Lost Bones, a short story

The undulating beat of the music seemed to evaporate, replaced by a cacophony of voices. I watched as the waitstaff deftly maneuvered through the tables. My neighbors were too engrossed in their conversations to notice the man sitting alone in the corner.  And that was fine with me. I liked my anonymity. It allowed me to watch.  

A stylish couple brushed by my table on their way into the dining room. The woman wore a billowing gown. The silk fluttered open as she passed, exposing a nasty bruise on her forearm. I looked up to study her more closely. She was pretty, in a manicured way-—her heart-shaped face was poreless like a statue. But her lips were the most striking feature. Painted a bright coral red, they made you want to watch them. 

As they passed, I motioned for Carlos, the head waiter, to come over. 

 “Yes, Senhor Harry, how may I be of service.” 

“Who was the couple that just passed?”

I never inquired about other guests, but if Carlos was surprised by my question, he didn’t let on. “Ah yes, Senhor Monda and Senhorita Estrella.”

“I’ve heard that name before.”

“Senhor Monda’s family owns Banco Barisi. He’s not involved with the business, of course. I think he’s a race car driver. Senhorita Estrella is an actress. Maybe you have seen her on TV?”

“No, but I am not surprised. Thank you, Carlos.”

Carlos shrugged obligingly and hurried on to the next table, where a group of tourists argued loudly over yesterday’s game. I turned away, uninterested in the motley crue. Carina, my favorite server, stopped to greet me. 

“Long time, no see, Senhor Harry. How was your trip?” 

I tried to smile. My disastrous trip wasn’t her fault. “Long.” 

Sensing my melancholy mood, Carina kissed my cheek and hurried away. I looked down at the menu to distract myself. I knew it like an old friend but forced myself to reread the dishes:  fried calamari, sauteed octopus, razor clam risotto, roasted sea bass—a litany of fresh seafood. But tonight, I was in the mood for red meat. 

Carlos returned carrying a glass of wine and a basket of freshly baked bread. 

“I’ll have the pork,” I told him.

“Excellent.” 

I tried to focus on the view. The sun had set, but pink and gold light still highlighted the languid waves lapping against the sand. I watched as little birds scurried before the approaching water, seeking their dinner, their little heads bobbing up and down in the surf. 

Dan-tada, Dan-tada!

A man at a nearby table fumbled to get his phone. His companion looked on bitterly.

“It’s my job, Manuela. I can’t ignore them. It could be an emergency.” 

“And is it?” the woman cut in.

“No,” the man sheepishly admitted. “But we are short-staffed at the hospital right now.” 

The woman just shrugged and turned away to face the sea. 

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned away from the scene to find Giorgio, the restaurant’s owner. He was a charming man of indeterminate age who always smiled. 

“How are you tonight, Senhor Harry? Is everything to your satisfaction?” 

“Excellent, as always.”

Giorgio smiled even wider. “You are too kind. Now tell me, how was your trip?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Fine. What did I miss while I was away? Any juicy gossip?” 

Thrilled at the opportunity to share in his favorite pastime, Giorgio ignored my terseness. “Well, I hear that old man Masters is selling his estate. A private equity fund wants to build a five-star hotel there.”

“What do the neighbors say?” 

The Masters’ estate was at the tip of the island, on Praia Verde beach. It had breathtaking views over the cerium-blue water. Only the truly wealthy could afford to live there. 

Giorgio laughed. “Senhor Monda is not pleased with the idea of tourists traipsing all over ‘his beach.’ He’s threatening to sue.” 

“Isn’t he the man here tonight with the lovely actress?”

“You saw them? Senhorita Estrella is his latest paramour.”

“Paramour? Isn’t that a bit of an antiquated expression? She’s his girlfriend.”

“No, that honor is held by Senhorita Mello. You know her, the daughter of Minister Mello. She’s always in the social columns.” 

We were interrupted by the sound of plates breaking. Giorgio looked in the direction of the kitchen. “I have gossiped enough. If you will excuse me, my friend, I must check in on the chef.” 

After Giorgio departed, I peered inside the dining room. Senhor Monda and his “friend” were sitting in the corner—the prime table. He stroked her shoulder, but his eyes were on a table of men in suits. One of the men at the table noticed him staring. The man whispered something to his companions before raising a hand as if he were about to wave to Monda. But midway up, his fingers contracted, giving Monda the bird. Monda recoiled. He threw his napkin on the table and started to get up, but Senhorita Estrella placed a hand on his arm and sat back down.

Carlos approached the table. Discreetly, he leaned forward to speak with the couple. His hushed tones inaudible to me. Monda belligerently replied in a voice that, while not a shout, was well above the volume of polite conversation.

 “Of course you don’t. This place has really gone downhill,”

Carlos ignored the man’s tirade, “Perhaps the sea bass instead? It was just brought in.”

Monda pouted for a moment before acquiescing with a nod. 

The restaurant was oddly quiet. I realized I wasn’t the only one watching. Even the boisterous tourists had been following the heated exchange. Caught eavesdropping, everyone suddenly looked down at their plates. The atmosphere was decidedly off. Even the little birds seemed to notice the difference because they deserted the surf. 

Thankfully, my dinner arrived. Carina laid the plate before me. “Bom appetite.” 

I savored the first bite, letting juice roll over my lips. Reaching down to get my napkin, I accidentally touched the pocket. I quickly pulled my hand away. I took an uncivilized gulp from my wine glass. 

Carlos returned. “Can I get you more wine, Senhor Harry?”

“That’s a good idea.” 

I watched as Carlos retraced his steps, smoothly dodging the outstretched arm of one of the boisterous tourists to arrive unscathed at the bar. Giorgio was waiting there. He whispered something in Carlos’ ear. Carlos flinched and fled the terrace. 

He returned moments later with Carina, carrying plates of fresh fish bathed in olive oil. I watched them cross the dining room. When they reached the corner table, Carina began to lay her dish down. Monda’s hand shot out, blocking her. “This isn’t what we ordered!” 

Carlos stepped in front of Carina. “What isn’t to your liking, Senhor? I believe you agreed on the seabass.” 

“I ordered the fish in a butter broth, not this oily mess! Take it back.”

“You can leave my plate here. I’m hungry,” Senhorita Estrella said, nodding to the space before her.  

As Carlos laid the plate down, Monda slammed his fist onto the table, shaking the glasses. “Enough! I said take it back!”

“Come on, Nicky, let it go,” Senhorita Estrella whined, picking up her fork to eat. 

Monda grabbed her hand forcefully, wrenching it away, and she cried out in pain. Everyone in the restaurant turned to watch. 

Monda realized they were being watched. He dropped Senhorita Estrella’s wrist. “We’re leaving. This place is making me sick.” 

Giorgio practically ran over to the table. “Is something wrong, Senhor?”

“Yes, This place is not for refined people.” Monda stared directly at the table of suits. “I’m going to tell my friend at the Journal da Republica.”

Giorgio gasped. A splotchy parlor replaced his tan complexion. “I’m sure we can do something to rectify the situation,” he croaked. 

Monda looked pleased by the man’s distress. 

Carlos nudged Giorgio away. “I’ll take care of things, Sir. Go and sit down for a minute.” Then, turning to the couple, “I’m sorry that dinner has not satisfied you. Perhaps we can do something to improve your experience? We have a rare bottle of 1945 Nieport—an exceptional vintage. Would you like a glass?”

“Bring the bottle, I feel thirsty,” Monda smugly answered. 

Carlos nodded stiffly and left the table. He looked down as he walked away, trying to hide his face from the other patrons. 

I stood up from my table. Without drawing attention to myself, I skirted the edge of the terrace towards the bar. Carlos leaned in against it, his fists resting on the polished surface. “Merda! I hate that guy,” he mumbled.

“Someday, he’ll get what he deserves,” I told him.

“I couldn’t agree more,” added the bartender as he laid a glass on the bar. “Carlos, can you grab the port for me? I have a couple of drink orders to fill.” 

The better wine and spirits were kept in a case at the back of the restaurant. At over 3,000 Euros a bottle, the Nieport was liquid gold. 

As Carlos went to retrieve the port, I lingered. No one in the restaurant paid attention to me; it was as if I were a ghost. 

A moment later, he returned, carrying the precious cargo. “Now, I have to go and kiss up to the prick,” he lamented.

I laughed. “Imagine that you are choking him.”

Carlos grinned mischievously. “Thanks, Harry.”

I watched him walk into the dining room, his usually steady, fluid stride a little too stiff and slow. At the table, he laid the glass down in front of Monda. Senhorita Estrella smiled apologetically. This  enraged Monda. He grabbed the bottle from Carlos, ripped open the seal, and poured himself a generous glassful. Gleefully, he swigged it in one giant gulp. 

Senhorita Estrella rolled her eyes in disgust. “You are such a child, Nicky.”

Senhor Monda laid down the glass and turned to say something to her but stopped. Instead, he reached for his water glass, knocking it over and shooting water across the table. 

“See,” Senhorita Estrella started to admonish him. But she stopped as Monda slumped forward in his chair, his head rolling side to side. “Help! Something’s wrong!” She cried out.

The man with the annoying ringtone bolted towards the dining room, calling out,  “I’m a doctor.” Stepping around Senhorita Estrella, the man searched for a pulse before laying Monda down across the table to begin administering CPR. 

Everyone stared morbidly. It was like a TV show, absent the unnaturally attractive cast. After about ten minutes, the doctor stopped and looked at his watch. 

“No, no, no!” screamed Senhorita Estrella. “Do something!”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor told her.

Senhorita Estrella fell to the floor. Carina raced over to help her into a chair. Regaining his composure, Carlos told everyone to go back to their seats. 

Sirens began to blare in the distance. Two police cars and an ambulance sped into the parking lot, sending gravel flying onto the patio. Two medics hurried into the restaurant with their gear. But after a short exchange with the doctor, they laid down their bags. T

he police, who had been waiting at the patio’s edge, entered the restaurant. One officer approached Senhorita Estrella. “You were here tonight with Senhor Monda?”

The curated beauty from earlier was gone, replaced by a trembling waif.  “Yes, Nicky and I were celebrating my latest role.”  She started to cry.  “We were arguing. Do you think that caused him to…” 

“I sincerely doubt that your argument caused his death.” The officer turned to address the whole restaurant.  “We understand it has been a traumatic evening, and you probably want to go home. However, we must speak with each of you separately about what happened here tonight.”

 One by one,  each guest made the journey to the parking lot, where the police had set up a makeshift office. 

When it was my turn, I stumbled, and everyone stared at me, which was like parading naked for a person accustomed to being unnoticed. The officer motioned for me to sit. 

 “Please state your name for the record?”

“Harry Mercedes.”

“Like the automobile?” 

I hated it when people said that! It was so banal. “Yes.” 

I understand that you’re a regular here?”

“Yes, good food, good service, and until tonight, a good view.”

The officer stopped as if he was sizing me up. “Did you know Senhor Monda?”

“No, I never met him.”

“But you knew who he was?”

“I had heard the name but prefer novels to newspapers.”

He looked unimpressed. “Where were you seated?”

“On the terrace, by the entrance. It’s my usual table.”

He nodded. “Could you see the dining room from your seat?”

“Yes.”

“Did Senhor Monda look distressed or unwell?”

“Not particularly. But he seemed a little annoyed with the table of suits.”

The officer raised an eyebrow.

“One of the men gave him the bird. I thought Monda might go to their table and confront the guy, but Senhorita Estrella held him back.”

“Did you see the argument between Senhor Monda and the head waiter?” 

“Yes. The arrogant prick was quite rude. But Carlos handled him with grace. He didn’t even raise his voice.”

“You are friends with Senhor Carlos?” 

“I’m a regular. I know all of the staff. We’re friendly, but I wouldn’t call us friends.”

“OK, what about the owner? Several guests said you had a private conversation with him. Is he your friend?”

“Giorgio was just sharing the latest gossip. I’ve been away for a few weeks.”

“Why were you away?”

“I had business in the north.”

He waited for me to offer more information, but I kept silent. 

“Did you see Senhor Monda collapse?”

“Yes, it was quite dramatic.”

“Did you notice anything beforehand?”

“He was drinking that expensive port like it was water.”

The officer paused again for a moment. I wondered if my comment had been too harsh.

“Did it bother you that Senhor Monda was… how did you say ... an arrogant prick?”

“Yes, I enjoy my evenings here. It’s annoying when someone ruins a good thing.”

“The bartender said you came to the bar before Senhor Monda collapsed. Why did you do that?”

“I wanted to commiserate with Carlos. Monda had been rude. My mother taught me good manners.” 

“And you value good manners.”

It wasn’t a question, so I remained silent.

“When did you return to your seat?  Before or after Senhor Monda’s collapse?”

“Before.”

The officer pushed his tongue into one cheek. “Thank you, Senhor Mercedes. I have no further questions for you at this time. But leave your information with the deputy, just in case.”

I extended my hand, but the officer ignored the gesture. Clearly, he didn’t value good manners.

It was well past one when the police told us we could leave. I scooted over to the wall, where Carlos, Giorgio, and Carina were huddled together. None of them offered me a hint of a smile. 

“You guys should get some rest,” I told them. “Tomorrow, this place will be overrun. Morbid curiosity is an enormous draw.” 

Giorgio grunted. “Deus me livre! Just what we need.”

“It's OK, Giorgio; I’m sure one of the footballers will soon do something idiotic and grab all the attention,” Carlos tried to joke.

Giorgio gave the hint of a smile and clapped him on the shoulder. “Did the officers say when they would be finished in the dining room?”

“Not until the morning. Senhor Harry is right; we should head home to rest. We can clean up tomorrow.”

We said our goodbyes, and I headed out. Despite my tiredness, I moved briskly, reaching my front door in only a few minutes. Inside, I fumbled, looking for the switch. 

Finally, I reached the blasted thing, and light gleaned across the room, revealing Jasper loitering on top of the coffee table. He yawned. 

“How was your night, Jazz? Any dead bodies?” 

His feline eyes narrowed, and I laughed. Ignoring his disapproval, I entered the kitchen for a glass of water. When I returned, he jumped onto my lap expectantly. 

With one hand, I obligingly rubbed behind his ears. With the other, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the box. 

It was about the size of a nickel, with a tiny latch. I stared at it for a minute before slowly freeing the pieces. 

“What now?” 

Jasper ignored my question and kept on purring. “You’re no help,” I admonished him. But no one could help me now. 

“Terminal, at most, six months,” the doctors in the north had told me. They had suggested hospice. Regrettably, noble suffering wasn’t my style. I had another ending in mind. But now, my carefully crafted demise was spoiled. 

I would like to think I did it because of Monda’s threats to Giorgio or what he must have done to Senhorita Estrella, but it was really my pent-up anger at my fate. When I saw the glass, I just snapped. 

The police would figure this out. The autopsy would reveal the toxin in Monda’s drink, but by then, I would be gone. The smudge of poison left in the box would spirit me away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to go quickly. Perhaps I was into noble suffering after all.  

I raised my glass and looked at Jasper,  “hide the bones.”