Not Long Now

PATRICK WALKED AT a gentle pace, there was no rush. He knew he was lying to himself. He lengthened his stride. He was on a footpath between paddy fields. Most of his neighbours grew rice. A few enjoyed the peace of countryside living without the need to work. Others, like Patrick, worked online and braved the twenty-minute run into Bangkok when needed.

Patrick and his wife had differing dreams. He loved quiet, and she loved city lights. To live in the fields is considered a backward step for a Bangkok bar girl like Nong Moo. Moo lived the good life her husband supplied. But would prefer to show off her married life to her buddies. Patrick was not wealthy in the Western sense, but was comfortable “out east”.

Patrick strolled up to Keaw’s home. Kaew, Moo’s old friend from an earlier life in the bright lights of the city’s nightlife, Kaew had retired to care for her aged folks. He rang her mobile number, as he watched her front window.

‘Hello, can I speak to Moo please?’

‘Um, sorry no.’

‘Oh, why is that?’

‘She is not here.’

‘Where is she? She told me she would visit you.’

‘She, er, drove up to Bangkok, to er, help one of her old workmates, a lass who has fallen on bad times.’

‘Thank you, bye.’

Patrick tapped the nearly new pick-up’s wing panel. The car he bought for Moo’s birthday. He didn’t ball out Keaw for lying, he expected it. He turned and strolled towards the town’s high street.

The bag he was carrying was not too heavy, but he needed to switch hands as the handle was digging into his palm.

He stopped at a street corner restaurant and ordered his favourite dish.

‘Alone tonight?’ asked the server. His boss glared at him, which caused Patrick’s eyebrows to rise.

‘Can I have a large Leo, please?’ asked Patrick.

‘Don’t worry about him,’ said the owner, nodding towards the young lad.

‘No problem. Have you seen my wife?’

‘No.’ He answered as he rushed off.

Patrick knew better. He tapped his bag wedged between his legs.

He tried calling Moo, again it was that damn recorded message. “Sorry darlings, Moo is otherwise detained.” In English and something similar in Thai, Christ he hated it.

He paid his bill and walked the short distance to Roger’s place.

Soon, his mate’s modern, concrete and brick mansion burst from the trees and shrubbery, and it appeared to swamp any passing traffic lights. It didn’t fit its surroundings, but Roger designed it. And Roger loved it.

A lamp was on in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Early for Roger to be asleep.

Months ago, Patrick and Roger had swapped front door keys to check on their places if they were ever away. Patrick used his spare key crept through the front door, and listened. All quiet. He trod stair after stair wary of any sound, there wasn’t any. ‘Who needs carpets on their stairs in Thailand?’ Patrick asked himself and grinned.

He listened at the master bedroom door. Nothing. His eyes and ears double-checked the decorative woodwork before silently easing it back, he peered in. The bedside lamp illuminated enough to see Moo’s mini skirt discarded at the foot of the bed, her blouse draped over the end of the duvet dumped on the floor. Lacy bra and knickers teased the viewer, in an unplanned show of empty sexy underwear.

‘Where are Roger’s clothes, don’t tell me he hung them up?’ thought Patrick. ‘Typical of him.’

Patrick stood at the foot of the bed, he listened to the soft breath of his wife and the gruff heavier breath of his best friend, Roger. He slowly and silently opened his bag. Inside were bottles of Adiglue. He read the label again: “Adiglue outperforms other products and is stronger than super glue because Adiglue is almost 100% pure cyanoacrylate. To make other products cheaper to manufacture, most are filled with solvents. This results in these other products drying extremely quickly but leaving a weak brittle bond”.

‘I need a quick and solid bond, please.’ He grinned at the label once more.

He knew that copy by heart, he had written the text for his freelance job last month. He was gifted with a box full of bottles. The customer was pleased with his script. They had paid in full and sent the gift. Which made Patrick start thinking about their use.

Patrick sat at the foot of the bed and snipped open the spout on each bottle. Then, with one in each hand, he edged to the side of the bed. Moo’s foot was draped across Roger’s calf. ‘A great place to start,’ Patrick whispered.

He gently squeezed the plastic container between her toes and his muscles. He smiled, carrying on upwards towards the inner of her thigh and the front of his mate’s leg. Standing back and admiring his handiwork. He fetched two more bottles.

The side of Moo’s stomach was next glued, this time to Philip’s ribbed stomach above his belly button. Philip’s chin moved as he breathed harder. Patrick jumped forward and splashed the sticky liquid on his wife’s cheek joining it to Philip’s chin. The pair attempted to move, and two pairs of eyes opened as if linked. ‘They will be soon enough,’ said Patrick as he smiled at the thought.

If eyes could only question? Moo and Philip’s mouths could not. Both were fixed in place as Patrick completed his work. The pair attempted and failed to free themselves, making Patrick chuckle.

‘I won’t glue your eyelids as I hope you’ll watch what happens next.’ He waved to check if they were watching. He ran out of the room dashed to the dining room and grabbed a tax-free bottle of Scotch from Philip’s last overseas trip. He ran back to the bedroom.

Unsurprisingly the couple were still arm in arm, amongst other bits fixed in place.

Moo’s eyes were clamped shut, Patrick poked her, checking he had not splashed the glue where it wasn’t wanted. He gained her full attention.

Patrick loosened the booze bottle top and placed it next to the lamp. He swigged the whisky, and offered the bottle to his friend, laughing he grabbed it back and gulped some more. Next, he filled Moo’s and Philip’s nostrils with glue and squeezed them shut. The couple made some weird sounds more suited to the farmyard than the bedroom. His job was near completion, he lathered the neck of the bottle and forced it into his mouth, his right hand stuck fast to the glass as if in a boozy salute. Lastly, he filled his nostrils shut with Adiglue’s product and lay curled on the floor, bottle up, facing the bed.

The next morning, Philip’s maid turned up and discovered the three bodies. She summoned the police.

Shortly after, a note was found in Patrick’s shirt pocket by a detective, who had been called to the scene by the puzzled officers.

“Sherlock Holmes and Watson could work out why and who did this. Can you?”

‘Who here can read English? What the hell does that mean?’

The END