The Last Plague Read Free

specifically said no strippers. I said no strippers.”
         “Joel, I didn’t order a stripper.”
         “Are you sure?”
         “Of course I’m sure.”
         “Do you know if Ralph did? That’s the sort of thing he’d do.”
         “Ralph hasn’t booked a stripper.”
         “I haven’t done what?” Ralph walked into the kitchen, sipping a bottle of German beer. He had changed into a Cradle of Filth t-shirt.
         Frank looked from Joel to Ralph. “You didn’t order a stripper for tonight, did you?”
         Ralph gasped in mock surprise. “Sir, I am offended. Order a stripper? On Joel’s stag night? Who’d have thought of such an idea?”
         Frank folded his arms. “Did you?”
         Ralph smiled. “I didn’t order a stripper. Wish I had done, though.”
         “Good,” said Joel. “Where’s Magnus?”
         Ralph took a gulp of beer. “He’s in the living room playing on the Xbox. Poor bloke needs a break from that wife of his. She sent him a text a minute ago saying he was neglecting his marital duties .”
         Frank shook his head. “Bloody hell, that’s harsh.”
         “Is she back on medication?” Joel asked.
         “She should be.”
         “She’s always had problems, even before she married Magnus,” said Ralph. “Everyone knows she’s crazy.”
         “She’s bipolar, not crazy,” said Frank.
         “Not to mention she weighs about twenty stone.”
         Frank opened two beers, handed one to Joel.
         Ralph scratched his beard. “Did you bring any toilet roll?” 
     
    * * *
     
    They downed a round of shots, grimacing as the vodka burned in their throats. Frank welcomed the buzz from the alcohol. He had sent a text to Catherine; a simple message of affection. He touched his wedding ring with his thumb; it had dulled slightly over six years.
         Being the groom, Joel would have the master bedroom with its king-sized bed; the others had to pull straws for the remaining two bedrooms.
         Ralph pulled the short straw.
         “Unlucky, mate,” said Magnus, smirking.
         “Yeah, bad luck, bud.” Frank swigged a beer.
         Ralph shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take the sofa. Slept in worse places.”
     
     
    * * *
     
    They formed a circle in the living room. More shots of vodka.
         Frank raised his glass. “To Joel: may he be a brave man in the years ahead. May he have the strength to fight the good fight.”
         “May he rest in peace,” said Ralph.
         “May the Lord have mercy on his soul,” said Magnus.
         “Amen,” they said together, heads bowed.
         Then they laughed.
         They downed their shots. Joel was last to finish. He patted his chest, screwed up his face.
         Frank handed out the beers. Ralph offered cigars, and only Frank refused one, due to his asthma.
         Joel swayed on his feet as he lit his cigar. “How many years have we been friends for?”
         “Don’t get soppy, mate,” said Ralph. “You always do this when you’re drunk.”
         “I’m not drunk,” Joel protested.
         Magnus laughed. His cigar plumed a tiny streak of smoke.
         “Let him speak,” said Frank.
         “We’ve been friends since playgroup. How old were we then? Four? Five?”
         “More or less,” said Frank.
         Joel smiled with the idiotic charm of inebriation. “And we were mates all the way through school.”
         “The Fearsome Four,” said Frank.    
         “Yeah, four idiots,” said Magnus.
         Ralph studied his cigar. “We left school sixteen years ago. Fucking hell. Seems like such a long time ago. Dumb, spotty teenagers.”
         “But look at us now,” Joel said. “Older and a little wiser. My best man, Frank, and my two ushers. We’ve got