Performing

Part 7

Gary followed, not entirely sure why but he was curious. Emboldened by the alcohol in his system he consciously pulled his shoulders back a little. Realising, at this point, when he went to ask about whether he was suitably attired, that he didn’t know the name of his well-dressed acquaintance.

“You needn’t worry.” There was that crisp enunciation, thought Gary, still following slightly behind. “Everyone will be so pleased just to see you there.” That played briefly on Gary’s mind. Are they making a fool out of him? Is he a joke? Who is ‘everyone’ and why should they be bloody pleased to see him? Again his face betrayed him. “I’m quite serious.” The man’s voice had changed in pitch, lower. And his eyes fixed Gary’s as he stopped in the hallway, fixing him with an arm on the shoulder. “You just… you did so well. You were far better than we thought and this is just our way of saying… Well, of saying thank you.” Well, that answered nothing…

They passed through a double door into one of the function suites. Eight large circular tables, each one seating about 10/12 people. Discarded plates bore the remnants of a silver service dinner. Gary’s head reeled slightly. Old. They were mainly older, above 50, by a quick glance, and they were all in professional looking black suits with the same type of deep red tie. The women were in black dresses too. Everything was very uniform, indeed they looked like they were in some kind of uniform. Masons, thought Gary. One of the older lads at work was one. Maybe he’s got in and this has been like a test?

It was a moment before Gary realised that everyone had been listening to someone up on a stage at the front of the room. Some old fella giving a PowerPoint presentation with pie charts and the lot. His entry at the back had distracted a few people and they looked quizzically before whispering to each other.

Gary’s guide (he could think of no better term) led him over to a seat toward the back of the room, set off to the left.

“You can stay on my table, it’d be an honour.” Yeah, thought Gary, masons. This is a lodge of some description. They’re all old farts in the masons, surely? Just the occasional youngster, like the two he’d met in the spa.

The speaker was coming to an end. Something about increased stock and membership and such-like, there were graphs presented onto a screen behind him, they were showing a decrease in something. Gary was too busy looking around at people, noticing them as they noticed him. His appearance had rippled across the room.

The guide had sat to Gary’s left, on his right a woman, turned to face him. She smiled, maternal sympathy in her face, enhanced by her years.  Thin lipstick and pencil eyebrows stopped just short of clownish. “So glad you’re here, you’ve done so well.” Her hand went to his knee. Gary muttered thanks and looked to his knee.  She withdrew the hand, but only after a soft squeeze and motioned to the plate in front of her. “Oh. Oh I’m sorry, we’ve eaten already. Have you had any?” She seemed genuinely concerned.

“I’ve eaten.” Gary lied, looking at the watery red pool in the middle of the plate, crescented by a sliver of fat. It didn’t make him feel any easier. He swallowed dry. Thirsty now.

“Never mind. Ooh, here it is!” She gestured to the stage, the previous speaker had left to be replaced by the other of Gary’s spa acquaintances. He was talking about the same things as the last guy, deals and securities or something. Boring, meaningless. Glancing to his left he caught his guide with a sympathetic smile. Gary sat up and took a breath, “Look, can we have a word?” He breathed. “I don’t mind joining this… thing but I need to know about more work, like on a reg…” He was being laughed at, this bloke was laughing at him. Not openly but enough to stop Gary short. He was getting angry now, alcohol with a pinch of confusion was going to tip him over. “Listen…” he didn’t get any further. The guide had put both hands up in mock surrender, his eyes motioned forward to the stage, there were people looking at him.

The speaker had paused. He clasped his hands and leaned forward. “Well, without further, interruptions.” He stepped away to the side of the stage and the screen flickered into life. The lights dimmed slightly and Gary craned to see what was on it.  Silence settled on the function room, all eyes were on the screen.

It was a high angle shot of a room, from up in corner. It took a second but Gary recognised it. Room 161. And in the next second he saw it all; the dresser, with gleaming tools arranged in perfect order; the plastic sheeting covering the floor and pushed up to the skirting board; the buckets, tubs and aprons neatly arranged in the corner; the bed, stripped and covered with a wooden board; the two acquaintances, bag of cash in hand; and the woman: pale, naked and sexless, lay on the bed.

Gary stood up, his mouth ajar. He was in trouble. Prison trouble. He watched himself entering the room.

The woman sat to his right reached for his hand as he twitched away. He watched himself putting the apron on, scrubbing his hands.

Why are they watching? Gary tried to mouth the words, to ask. Panic scrambled in his throat. He moved, stumbling, to the centre of the room. Glancing between the screen and the silent audience. He wanted to tell them to stop but they were all watching, they were happy, smiling. They were proud? Faces turned to him as he walked, nodding and offering congratulations. One elderly man grabbed at Gary’s wrist, pulling him close for an excited whisper, “Very good, just what we needed.” Didn’t he know what was happening? Didn’t they understand, any of them?

The video was edited down. Hours condensed into two short minutes. Two minutes Gary spent trying to convince people to turn it off, but all he got was admiration. Dizzy and drunk he needed to get out. The video was ending and he had to go, he started to move clumsily. But the route was blocked, people were standing and walking toward him, patting him on the shoulder and offering claustrophobic platitudes.

Bustling through he found his guide, arms outstretched, that same irritating look of sympathy on his face. “It’s okay, you’re safe here. We’re friends. We want you to come in. We do.” Calming, not pleading, gentle. Gary stopped, but his eyes were still manic. “Come on, sit down. We’ll get you something to eat, we can talk about things.” Gary turned to go back to his seat, he couldn’t see as he had much choice. He couldn’t go to the police, as far as he could tell he’s the one in the wrong. Sitting and listening was the best option, for now.

The room had returned to something approaching normal. People back in their seats, the hubbub of noise slowly dying. He sat, alone with his thoughts for a moment. The guide interrupted, “Look, I know it’s a bit of a shock but just relax. We’ve got something to change your mind. You won’t want to leave after you’ve seen this.” Gary’s frown relaxed slightly. They had money. He could do it every now and again if they had money. He’d not want it filmed though. That wasn’t in the deal.

The lights dimmed and the screen flickered. It was another room, a different one but viewed from a similar high angle. There was equipment lay out, sheeting and a bed transformed into an altar - all similar. There was no one in the room though. Gary looked to the guide puzzled and back at the screen. Seconds passed and around the room the faces looked on expectantly. Sick, they must be some kind of sick bastards. A sharp intake of breath caused Gary to look back at the screen. A man had walked in, swagger and confidence, shirt undone halfway His arm outstretched gently pulling a woman behind him. It was Karen. She was clearly drunk and laughing, until she saw the knives.