"I told you guys I didn't want a bachelor party," I said as soon as the van began moving.
John and Matt were sitting opposite me, both grinning like idiots. Jim, one of my bodyguards, occupied a seat near the front.
"Yes, you did," Matt agreed cheerfully. "But this is more for us than you."
"And you," I said, turning toward Jim. "You're supposed to be protecting me."
"I am protecting you, sir."
"From what? My freedom?"
"Mr. Gates and Mr. Sterling assured me this was a planned arrangement, sir." Jim gave me a small, almost apologetic smile before turning his attention toward the road.
I sighed and settled into my seat opposite the two idiots who were supposed to be my closest friends. They looked far too pleased with themselves.
"Okay, but this is actually kind of sad," I said, looking between them. "It's just the three of us."
John's expression changed immediately.
"Oh, fuck off! The real party starts when we get to Bangkok, babyyyy!"
He grabbed a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket, popped the cork, and narrowly avoided hitting the window.
"Bangkok?" I repeated.
Matt closed his eyes for a moment.
"No, not Bangkok. This idiot doesn't know his geography. We're going to Thailand!"
Matt continued, "We're going to Koh Samui. It's an island in Thailand, and it's supposed to be incredible. We've got a private villa, the beach, everything. A few other people are joining us in a couple of days, and we're going to spend the time relaxing, sightseeing, drinking, and generally enjoying ourselves."
John poured champagne into three glasses and passed one to me.
"Not exactly how I would've planned it, since Matt vetoed half my ideas, but it's still going to be fun."
I accepted the glass.
"Because your ideas were stupid," Matt replied.
"They were fun, Matto! Fun! But then again, we're planning this for Mr. Unfun over here."
"You wanted to rent a fucking elephant."
I turned toward John.
"Why?"
"For the entrance."
"What entrance?"
John spread his arms as though the answer should have been obvious.
"Our entrance!"
I looked at Matt, who merely shook his head.
"See what I've been dealing with?"
"Look, when I get married..." John began.
Matt and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"What?" John asked.
"You getting married?" I managed between laughs, which only made Matt laugh harder.
"Hey, I will do it... one day..."
We continued ribbing each other until we reached the airport, and by then, I'd managed to get most of the details out of them.
Matt had handled the accommodation, while John had contributed what he called the entertainment budget. To my surprise, Scarlett had also helped with the arrangements, since she was planning a bachelorette party for Margot.
The vehicle bypassed the regular passenger terminals and took us toward a private hangar on the other side of the airport. After the necessary security arrangements, we were driven out toward the aircraft waiting on the apron.
I stepped outside and looked up at the jet.
"So you really did go all out."
Matt climbed out behind me.
"Actually, that came with the package. The villa. The guy who owns the place also owns the plane. He offered the whole thing as some kind of deluxe arrangement."
John nodded enthusiastically.
"The super deluxe edition."
"I thought he was joking at first," Matt continued, "but apparently not. Accommodation, transport, staff, pretty much everything. And he gave us the deal of a lifetime."
We walked toward the plane when I noticed two familiar figures standing near the aircraft. One was holding a suitcase and looking around with obvious excitement. The other appeared considerably less enthusiastic.
I stopped walking.
"Why are Phil and Mitchell here?"
Matt glanced in their direction, while John scratched the side of his face.
"Oh, yeah. So Mitch asked us for a favor. Phil's speaking at some big real estate summit in Bangkok, Asia-Pacific something or other, and apparently it's a big deal for him. When we were arranging the flight, Mitchell asked whether we could bring him along."
Phil spotted me, and his entire face lit up.
"D-Man!" He crossed the distance between us at almost a jog, his suitcase rattling wildly behind him, and wrapped me in a hug before I had time to prepare myself.
"Thank you so much for taking me with you!"
I laughed and returned the hug.
"You're welcome."
Phil pulled back but kept hold of my shoulders. "Claire said I should fly commercial, but I said, 'Claire, when a friend offers you a private jet, you don't say no to a private jet. That's just bad manners.'"
"And then," Phil continued, apparently not hearing me, "I was told this is also your bachelor party."
His eyebrows rose with sudden enthusiasm.
"You know, this kind of reminds me of my own."
Mitchell walked over just in time to hear that. "You didn't have one."
"Yeah, I did."
"Phil, you went bowling with your father."
"And we had a wonderful time."
Mitchell sighed, adjusting the strap of the bag over his shoulder.
"Anyway, you're giving him a ride to his conference, and that's all. Have fun, Daniel, and be safe. I have a meeting at two, so I really need to go."
"Thanks, Mitch."
"Congratulations again, by the way."
He gave me a quick pat on the shoulder before turning toward the terminal.
I watched him walk away for several seconds before looking at Phil, who was still smiling, and finally at John and Matt.
An idea occurred to me.
"Hey, John."
John turned.
"What?"
I nodded toward Mitchell.
"Let's grab him and bring him along too."
John stared at me for a moment before breaking into a grin.
"Hey, the more the merrier!"
Matt started laughing. "Oh, this is going to be good."
I looked toward Jim.
"Jim, could you grab him?"
"Of course, sir."
We caught up with Mitchell just before he reached the terminal doors. When I called his name, he turned around, and I slipped an arm around his shoulders while John appeared on his other side. Jim stopped nearby, effectively cutting off the most convenient escape route.
"Good news, Mitch," I said. "Change of plans. You're coming with us."
Mitchell looked at me. "No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"No, Daniel, I am absolutely not."
"Come on, it'll be fun."
"Phil!" Mitchell called desperately.
His brother-in-law looked delighted. "Come on, Mitchell! Live a little!"
"Stop encouraging them!"
Once we reached the plane, I stepped aside and gestured toward the door. "After you."
Mitchell folded his arms. "I'm not getting on that plane. I have work," he said firmly. "And I have Cam."
"Cam can survive without you for a few days."
Mitchell rubbed his forehead. "Daniel, please. I genuinely don't have time for this. I have three folders on Kroenke sitting on my desk, and I have a meeting this afternoon."
"Well, alright. I suppose if you really don't want to come..."
Mitchell's shoulders relaxed. "Thank you."
"I mean, Henry Cavill will be there."
He stopped. "Henry will be there?"
"Yes."
"Superman Henry Cavill?"
"No, the plumber Henry Cavill. Yes, Superman."
Mitchell glanced toward the others, then cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. "Well, I mean, if I'm already here, I suppose it would be nice to spend some time with everyone. Take a little break."
I nodded sympathetically. "Exactly. You've been working too hard."
"I have been working rather hard."
"Practically nonstop."
"Yes, actually."
"And you deserve a vacation."
Mitchell considered that for a moment, apparently finding the argument increasingly persuasive.
He walked in first, and the rest of us followed him aboard. Mitchell sat down before anyone could give him another opportunity to reconsider, although he immediately took out his phone to call his office.
I suspected Cam would be a slightly more difficult conversation.
We were airborne not long afterward.
Once the initial excitement settled, the flight turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. The jet had enough room for everyone to stretch out.
Phil spent most of the first hour performing magic tricks, while John and I spent much of the flight catching up, since we hadn't really seen each other for a few weeks.
At some point, I got up to find something to drink and wandered toward the small bar near the back of the cabin. There was a refrigerator built into the counter, and I opened it expecting the usual assortment of soft drinks and bottled water.
Instead, I found something rather peculiar. Every shelf was lined with the same red cans, stacked in neat rows from one side to the other, and a snarling wolf's head dominated the front of each one with bold lettering underneath. I picked one up.
"What the fuck is Wolf Cola?"
John looked over. "What?"
"Wolf Cola. It's all that's in here." I held up the can.
John frowned. "Never heard of it."
Mitchell opened one eye from his reclined seat and held out his hand. I passed the can to him, and he turned it around to examine the small print on the back. "'Frank's Fluids,'" he read aloud. "That's the company that makes it."
He handed it back.
"Sounds reputable," I muttered sarcastically.
Matt reached over and took the can from me. "Well, there's only one way to find out."
He cracked it open and took a long drink while the rest of us watched. For several seconds he seemed to be considering whether he'd made a mistake, and then he shrugged. "Eh. It's alright."
I took the can from him and tried it myself.
It was not alright.
The rest of the journey passed pleasantly enough. We watched a movie, talked, ate far too much food, and eventually tried to get some sleep, although the combination of excitement and changing time zones made that easier said than done.
After a brief refueling stop in Tokyo, we continued toward Thailand, and by the time we finally landed on Koh Samui, I was feeling the effects of the journey.
Phil was still remarkably energetic, mostly because he had slept for several hours and seemed genuinely excited about being in Thailand. His conference in Bangkok wasn't until later, which gave him time to join us for the first part of the trip before heading over to the mainland.
Mitchell, on the other hand, was on edge because he was worried Cam would see through the lie he'd hastily come up with about having to leave for a business trip to Thailand.
The drive to the villa took us along winding coastal roads bordered by thick tropical greenery, with occasional views of the sea appearing between the trees.
Our destination was some distance from the busier tourist areas.
The villa sat on a private headland at the northern tip of Koh Samui, and for the first twenty minutes after we arrived, I thought Matt and John had outdone themselves.
A long driveway led through landscaped gardens before opening onto an impressive collection of buildings overlooking the Gulf of Thailand. The architecture blended white stone, dark teak, and broad open pavilions, with high ceilings designed to let the sea breeze move through the rooms.
The main residence occupied the highest part of the property, with enormous glass doors opening onto terraces that overlooked an infinity pool. Beyond the pool, the land sloped toward a secluded stretch of beach, where pale sand met clear turquoise water.
Several smaller buildings stood around the main house, connected by covered walkways and landscaped courtyards.
Jim entered first, automatically checking the main rooms while the rest of us followed.
A few members of the villa staff were waiting to greet us, offering cool towels and refreshments as we stepped inside. They explained the basic arrangements, including meals, housekeeping, and the use of the private beach, before giving us space to look around.
Phil stopped just inside the main living area and slowly turned in a circle.
"Wow."
He walked toward the terrace, looking out over the water.
"Danny, this place is beautiful."
"Yep," I agreed.
He spread his arms toward the view.
"I mean, look at this!"
Mitchell joined him by the open doors. "Okay, I will admit, this is nice."
"Nice?" Phil repeated. "Mitchell, this is incredible."
Matt came over with a triumphant smile. "I told you this place was amazing."
I nodded as I looked toward the pool.
"And the owner gave me the deal of a lifetime," Matt continued. "Seriously, Danny, you have no idea how much he included."
I glanced at him.
"An entire aircraft full of Wolf Cola."
Matt laughed.
"You're still on about that?"
"That stuff was terrible."
John had already wandered toward the bar to investigate what sort of alcohol had been provided, while Phil was taking photographs of the terrace and Mitchell was trying to determine whether the Wi-Fi was reliable enough for him to deal with anything urgent from the office.
For my part, I was beginning to think the trip might actually be exactly what Matt had promised.
A few days away in a beautiful place, with good company and absolutely nothing I needed to worry about. It was exactly what I needed to take my mind off the wedding.
As the date approached, I had to admit I was getting a little nervous. It wasn't that I was having cold feet or second thoughts about marrying Margot. I was looking forward to that more than anything. But a wedding was a big occasion, especially one as public as ours was going to be, and I figured anyone would feel at least a little anxious with something like that coming up.
A few days of relaxing with my friends sounded pretty good right about now.
Jim came through one of the interior doorways and walked toward me.
"Daniel?"
"Yeah?"
"Could I speak with you for a moment?"
I turned away from the terrace. "What's wrong?"
"There's something in one of the other rooms."
I frowned. "What, a security problem?"
"Not exactly, sir."
"What is it?"
Jim hesitated. "Well, I don't know what Mr. Gates and Mr. Sterling have planned, but I've found five women in the lounge."
I waited for the rest of it, and when nothing came, I said, "Okay?"
"They appear to be sex workers, sir."
I blinked. "What?"
For a moment I honestly thought I had misheard him, and I slowly turned toward Matt and John, who were still discussing the arrangements on the other side of the room. Jim kept his professional expression.
"Five very naked women in the next room, sir."
I stared at him for another second and then walked past him toward the doorway, because there was no fucking way. I entered the adjoining lounge and stopped.
He hadn't been exaggerating; there were five very naked Thai women in the room.
One of the women looked me up and down and said something in Thai to another. Although I didn't understand most of it, I was fairly certain I caught a remark about how at least this one wasn't fat.
"What the..."
I stared for another second before raising my voice.
"John? Matt?"
They came up behind me and stopped in exactly the same spot. John looked into the room, blinked several times, and let out a startled laugh.
"Holy shit."
One of the women gave us a small wave, apparently deciding that we were the people they had been waiting for. The others began getting up from the couches, smiling as they approached us.
I immediately took a step backward.
Mitchell arrived a moment later, looked past my shoulder, and stopped dead.
"Oh my God. What the hell, guys?"
Phil appeared behind him, caught one glimpse of the room, and turned around so quickly that he nearly walked into Mitchell.
"Oh, Jesus."
He stood facing the opposite wall, apparently hoping that if he couldn't see what was happening, he wouldn't have to explain it to Claire.
I turned toward my friends.
"What the hell, guys? I thought you said we were just coming here to relax!"
"We swear we had nothing to do with this," John said immediately, and judging by the color of his face, I believed him.
Matt was looking between the women and John with genuine disbelief.
"Did you arrange this?"
"No! Did you?"
"Why would I ask if I arranged it?"
"Well, I didn't!"
A man emerged from an adjoining doorway.
He was short, heavyset, and balding, with an untidy fringe of gray hair around the sides of his head. He wore a loose white shirt and a pair of shorts. He was also eating a boiled egg, which he appeared to be enjoying immensely.
"Oh, you're here! Jesus, finally."
He chewed enthusiastically, swallowed, and wiped his hand on his shorts before extending it toward me.
"Frank Reynolds. I own the place."
I looked at his hand, decided against touching it, and returned my attention to his face.
"Who are you? And who are they?"
"Well, like I said, I'm Frank Reynolds, owner of this wonderful villa here." He gestured around the room with his half-eaten egg. "And the jet you came in. Great plane, right? Smooth ride? If you liked it, just so happens I'm looking to sell..."
"We rented this place," John interrupted. "We paid for exclusive use. Four nights."
"Yeah, and I'm the owner. Owner's privilege. It's in the contract."
"Anyway, like I was saying, Frank Reynolds. Businessman. Used to have factories all over this part of the world. Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, the whole deal. Made a fortune over here back in the day."
He smiled proudly, as though that explained everything.
"Okay," I said slowly.
Frank seemed to notice where I was looking.
"Oh! Right, the girls."
He swept a hand toward them with enormous satisfaction.
"This is all part of the Reynolds Deluxe Package."
"The what?"
"The Reynolds Deluxe Package. You know, a little something extra for our VIP guests. Everybody gets a good time, nobody asks any questions, everybody goes home happy."
I looked at Matt.
Matt looked at John, who looked back at him.
There was a long silence before I turned back to Frank.
"Well, we don't really want them."
Frank frowned.
"Oh, is it because they're Asian?"
"What?"
"I thought that might be an issue." He nodded, apparently pleased with himself for identifying the problem. "Don't worry, we can fix that. What do you Hollywood types want? Black? Mexican? I know people. I can get you whatever."
"No, no, that's not..."
Frank looked at the women again before turning his attention toward the five of us standing shoulder to shoulder in the doorway. His expression slowly changed as his eyes moved from Matt to John, then Phil, and finally Mitchell.
"Oh."
I already disliked the direction his thoughts were taking.
"Ohhh, I get it. This is a gay thing."
Mitchell's mouth fell open.
"What?"
Frank pointed at him.
"Should've known when I saw this one."
"Excuse me?"
"You guys are having one big gay bang-off before the wedding. Alright, fine. Whatever floats your boat. But next time just say so, I could've gotten you some better-looking dudes"
"What? No!" I protested.
Matt and John exclaimed almost exactly the same thing.
"They have to go," I said firmly.
"Okay, ladies!" Frank shouted, completely ignoring me. "Everybody out!"
The women exchanged confused looks, and one of them asked him about their payment.
Frank threw his arms into the air.
"Oh, look what you've done now. The whores are asking for money. Now you gotta pay them off."
"What? No, I don't!"
"Well, somebody's gotta pay them."
"You hired them!"
Frank considered that for a moment, scratching his chin while looking over the women.
"Okay, fine. You two can stay. Go wait in the guesthouse. The rest of you, no money."
"Absolutely not," I said. "Nobody's staying anywhere. No prostitutes in the villa, no prostitutes in the guesthouse, and no prostitutes anywhere on this property."
Frank sighed as though I had just rejected a perfectly reasonable business proposal.
"Jesus Christ. What happened to you Hollywood people? Used to be you guys knew how to have fun. Girls, drugs, crazy parties. Now everybody's got a stick up their ass."
"Frank," I said, making an effort to keep my voice level, "I am getting married in three weeks. I came here because my friends told me we were going to spend a few days relaxing on a beach. I don't know what kind of package you think they purchased, but nobody asked for any of this."
He stared at me for a moment before shrugging.
"Alright, alright. No need to get your panties in a bunch."
He turned toward the women and waved them toward the entrance.
"Everybody out. Party's canceled."
One of them immediately started arguing with him, and although I couldn't understand the entire exchange, I understood enough to realize she was demanding the money she'd been promised.
Frank tried waving her away, but she wasn't having it.
Eventually, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick roll of cash secured with a rubber band, and began counting out bills while complaining about how nobody appreciated hospitality anymore.
I waited until the women had been paid and escorted toward the entrance by one of the staff members before turning back to him.
"Are you leaving too, Frank?" John asked, sounding rather annoyed now.
"Whoa, whoa. Hold on there, pal." Frank raised both hands. "I'm not leaving. I own the place."
"And we've rented it."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Exclusive use, four nights, blah, blah, blah." He waved a hand dismissively. "Look, don't worry about me. I'll stay in the guesthouse. Got my own little setup there, won't bother you guys. You won't even know I'm around."
"Frank, listen. We don't want any more surprises. No extra guests, no more women showing up, and absolutely nobody entering the villa without our permission. Understood?"
"Yeah, yeah. Got it."
"Good."
He shoved the remaining egg into his mouth, chewed a few times, and started toward the hallway.
"Man, what a bunch of goddamn squares."
I watched him leave.
For several seconds, nobody said anything.
Then Matt turned toward John.
"Who the fuck did you rent this place from?"
John stared at him.
"You arranged the villa!"
"I arranged it through the agency!"
"Well, did the agency mention the owner was completely insane?"
"No!"
Mitchell slowly raised a hand.
"He's also a bigot, and so incredibly unclean..."
Phil finally turned away from the wall.
I looked toward Jim.
"Could you make sure he actually goes to the guesthouse? And maybe check that there aren't another twenty people hiding somewhere?"
"Of course, sir."
Jim headed down the hallway, and I turned back toward Matt and John.
"This is your deluxe package?"
Matt looked genuinely embarrassed. "I swear to God, Danny, none of this was supposed to happen."
I sighed.
"Alright, fine. Let's just forget about it. I am not spending my day arguing with a man who looks like he crawled out of a dumpster."
I looked between the two of them.
"Let's just relax, like I was told we'd be doing in the first place."
Fortunately, the rest of the afternoon was considerably less eventful.
Jim confirmed that Frank had retreated to one of the smaller guesthouses near the far end of the property. He also spoke with the staff and made it very clear that nobody was to enter the main villa without our approval, which seemed to settle the matter.
Once that was taken care of, we finally had an opportunity to appreciate where we were staying. And yeah, it was genuinely relaxing. As I spent the afternoon lounging in the pool, I could feel all my worries about the wedding and anything work-related gradually fading away.
As evening approached, the villa staff began preparing dinner while we settled outside to enjoy the sunset.
We had a magnificent view of the Gulf of Thailand. The sky gradually shifted from pale blue to warm orange, and the sea reflected the changing light in long bands of gold.
Phil was leaving for Bangkok the following morning to attend his conference, so we had decided to spend the evening together rather than make plans to go anywhere. John brought out drinks, Matt claimed one of the loungers, and Mitchell finally stopped checking his phone long enough to admit he was enjoying himself.
I was sitting back with a cold bottle of water when I noticed Frank approaching from the direction of the guesthouse.
"Hey, fellas!"
I looked up.
"Frank."
He raised a bottle in greeting.
"Figured I'd come check if you squares were still sitting around drinking like a bunch of old ladies."
For a moment, I considered reminding him that he had promised not to bother us. Then he sat down before anybody could object and helped himself to a handful of snacks.
"The villa's great, right?"
"Yeah, it's great. You're lucky to own a place like this."
"Well, lucky for you, I'm selling this place. Maybe a billionaire like you could buy it."
I looked around. "Yeah, maybe."
"Don't believe what people say about this place, though."
I narrowed my eyes as John asked, "What, is it haunted or something?"
"Sure, yeah. Let's go with that," Frank replied.
Somehow, over the next half hour, Frank managed to work his way into the conversation so naturally that we stopped questioning why he was there.
The man was genuinely ridiculous. He told us he owned a bar in Philadelphia called Paddy's Pub, which he ran with a group of people he repeatedly referred to as "the Gang." From what I could gather, the Gang consisted of his own children and two others who had spent years engaging in increasingly questionable activities that seemed to end with somebody getting injured or arrested.
"One time, they figured they could solve the gas crisis by buying gasoline and selling it door-to-door."
"Yeah. Buy low, sell high. Basic economics."
"That's stupid," Mitchell said. He was already half drunk.
"That's what I told 'em!" Frank exclaimed.
He continued describing other schemes, most of which were so unbelievable that I found myself wondering how these people weren't already in prison, a mental facility, or dead.
Phil was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.
"There's no way that actually happened."
Frank looked offended.
"Of course it happened! Why would I make that up?"
"Because it's insane," John said.
Frank shrugged.
"That's just a regular Tuesday for those idiots."
"And you," I added, since Frank had apparently been involved in most of these incidents himself.
He went on to tell us about a disastrous attempt to run a boat business, a feud involving a rival bar, and a scheme to improve Paddy's reputation that somehow ended with them making things considerably worse. Even Mitchell, who had initially wanted nothing to do with him, found himself laughing at several of the more ridiculous anecdotes.
Every so often, Frank would interrupt himself to pitch another business opportunity.
"You know what you should do, Danny? We should go into business together."
I looked at him.
"Doing what?"
"Resorts. Big luxury resorts. Whole chain of 'em. Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam. I know the area. You got money, I got connections. We could make a killing."
"If everything you've told us is true, I'd probably end up being investigated by three different governments."
"Or you could just buy this place off me. Great investment. Look at that view! You could bring your wife here, your family, whoever. Hell, I'll even throw in the jet."
The conversation continued as the evening wore on. I'd stopped drinking alcohol after reaching my usual limit, but the others were considerably less restrained. Phil was the only exception, since he had a conference to attend the following morning and didn't want to show up hungover.
As the night went on, Frank somehow got around to telling us about a musical he'd once performed in, and now he was insisting on acting out a scene for everyone.
"What was it called?" I asked.
"The Nightman Cums."
I blinked. "The Nightman what?"
"Cums or something like that. Anyway, I played the Troll." Frank stood up, put his drink on the table, and cleared his throat. "Here, I'll show you."
"Oh, this I have to see," John said.
"You gotta pay the troll toll, if you wanna get into that boy's hole!"
I nearly choked on my water. "Wait, what?"
Frank kept singing, completely oblivious to our expressions, and repeated the part about paying the troll toll and getting into the hole with increasing enthusiasm. He finished with a dramatic flourish and spread his arms. "Thank you, thank you."
Nobody applauded. Mitchell slowly put down his glass. "Frank."
"Yeah?"
"What the hell was that?"
"What?"
"The song!"
"What about it?"
Phil looked genuinely horrified. "Did you say what I think you said?"
Frank frowned. "What'd I say?"
"The part about getting into a boy's... you know what."
"I'm the Troll. It's about his soul, you perverts. The Nightman wants the kid's soul. Jesus, get your minds out of the gutter."
There was a collective pause.
"Soul?" we all asked, almost simultaneously.
"Yeah, soul."
I felt an enormous sense of relief. "Oh, thank God."
Mitchell pressed a hand against his chest. "Okay. That makes significantly more sense."
Frank stared at us. "What did you think I said?"
I laughed and leaned back in my chair while Frank returned to his seat and took another drink. He watched me for a few moments and then narrowed his eyes. "Hey, how come you're not drinking?"
I lifted my water bottle. "I am drinking."
"Aw, come on. You know what I mean. You drank, what, two beers? And that's it? You're done?"
"I don't really drink much alcohol."
Frank stared at me. "What?"
"Just not something I particularly enjoy."
"Jesus Christ. You're getting married in three weeks, you're at your bachelor party, and you're drinking water?" He looked toward John and Matt. "What's wrong with this guy?"
John shrugged. "He's always been like that."
"Usually, we don't bother trying to convince him," Matt added.
Frank shook his head in disgust. "Unbelievable. Back in my day, a bachelor party meant something, goddammit. You got shitfaced, caused real trouble, maybe woke up in a ditch or fuckin' the stripper. That's a goddamn bachelor party."
"That sounds like a terrible idea," Mitchell said.
Frank pointed at him. "See, that's your problem. You're thinking too much."
"I generally consider thinking a positive quality."
"Not at a bachelor party, buddy!"
Frank reached down beside his chair and picked up the bottle he'd brought with him earlier. It was tall and filled with a golden-brown liquid, and I hadn't paid much attention to it before because I'd assumed it was some variety of whiskey. When he placed it on the table, though, I noticed something unusual inside.
"What the fuck is that?"
Frank grinned. "Cobra whiskey!"
I stared at the bottle. There was an actual cobra inside it, its body coiled through the liquid and its head raised with the hood spread beneath the glass. I had seen pictures of similar drinks before, but seeing one sitting on the table in front of me was an entirely different experience.
Phil leaned closer. "Is that a real snake?"
"Hell yeah, it's real!" Frank replied proudly. "Friend of mine makes this stuff. Been doing it for years. Special family recipe."
I looked at the cobra again. "That looks dangerous."
"Nah, nah. It's actually good for you. Traditional medicine. Gives you energy, gets the blood pumping, makes everything work better... if you know what I mean." He gestured vaguely toward his crotch. "Some guys say it gives you a raging fuckin' hard-on that'll last half the night. Real deal. Snake power. Very expensive stuff, too. Not something you can just pick up at a liquor store back home."
I picked up the bottle and examined it more closely. "How do you even know it's safe?"
"Because I've been drinking this shit for years and I'm still standing, aren't I?"
I wasn't entirely convinced that Frank's continued existence qualified as a meaningful endorsement, so I placed the bottle back on the table. "Yeah, I think I'll stick with water."
Frank groaned. "Oh, come on!"
Before I could respond, Mitchell unexpectedly reached for the bottle. "You know what?" We all looked at him. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do. I'll try some."
Phil immediately perked up. "Really? Well, if Mitchell's having some, I suppose I could try it too."
John laughed. "Now we're talking."
Matt reached for an empty glass. "Alright, one shot."
Frank looked positively delighted. "That's what I'm talking about! Finally, some guys who know how to fucking party!"
He began rummaging around for more glasses while I stared at the bottle. "I'm not drinking snake whiskey," I said.
"Aw, don't be a pussy, Daniel. It's your bachelor party!" Frank protested. "One drink! Just one. Come on, live a little."
Matt grinned at me. "He's got a point."
Frank kept setting out glasses while I looked around the table. Mitchell was already waiting for his drink, Phil seemed excited by the novelty, and John was practically encouraging Frank to pour more. I sighed. "Fine. One drink."
Frank threw both hands into the air. "Attaboy!"
"One," I repeated. "And if I die from this, I'm haunting every single one of you."
Frank scoffed. "Nobody's dying. It's booze, not poison."
Given the dead cobra floating inside it, I wasn't sure how reassuring that was supposed to be. He unscrewed the bottle and poured a small measure into each glass, and he took particular care to show everyone the snake before he set it down. The liquid was a deep amber color with a sharp herbal smell that I didn't particularly like, and I picked up my glass to inspect it.
John lifted his own. "Alright, gentlemen, before Daniel chickens out, I believe somebody should make a toast."
Matt stood up and held his glass a little higher. "To Danny. Three weeks from now, he's getting married to the woman he loves, and I think we can all agree he's done pretty damn well for himself."
"Understatement of the century," John muttered.
Matt grinned. "So here's to four days of celebrating the end of his bachelorhood, making some good memories, and getting him home in one piece before Margot decides to murder us."
"I'll drink to that," Phil said.
Mitchell raised his glass, and I laughed and raised mine. "To four days of relaxation, then. And absolutely no more surprises."
Frank grinned broadly. "Yeah! Time to have some fucking fun!"
We clinked our glasses together, I finally brought the cobra whiskey to my lips, and we all drank. Frank's laughter drifted through the air.
"Ohhhh," he said happily. "Ohhh, that hits the spot. Wish we had some cat food to go with it."
I tried to ask why anyone would want cat food with alcohol.
That was the last thing I remembered.
===========
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a ceiling fan. It turned slowly above me, its blades covered in dust, and one of them was bent slightly downward so that the entire thing wobbled with every rotation. A faint rattling came from the motor, and I lay there watching it for a long time because even thinking about moving made my head hurt.
My mouth tasted like tar, and my skull felt as though somebody had taken a screwdriver to it, with every heartbeat bringing another sharp throb behind my eyes. There was also a strange, hot ache across the left side of my chest. I swallowed, which was a bad idea, because the inside of my throat felt like sandpaper. For a while I stayed exactly where I was and tried desperately to convince myself that I was still at the villa and had simply drunk more than I remembered.
Then something breathed beside my ear, and I slowly turned my head.
A rooster was standing on the floor about six inches from my face. It was a magnificent specimen, tall and proud, with copper and black feathers and sharp-looking claws. Its bright red comb flopped slightly to one side like a beret. It studied me through one orange eye and tilted its head, and I stared at it while it stared back. Then, without warning, it opened its beak and screamed directly into my face.
"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOO!"
"FUCK!"
I shot upright, immediately regretted it, and grabbed my head as a bolt of pain went straight through my skull. "Oh, God. Oh, fuck."
The rooster flapped its wings indignantly and retreated a few steps. I sat there breathing through the pain until my vision cleared enough to take in my surroundings, and it became apparent immediately that this was not the villa.
I was sitting on a thin mattress on the floor of a small, cramped hotel room with water-stained walls and a single window overlooking a narrow street. A neon sign blinked outside and threw intermittent red light across the furniture, while faint music thumped up through the floor from somewhere below. Two narrow beds stood against the opposite wall, separated by a cheap wooden nightstand. On it sat an empty water bottle, several crumpled receipts, and a laminated card welcoming guests, in English and Thai, to the Golden Lotus Riverside Inn.
I stared at the card. "Where the fuck am I?"
The room offered no immediate answer. When I swung my legs off the mattress, I realized I was wearing only my underwear and an open shirt, and that my pants, shoes, and socks were all missing.
I looked toward the first bed. John was asleep on top of the covers, fully dressed, with a length of red string tied around his ankle. When I followed it across the carpet, I discovered that the other end was attached to the rooster's leg.
Then I noticed Phil. He was sitting upright in a plastic chair in the corner, fast asleep with his head tilted back and a peaceful smile on his face. His clothes were gone, and in their place he wore a pair of bright red satin Muay Thai shorts with Thai lettering across the waistband. Around his waist was an enormous gold championship belt decorated with fake gemstones, its large central plate depicting two fighters. He also had a spectacular black eye. The bruising extended along his cheekbone, and the swelling around his left eye suggested that someone had landed a very solid punch.
I looked at him, then at the rooster, then back at John. "What the fuck?"
Even whispering made my head throb. There was another sound coming from somewhere nearby, a faint and miserable moaning that seemed to come from behind the bathroom door. Mitchell, or at least I hoped it was Mitchell.
I was about to investigate when the ache in my chest flared again, and I glanced down to find something beneath my open shirt. A square of clear plastic wrap had been taped over my left pectoral with ink visible underneath it. For several seconds my brain refused to process what I was looking at, so I grabbed the edge of my shirt and pulled it farther aside.
"Oh, no."
I carefully peeled back one corner of the plastic and exposed a patch of swollen, irritated skin. There was a tattoo on my chest, a very real one sitting directly over my heart.
There was a mirror on the wall beside the bathroom door, and I scrambled off the mattress so fast that I nearly tripped over Phil's legs before planting myself in front of it with my shirt held open. The first thing I saw, though, wasn't the tattoo. It was my face, and I barely recognized it. My cheeks had puffed out until my jawline had nearly disappeared, and my eyelids were so heavy and swollen that it looked as though somebody had inflated my head with a bicycle pump. I looked like a fat version of myself.
I stared at my reflection for a long moment before I could make myself look down at the tattoo. It was a surprisingly detailed portrait of two faces positioned side by side, and one of them was mine.
The other belonged to Frank Reynolds.
Beneath them, in elegant lettering, were the words:
ADLER & REYNOLDS
EST. 2018
"What the fuck?"
I touched it, and a sharp sting shot across my chest. "OW!" I snatched my hand away and kept staring at the ink while the burning slowly faded. "It's real."
Then I looked back up at the swollen stranger in the mirror, who looked just as horrified as I felt. "And my face. What happened to my fucking face?"
For several moments I simply stood there, unable to comprehend the sequence of decisions that could have led to any of this. Eventually I pushed the bathroom door open and found Mitchell sitting in the dry bathtub with his knees pulled up to his chest. He looked terrible, and when I saw the left side of his face, I realized his eyebrow was gone.
"Mitch..."
"Don't," he whispered.
I opened my mouth.
"Don't say it. Don't look at it."
"What happened to your..."
"DANIEL!"
"Okay!"
He lowered his head into his hands. "I don't know what happened. I woke up in here, looked in the mirror, and..." His voice cracked. "My eyebrow, Daniel. My eyebrow."
I tried very hard not to laugh. Considering the state of my chest and face, I didn't feel particularly entitled to find anyone else's misfortune amusing. "It's alright. It'll grow back."
Mitchell looked up at me, but before he could respond, a scream came from the bedroom. I hurried back out in time to see John sit bolt upright as the rooster landed on his chest, flapping its wings and apparently furious at having been disturbed.
"AHH! WHAT THE FUCK!"
John flailed wildly and knocked a pillow onto the floor before the rooster jumped off him and landed beside the bed, pulling the red string tight around his ankle. John looked down at it, then at the bird. "Why is there a chicken tied to me?"
"It's a rooster," Phil said helpfully.
He had woken up during the commotion and was looking around the room in mild confusion. Eventually his gaze traveled down to the enormous championship belt around his waist, and his expression changed from bewilderment to pure joy. "Oh, my God."
He touched the central plate, then reached up to touch the swelling around his eye and winced. "Oww. Oh, wow. Do I have a..."
I nodded.
"That explains why everything looks a little funny." He looked down at the belt again. "But seriously, did I win this?"
John was still trying to untie the string around his ankle while keeping as much distance from the rooster as possible. "Can somebody tell me where the hell we are?"
Mitchell emerged from the bathroom holding a towel against the left side of his face. "That's what I would like to know!"
John stopped struggling with the string and stared at him. "What happened to your eyebrow?"
"Don't!"
I pressed both hands against my temples and tried to think. The last thing I remembered was Frank bringing out the cobra whiskey. We had all taken one sip, and after that there was nothing but an enormous blank space in my memory.
"Phones," I said. "We need our phones."
That started a frantic search of the room. Mine was missing. Matt's phone was lying beneath the nearest bed, completely dead, and Phil eventually found his wedged between the chair cushions, but it wouldn't turn on either.
"Mine's dead," Phil announced. "Last thing I remember doing with it was calling some car service."
John finally managed to free himself from the rooster and pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen was cracked straight across the middle, but when he pressed the power button, it lit up. "Oh, thank God."
He opened the map application while the rest of us crowded around him. After several seconds the blue dot settled over a dense grid of streets beside a river, surrounded by roads, buildings, and unfamiliar place names. The clock in the corner read 8:14. John zoomed out, and then he stopped.
"Bangkok."
Nobody said anything. I leaned closer and saw that he was right. We were in Bangkok.
"How?"
"That's not possible," Mitchell said. "We were on Koh Samui. We had one drink. One sip! How the hell did we get to Bangkok, and why can't I remember anything?"
"Yeah," a voice said from the second bed. "One sip of cobra. Rookie numbers."
We all turned as the sheets on the other bed shifted and Frank Reynolds slowly sat up from underneath them. He was completely naked except for a pair of my sunglasses perched on his head, and my phone was somehow stuck to his chest. Frank yawned enormously, scratched himself somewhere I immediately wished I hadn't looked, and surveyed the room with an expression of deep satisfaction.
"Boy, oh boy," he said. "What a night."
He reached for the sheet and wrapped it loosely around his waist while I stared at my phone. I carefully grabbed one corner of the phone and peeled it away from his skin. The battery was down to four percent, and there was no signal.
Everything okay?
I slowly turned toward him. "Frank."
"Yeah?"
"What happened last night?"
He frowned. "How should I know? I was drinking the cobra too."
He swung his legs off the bed, and all four of us looked up at the ceiling at exactly the same time.
"Jesus Christ, Frank!" Mitchell exclaimed.
"Alright, alright, keep your panties on!" Frank rearranged the sheet. "I remember the beach. We were having a great time, remember? Then I remember you saying you wanted to see the real Thailand."
He pointed at me, and I stared at him. "I said what?"
"You wanted to see the real Thailand. None of that tourist crap. So I told you I knew a guy with a plane. Anyway, you got all excited and said, and I quote, 'Frank, you magnificent goblin, get me to Bangkok.'"
I rubbed my temples while the rooster crowed again somewhere behind us. My mind was still struggling to process everything, but as I looked around the room, something began to bother me about the number of people in it. I looked at John, then Phil, Mitchell, and Frank.
"Where's Matt?"
.
.
.
Its always sunny theme plays....