was absolutely fabulous. You know, I think it was the best part of the whole meal. Bert downed yours.”

  “It looked nice.”

  “You should have indulged. Sure you have a great figure. You don’t have to worry about losing weight.” She put her hand to her midriff. “I feel as full as a tick.”

  No wonder, Linda thought. After all that food plus practically a full bottle of wine each. In the bar mirror she observed Bert being served. No money changed hands, however. Bert merely gave Bruno a smile, a nod and a wink. Maybe Bert did him a favour too. Bert must be a very generous man. Bert returned, transporting the small bottle of soda water in his top pocket. Bert and Madge must have been slightly tipsy at this stage, Linda reckoned. Bert’s girth meant that his belt had no support from his hips and his trousers kept slipping down. They talked away for about another twenty minutes—at least Bert and Madge cooed away like two lovebirds.

  “If I was held up now I’d be over the limit,” Bert stated the blatantly obvious as they got into the car and he prepared to drive. “But did you ever hear of one cop summonsing another cop for being over the limit? Heh, heh, heh!” he laughed, “Sure you have to have little perks in every job.”

  They arrived back safely in Cahir. Linda suggested that she’d wait in Madge’s car and allow them a few minutes privacy before they headed back for Limerick. The few minutes turned out to be close to half an hour

  “Will this bloody night ever end? ” Linda hissed through gritted teeth. She had the window rolled down and eventually she heard the doors slam.

  She heard Bert say, “I love you.”

  Madge said, “I do too.”

  Did Madge’s reply mean that she actually loved herself, or was it Bert? How could any woman love Bert?

  He came down to the car and said, “Safe journey. Take it easy.”

  “You’re great to drive,” Madge said as she clambered in.

  “I like driving.”

  “We had a great night, hadn’t we?” Madge commented, as they drove out of the town.

  “It was enjoyable,” Linda lied again. Inwardly she vehemently decided never again.

  “I know it would have been more enjoyable for you if you had a man with you too.”

  “How do you know that, Madge?” Linda felt like asking.

  “The next time we’ll get one of Bert’s colleagues to come along.”

  The horror of the suggestion caused Linda to smile to herself. Oh Jesus, wouldn’t that be something! Especially if he turned out to be another Bert. What a whale of a time they’d all have then. It was a nice clear night for driving. She turned on the radio as this was the hour for her favourite music programme. They passed through Tipperary town and the straight road to Limerick loomed ahead. Madge had gone very quiet and she appeared to be asleep.

  “Bert is very fat, for a guard.” she suddenly said, out of the blue.

  “He’s a bit overweight, all right. It’s probably not the best for his health, maybe.”

  After another few minutes, Madge said, “And he has B.O. Did you notice that?”

  “Slightly,” Linda replied, feeling completely surprised by this twist to the conversation.

  Madge then went silent and Linda felt she was dozing off again. The drink, maybe, was getting her to say things. Then after a further ten minutes or so Linda got another surprise—shock might be closer to the mark—she felt Madge’s hand above her knee, moving up and down her thigh. Linda didn’t mind this. She rather enjoyed it, the same as a dog enjoys having his head and neck petted and rubbed.

  Madge suddenly straightened bolt upright. “Oh God, Linda, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What am I doing? I dozed off. I’m sorry. God, I’m awful sorry.”

  “It’s all right, it’s okay, don’t worry.”

  “Are you sure?”

  �
��Yes, I’m positive.”

  “I feel like kicking myself now.”

  “Don’t.”

  A Tale of the Macabre

  There was a strange and rather bizarre consequence to the previous tale: after a short period of time Bert and Madge duly married. But the marriage turned out to be a brief disaster that lasted a mere ten days. The net result was that Bert started to drink and gamble to an even greater extent than heretofore. He became a driven man, desperate for more and more money. Late at night he started to spy on cars outside pubs, followed the half-drunk drivers, pulled them over and demanded money in exchange for leniency.

  As the result of a hunch he conducted a covert investigation into Larry’s former lifestyle. He excitedly concluded that at last he had got a big break: He discovered some extraordinary dark secrets about his erstwhile friend’s criminal past. Larry had spent five years as a guest of Her Majesty in Brixton prison. The long arm of the British jurisdiction was again reaching out for Larry, but Bert concluded that Larry probably felt safe enough in Cahir. There were serious question marks over how he had obtained the money to purchase The Ranch. If those stark facts were made known to the general public then Larry’s business would, he knew, sink quicker than the Titanic. Bert confronted Larry and made it plain that his silence regarding those devastating revelations was worth a monetary reward. Larry remained in a state of shock for a number of days. From there on the more Bert lost to his gambling addiction the more he put the squeeze on Larry.

  In the meantime the recession had hit business at The Ranch in a big way: the number of horses grazing in the paddocks had started to dwindle; pot-holes pock-marked the grand entrance; lawns were uncut; staff were let go; the catering and bar-trade trickled away to zero; guests were a rarity. Larry was starting to become demented. On top of everything else Bert was bleeding him dry. To survive some drastic action would need to be undertaken.

  Bruno displayed his loyalty in a most magnanimous fashion: he offered his services for little or no reward until business picked up again. He was happy at The Ranch with his comfortable room and excellent food. And—most important to Bruno—Larry treated him with respect. Larry appreciated Bruno’s kind gesture. In fact, Bruno became indispensable. He had a natural, ingrained ability with his hands, and he became the hotel plumber, electrician and mechanic. Bruno was chiefly responsible for keeping the hotel afloat through those lean, tough times. Larry and Bruno felt a bond rise up between them. They became very close. Larry confided to Bruno about his somewhat troubled, violent past, and what was now happening with Bert. His fear of being re-arrested. They had an alcohol fuelled tête-à-tête where their mutual past transgressions were resurrected. It transpired that Bruno, also, had to make a quick exit from Spain.

  Between them, they hatched a plan to take care of Bert. Without realizing it, Bert was now skating on very thin ice. Pretty soon Bert telephoned Larry again, saying he needed two thousand euro in a bad way. Money lenders were threatening him. But Bert had used that ply a few times already. Was he starting to get careless and over-confident? Larry replied that he didn’t have that much cash—it had to be cash—but he’d see what he could do. He suggested that Bert call along to The Ranch after his late night roster on Tuesday night, which usually ended at 2:30am. Bert agreed. Tuesday night was always the quietest night and the place was bound to be deserted at that late hour. At the appointed time Bert arrived along. Larry greeted him with a large Scotch.

  Larry was careful not to sound any different than usual. He informed Bert that this whole thing would have to stop. Bert agreed, but Larry knew he had no intention of stopping. In about two weeks time the phone would ring again with a similar demand. Larry asked Bert did he realize the state the country was in? Hotels were going into liquidation all over the place.

  “I’m sorry,” Bert said. “But Christ I need the money. My life could hinge on it.”

  “I have some money hidden above in the bridal suite,” Larry said. “I don’t know exactly how much. Come on up and we’ll see.”

  Bert followed Larry up the short flight of stairs, down the corridor to number ten—the bridal suite. They went inside. There was a small table with a single chair in the middle of the room. Larry motioned for Bert to be seated. Bert sat down with his back to the windows. Larry rummaged in a drawer, took out a brown envelope, pulled across a chair and sat facing Bert.

  “You’ll have me broke soon,” Larry said. “I’m sorry now I ever heard of this place.”

  “Don’t be like that,” Bert said. “One of these days I’ll settle with you. You can rest assured.”

  “You’re going to win the lotto, Bert, are you?”

  “I have other plans.”

  “You’re having a bad run with the gee-gees, apparently?

  “Rotten luck. Couldn’t be worse.”

  “Here we are then,” Larry said, starting to count out fifties.

  The full-length curtains in front of one of the windows moved back and Bruno stood framed there. To distract Bert further, Larry said, “Fairy Dancer is going to win the three o’clock tomorrow at Roscommon.”

  “You’re confident of that, are you? You got him good?” Bert inquired further, all ears.

  “The trainer told me himself. You could hardly get it better than that.” Bruno had crept up behind Bert. “He’s what you’d call a racing certainty.”

  “He’s worth a good cut?”

  “You could put the whole lot there on him. How much have we?”

  “Show me,” Bert said, reaching out for the money.

  It was the last act he ever performed, for, with a mighty swipe, Bruno sank a lump hammer into Bert’s skull. Death was instantaneous.

  Quickly searching Bert’s pocket, Bruno located the keys to the patrol car. They then quickly wrapped Bert’s remains in a black plastic sheet they had pre-arranged for the purpose. They half-carried, half-dragged Bert’s lifeless form across and tumbled him into the bath of the nearby en-suite. Bert proved heavier dead than he looked alive.

  Bruno put on his gloves, went out, looked carefully about, got into the patrol car and drove back down the gravelled avenue, turned in a gateway, crossed two fields and parked the car beside the river Suir. He left the driver’s door open and threw the keys out into the water. He then made his way back, cross country, to the hotel.

  Larry and Bruno were both avid fans of the television series The Sopranos. They recorded each programme and viewed it together when the bar closed. In one particularly gruesome episode Tony Soprano and his vicious, volatile, psychotic nephew Christopher stripped naked and systematically dismembered a body in a bath. Larry and Bruno had decided to adopt the same procedure with Bert.

  They removed their clothes and spent the next few hours stripping the flesh from Bert’s body. This they deposited into black plastic bags that they later stored in the hotel’s deep freezer. Bert’s internal organs, his skeletal remains, his shoes and clothes they wrapped in the plastic sheeting and flung the lot into the fully turned up, blazing furnace of the hotel’s heating system. They then cleaned everything thoroughly, stood under the shower for a considerable length of time, dressed, adjourned to the bar and treated themselves to a stiff drink.

  It was now 7:30am.

  Bert’s ‘suicide’ created a sensation in Cahir and its surrounds. Various theories were bandied about: the wife left him and he was depressed… She’s a real hussy, that one… Sure everyone knew what he was like—he took bribes… There was an internal Garda inquiry being conducted into his activities… The noose was tightening… He was going to be dismissed from the force in disgrace… It wasn’t suicide at all—it was a drugs gang that got rid of him. It’s a wonder his body wasn’t found though, but then the river was in spate and he could be washed all the way down to the sea.

  Nothing lasts forever. The worst of the recession was behind. Trade slowly started to pick up at The Ranch. Then it started to accelerate rapidly. The sun started to shine again, the rose garden went into bloom,
the lawns were trimmed, the horses frolicked in the lush meadows once more. The smile returned to Larry’s face. Bruno had managerial status now and with a beaming face he happily mingled with the satisfied revellers.

  Larry and Bruno decided to host a large banquet on New Year’s Eve. The event was booked out well in advance. The night arrived and a sumptuous time was being enjoyed by all. The music was excellent and the alcohol flowed like water. Food was there in abundance.

  The main course consisted of the following choice:

  Golden vale sirloin

  Wild Atlantic salmon

  The Ranch stew de Magnifique

  For a touch of variety most diners opted for the stew de Magnifique—the last mortal remains of Bert. The new chef had done a marvellous job. The black plastic bags had been removed from the freezer and deposited into a large cauldron.

  At first the chef didn’t like the odour, but he soon disguised this little problem by using a whole range of spices and herbs. He mixed in a multitude of seasonal vegetables. He then added ginger, salt, peppers, chilli, garlic and curry, so that the finished product, as it bubbled away, gave off an irresistible aroma. In fact, everyone agreed that the stew was truly magnificent. Bert, himself, would have been proud of it.

  Madge attended this gala evening, as she did any event of consequence being launched in the area. She had moved down to Cahir at this stage. As she chewed away on a part of Bert’s upper thigh she remarked to her current buxom partner that the meat was very succulent. There may not have been much intimacy in Madge and Bert’s marriage, but at that particular moment of time could any two people be closer?

  Wasteland

  The sun now it shines on the green fields of France,

  There’s a warm summer breeze that makes the red poppies dance,