Hostages for Life

The warm Roman air drifted through the open windows of the hotel restaurant as the city outside slowly settled into night. Alfred and Catherine sat across from one another, enjoying what seemed like another perfect evening in Rome. They had a marvelous dinner planned for 7:30 p.m., and Alfred decided to engage the young waiter, Louis, in conversation.

He asked, “What is your name?” The boy replied, “Signore, my name is Louis,” using the Italian word for “sir.”

Alfred asked, “What would you suggest for us to dine on tonight?”

Louis recommended, “Signore, the cook has just prepared the most beautiful roast beef. Perhaps it would please Signora as well.”

Alfred agreed, saying, “Yes, I think that sounds very pleasant.”

Louis offered, “I will bring you some sparkling water first. And then you may order a cocktail if you wish.”

As the drinks arrived, they quenched their thirst and took in the surroundings of the restaurant. Catherine couldn't help but notice the well-dressed locals. Roman men wore elegant dark suits, starched white collars, silk ties, and impeccable brown leather shoes. Their quiet confidence contrasted sharply with the casual tourists in khaki trousers and wind-blown hair. Two respectable Roman ladies entered the restaurant, their brocade silk jackets catching the soft golden light, their hair perfectly coiffed.

The roasted beef was served promptly, and they hungrily indulged in the delicious meal. Within twenty minutes, Louis returned with a tray of artichokes, a culinary delight they had never tasted before. Another twenty minutes later, Louis presented Italian roasted potatoes. Though they were already feeling full, the temptation of the flavorful potatoes was too much to resist. After finishing their meal, it was now 11:30 p.m. Alfred expressed his desire to visit the bar for a drink.

The bar was dimly lit, its polished wood counter reflecting the amber glow of the lamps.

Two well-dressed men had similar intentions and sat on either side of him.

Catherine, seizing an opportunity, excused herself, saying, “Would you excuse me? I do need to go to the restroom for a moment.”

She gave Alfred a quick kiss on the lips and made her way upstairs to the ladies' lounge.

Meanwhile, the two men engaged Alfred in a seemingly innocuous conversation.

“Signore, can we buy you a drink?”

“Will a double brandy be to your liking?”

Little did Alfred know that the casual conversation unfolding beside him was anything but friendly. As the bartender quickly brought the three double brandies to the bar, the man on the left of Alfred initiated a hasty conversation about the sights of Italy.

At that very moment, the man on the right discreetly opened a small vial and poured its contents into Alfred's drink. They all clinked their glasses together.

“Cheers!”

They downed their drinks in one swift motion. Within seconds, a strange bitterness burned in Alfred’s throat. The room seemed to tilt slightly as the noise of the bar blurred into a distant hum. His head dropped to the bar with a dull thud. The man on the right quietly left the bar.

The bartender inquired, “Signore, what happened?”

The man on the left nonchalantly replied, “Apparently, the man cannot hold his liquor.”

Then both men left the bar and disappeared into the bustling street.

Catherine descended the steps, surprised to find her husband in such a state.

She asked, “Alfred, are you tired?”

She nudged him and kissed the top of his head. Growing increasingly concerned by his lack of response, she tried to shake him gently.

“Alfred?”

She called out louder. Her nudge caused him to slump forward.

“Alfred!”

Panicking, she turned to the bartender and exclaimed,

“What is wrong? What happened here?”

The bartender responded,

“Apparently, he just cannot hold his liquor.” He cleared away the three glasses and placed them in soapy water to be washed. Then he summoned Louis.

“Help this gentleman up.”

As Louis attempted to lift Alfred, he realized that Alfred had become a lifeless weight.

Louis cried out, “Madonna Mia, he is dead!”

Catherine gasped. The bartender reassured her, “Only unconscious, Louis.”

However, Louis had become hysterical and rushed out shouting,

“Polizia! Polizia!”

The police hurried to the scene and quietly planned for the body to be collected. They turned their attention to Catherine.

“Signora, who is this man to you?”

“He is my husband,” she screamed.

“Signora, with deepest regrets, he is dead. Where were you, Signora, when this incident happened?”

“I was in the ladies' lounge!” she cried through her sobs. “The bartender can vouch for me. He was already on the floor when I came down. There were two other men with him.”

The police insisted, “No. We saw nobody else.”

“Signora, please come with us. When he is ready to be seen, you must identify him in the morgue.”

Catherine was inconsolable and desolate, crying loudly as she accompanied the police to the morgue. The following days passed like fragments of a nightmare.