A small restaurant in the Hotel de Vice is where the scene I now describe takes place. It was past midnight and the restaurant had long closed for dinner. The lights had been lowered. The waiting staff had all gone home. Only the Maitre’d remained behind. Three men were still seated at a table, laughing boorishly. Empty glasses and bottles filled the area and the one in the middle was opening another bottle of the Walden’s Eighty Five. He was a dark-haired fellow with an angular face. He laughed and smiled with his companions without any real joviality about him. He was a cold soul, marked by the way he gritted his teeth as he pulled the cork from the bottle.
“She left in shame,” he was guffawing with his companions. “A tired old maid like that ought to think herself lucky. She wouldn’t have feigned shame so much if she hadn’t enjoyed herself.”
This caused the boorish laughter to erupt again.
“You’re awful, Nolan,” said one – Albert Chamberlain – who was greying before his time.
“Awful? Don’t talk to me about awful. When we broke in there, she practically threw herself at me.”
“She wanted to save her charges,” said the other. He was sounding sluggish, leaning forward, barely able to keep his eyes open. The Maitre’d hoped they would pass out or the story would urge the group to move on.
Nolan slapped the drunkard on the back. He looked like he was going to vomit. Nolan passed him another drink.
Looking across the hall he called, “you there! Any chance of supper up here, old boy? My companions and I worked up quite an appetite.”
“The kitchen is closed, milord,” the Maitre’d replied. “It has been for some time.”
Nolan slammed the bottle down on the table. “What kind of place is this?” he groaned. He knocked some of the glasses over. “Clear some of these, will you?” he snapped. He managed to find his humour again when he returned to his companions. “She didn’t want to protect her charges. She just wanted all the fun for herself.”
Earlier that evening, Nolan and his company had broken into a hostel nearby. It was home to the devoted sisters of the Albans Order. Nolan had gotten it into his head that he really wanted to fuck a nun. The Mother had tried to fend them off on behalf of the novices. She gave herself to Nolan so the others may remain unharmed.
“She was a feisty one too,” Nolan commented. “She spread her legs and she prayed.”
“They’ll banish her from the order,” said Chamberlain.
This amused Nolan all over again. “I hope they do. What use is an old slut like that to them now anyway?”
The Maitre’d was struggling, listening to their nonsense. Luckily it was all interrupted by the ring of the telephone.
“A call for you Lord Cibe,” he beckoned Nolan. “It’s your brother.”
Nolan rolled his eyes. “Trust him to track me down.”
He stumbled across the hall, took the receiver and clasped it to his ear.
“Yes, Malcolm?” he asked. “I’m in the middle of something of a celebration. I won a bet this evening. What can I do you for?”
The brother’s voice on the other end sounded far and hoarse.
“Get out of there right now. I heard what you did. The whole God damn town is talking about it.”
Nolan tried to play innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“They’re going to hang that nun for breaking her oaths,” said the brother. Nolan couldn’t care less about that revelation. “You’re on Penn land. Get out of there now!” he was warned.
Nolan knew full well he was on Penn land. The alcohol had dulled his consideration of the consequences. His brother’s reminder sobered him. Malcolm didn’t say much more. He rang off leaving his brother to make a departure from the hotel.
Before they could make their leave, another group entered the restaurant. Chamberlain recognised one of them as Claude Emmerson, the grandson of the Comte du Maurier and the son of Renaud Penn, Reginald. Reginald stopped to shake the hand of the Maitre’d. They shared some words; all the while Emmerson kept his focus on Nolan Cibe. The three remained seated as Reginald crossed the hall to them with his Loyal close. Chamberlain attempted to leave his seat. Emmerson gripped his shoulder and sat him back down. Reginald snatched Nolan by the hair and slammed his face onto the table. Albert Chamberlain tried to stand. Emmerson kept him seated. With his free hand Reginald picked up a bottle, smashed it on the table, holding it towards the others with a snarl.
“Reginald. Leave him be,” he was instructed by his father who had just arrived on scene with Eric du Maurier by his side.
Nolan spat a breath across the table, scattering some of the shards of broken glass. Reginald loosened his grip. He stepped into the shadow his father had cast. Renaud raised his right hand, which was wrapped in a great thick chain. He reached over and clasped Nolan’s chin with the left, looking into his eyes. He shook his head and released his grip again.
WHACK! WHACK!
Renaud brought the chain down on Nolan’s skull twice, causing his body to fall forward.
WHACK! WHACK!
Twice more and Nolan gave an audible sob, choked by the blood that ran down his face.
WHACK!
The strongest hit yet caused the sphenoid bone to crack. A final whack smashed the eye socket.
Renaud took a breath and stepped back. Eric passed a napkin to him to wipe some of the blood and skull matter from the chains. Renaud dropped the sodden handkerchief in front of Albert Chamberlain. The drunkard, although quickly sobering, had fallen into a daze, swaying in his chair with tears in his eyes.
“He didn’t have to die,” he whimpered.
“No,” said Renaud. “He did not. A perfectly innocent woman didn’t need to be violated either. It means death for her so it’s only right it meant death for him too.”
Chamberlain tried to stop himself looking at Nolan. He wasn’t quite dead yet. His lips were parting slowly as he continued to gasp his last.
“You are going to take your friend’s body from here. You will clean any mess or damage you have caused. You’ll pay the Maitre’d Hotel handsomely for having to put up with your coarse behaviour as long as he did. More importantly you will never show your face around here again. If you do you will not find me as courteous as I am now.”
Renaud and most of the Loyal departed. Reginald, Emmerson and some of the others remained behind to see that the task was carried out.
Reginald indicated the tablecloth.
“You’ll replace that too. It’s a fine cloth and those stains don’t come out.”
Chamberlain and the drunkard were both shaken.
“Cunts,” muttered Reginald under his breath.
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