David Wishart - Food for the Fishes

‘Uh-uh. Make it a cup. I’ll have to be getting back soon.’ If I came rolling in at one in the morning tripping over the furniture there’d be Looks from Mother at breakfast. Perilla wouldn’t be too happy, either. ‘What’s this business about a hotel?’

‘Murena’s bought the old Juventius estate between here and town. That’s where Trebbio has his cottage. Guy’s planning to build a hotel, a big one, for the top end of the market, and Trebbio got the boot this morning. He isn’t too pleased about it.’

Yeah, that was putting it mildly; I’d go for homicidal myself. While Zethus went to fetch my wine I sat back and finished what was left in the cup. A hotel, eh? Unusual.You got the things, sure: there was a big one in Ostia, not that long built, and as a location Baiae made even more sense in a way, but something targeting the luxury end of the temporary accommodation market wasn’t all that common. Or a very safe bet, either. Boarding houses and inns, right, there’ve always been boarding houses and inns, especially in places that have a big shifting population or a regular through trade. Rome and Ostia are full of them, and so is every other city in the empire. Flats and houses for short-term let aren’t rare, either: there’re plenty of entrepreneurs around who’ll buy property they don’t intend to use themselves and offer it for rent by the month or even less. Really top-notch, purpose-built temporary accommodation, though, is another matter. The people it’s aimed at and could afford the prices just don’t need it, on the whole, because when they travel, for business or pleasure, they make an arrangement with friends, or more usually friends-of-friends. Like we’d done: Mother’s society pal Lucia Domitilla and her husband were currently in Pergamum, and their Baian villa had been standing empty. You need a house, we’ve got a house; no problem, deal made. The next time it’s the other way round, and if the second party can’t help direct they probably know someone who can. On the other hand, given the choice between sweating it out in Rome for the summer and staying in rented rooms, in Baiae or anywhere else, Mother would’ve taken the heat every time. And the same would go for most of the other people of her class. Actually renting a room — or even a house — is something that anyone with any social pretentions just doesn’t do, unless for some reason they’re really desperate. Especially in Baiae, where the villa prices and the lifted noses keep the riff-raff out.

Still, this Murena wasn’t totally out of his tree. The scheme would need serious investment, sure, and it might be risky as hell, but if it worked he’d be sitting on a gold-mine. Mother’s class wasn’t the only money around these days. There were a lot of very rich plain-mantles — and some even richer freedmen — in Rome who’d give their eye-teeth to be able to tell their friends they were off down to Baiae for the summer.

Zethus came back with a jug and filled the empty cup.

‘So how long has this Murena been here, then?’ I said. ‘If his grandfather laid down the original ponds the family must be almost local.’

‘Search me. Longer than I have, though, and I’ve been here eighteen years.’

‘He come back and forward from Rome, or is he here full-time?’

‘Oh, he’s a permanent fixture. Goes up to Rome on business now and again as far as I know, but that’s all. You don’t know him?’

‘Uh-uh. Not at all. He a bastard, like Trebbio said?’

Zethus grinned. ‘Close enough, by repute. Tight-fisted, mind of his own and a nasty temper if he’s crossed, so they say. All the same, I’ve never met him myself, and Trebbio has his own axe to grind.’ He raised a delicately-shaved eyebrow. ‘You have a reason for asking?’

‘Uh-uh. Just curiosity.’

‘So ask about his wife, Corvinus.’ Alcis had been listening in. Now he half turned in our direction. A few of the other punters sniggered and one gave a soft wolf-whistle into his winecup. ‘There’s a lady to be very curious about.’

‘That so, friend?’ I said easily. Alcis was one of the drawbacks to Zethus’s. The guy put my back up in spades.

‘Murena’s pushing seventy, his wife’s a little stunner half his age. Knows what she’s about, too.’ Alcis took a swallow of his wine and smacked his lips. ‘I reckon you could be in there if you played your cards right, a rich young purple-striper like you.’

‘Cut it out, Alcis,’ Zethus murmured.

The guy smiled at him, showing far too many teeth. ‘Yeah, well, it’s a subject that wouldn’t interest you, isn’t it, Zethus?’ he said. ‘Not quite up your street, as it were.’ He turned back to me. ‘Mind you, you’d have to watch for that tame doctor of hers. Doctors can be nasty, and by all accounts this one’s definitely got his feet under the table.’

‘She’s ill?’

‘Oh, no.’ He chuckled. ‘She isn’t, although she might be sickening for something. The doctor’s for hubby. Practically full-time, they say. Back and forward to the villa like nobody’s business, although the old man looks healthy enough. Nice work if you can get it, eh?’

‘Yeah.’ Well, I’d had about enough of Toothy Alcis for one evening, and a cup of wine lost was a small price to pay for dispensing with the bugger’s company. I stood up, took a single swallow, set the cup down and pulled a reasonable amount of coins out of my belt-purse to cover things. ‘Okay, gentlemen, that’s about me for the night. Enjoy yourselves.’

‘You just remember who it was put you on to her,’ Alcis shouted at my back.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll do that.’

. .

I went down onto the beach. The villa we were staying at was about a mile away on the other side of town, and walking there directly, cutting up to the main road before the first of the townside villas then through the town itself, was the quickest route. Also the pleasantest. It was a beautiful evening for walking. The moon was up and shining over the sea, round and bright as a gold piece, and the water was lapping gently against the pebbles at the edge…

Only there was something else on the beach besides pebbles, something that hadn’t been there earlier. An irregularly-shaped dark hump, about the size of a body. The hairs rose on my neck.

I went closer. Body was right: I could see the head and limbs clear now in the moonlight. It wasn’t moving, either. Oh, shit!

I’d got within five yards when the corpse suddenly turned over on its back and gave an almighty snore. Trebbio, flat out and pissed to the gills. I relaxed.

‘You okay, pal?’ I said.

No answer, just another snore and a belch. Out for chips. Well, lines or not, full moon or not, I couldn’t see Endymion here shifting himself this side of sunrise. I looked back at the wineshop, no more than a hundred yards away. Yeah, I could let Zethus know, which might be a good idea, but that would mean letting Alcis and the rest know as well, and with those buggers’ robust sense of humour that was not something I wanted to do, because six got you ten it’d only lead to trouble. It was a warm night, the guy seemed happy enough where he was, so far as drunk and incapable can be counted happy, and if he wanted to sleep on the beach and wake up in the morning with multiple pebble bruises added to his hangover then it was no business of mine.

Forget it, Corvinus. I left him to his dreams and set off home.

Mistake.

Me, I’m an early riser by nature, at least when I haven’t been out on a binge. My wife Perilla’s different, and as for Mother dawn’s something she might just know about in theory but as far as first-hand experience goes you can forget it. Add to that that in pleasure-loving Baiae Rome’s holidaymaking creme de la creme are snoring in their socks until the crack of noon and you’ll understand that breakfast tends to happen pretty late.