I Ate Dinner With A Murderer
Traveling Is Adventure. You Meet All Kinds Of People. And Sometimes You Have To Stay Calm
(Note: This true story is an expanded version of an answer I gave on Quora to “What Was Your Scariest Travel Experience?”)
I’d finally decided to take full advantage of my job.
My mix of technical and social skills has sent me to beautiful places like Japan, Hawaii, Korea, Germany, and so on. I’ve experienced new cultures and captivating people.
Not bad when you can have someone else pay for the trips.
While I’d enjoyed the new opportunities, I largely kept to myself. No more. A couple of years ago, I decided to embrace my extroverted half and not only visit these places but also meet new and fascinating people.
This decision opened me to new experiences, seeing the world through other people’s eyes. I highly recommend deliberately talking to people on the road. You never know who you will meet or what you will experience.
Whether it was Texas or Guam, Bahrain or Washington DC, I not only got invited to the proverbial party, I was often the life of it. Many of the experiences will last a lifetime.
For instance, once in California, I dined with a murderer.
I was exhausted after my flights across the country. The hotel delighted me when I found the restaurant/bar was still open. I’d chosen the hotel partly because of it. Hotel food can be overpriced, but the convenience after a long day of travel can be worth it.
I noticed the man before I sat at the bar, one seat removed from him.
He was a tad older than me, muscular, and rough around the edges. Speaking of edges, he seemed so far out on one he could fall off. This isn’t hindsight talking. I noticed it immediately.
And, this struck me almost right away; he had a duffel bag at his feet. Most people would have left a bag like that in their room.
Why sit there? Three reasons.
- Service at the bar in these hotels is usually quicker than service at a table.
- It was the best seat at the bar.
- As I said, I was being purposefully outgoing. This had led me to many memorable experiences. That night would prove no different.
The man started a conversation with me. The old me would have buried myself in a book or Amazon Prime. The new me was always willing to engage with people on these trips. Besides, he seemed interesting.
We shot the breeze. He asked what brought me to the bar. I said I was just relaxing with a nice meal before a long day of work the next day.
“I can’t bring myself to eat,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Well,” he answered calmly. “ I just killed a man a few hours ago, and I can’t get the image out of my head.”
Now you, the reader, are possibly wondering the same thing I was at the time. Is he joking? Is this serious? What’s really in the duffel bag?
The answer to those questions, in order, are No, Yes, and Hang on a moment, I’m getting to that.
I don’t remember what I said at that point. He was clearly unnerved. Unsettled.
I’d like to say his eyes darted back and forth, nervously. But no, they were intense and focused. Sometimes the focus was on me, sometimes on something not visible.
At the time, I wasn’t sure if he was lying. Either way, he was agitated. Probably, I think I uttered something clever, like, “Oh?”
He weaved in and out of the conversation. Giving me bits and pieces. He said he knew the police would catch up with him and that he was just trying to keep ahead of them.
What do you do in a situation like this? I couldn’t withdraw before my food arrived. If I left, would he think I was calling the police?
Wait, should I call the police?
The waitress overheard our conversation, I think. The man noticed her lingering nearby. He raised his voice to her. “You need to mind your business.” It wasn’t quite a yell. It clearly contained a threat.
“I’m just cleaning,” she said. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
Now comes the point in the story that even I have a hard time believing.
As if I were in a poorly written melodrama, the news switched to a story about a shooting/homicide that took place about 30 minutes from us. I pretended not to notice. My dinner companion did not. The minute it came on, he grew animated.
“Look.” He pointed at the screen. “It’s what I was telling you about, and now they’re finally talking about it.”
He then gestured to the duffel bag and told me the gun was in it. He said it had been his friend, but his friend had done-him-wrong. So he shot him. And the weapon he used was right there.
My company provides annual situational awareness training.
It’s effective, though you could argue not effective enough. After all, I did sit down one seat from a man I’d already identified as agitated.
At the same time, I already knew where the exits were. Was aware of everyone around me.
I sized the man up. Whether he’d really killed anyone, he was not stable. My training said I needed to be ready to fight or flee. Hiding was not an option.
Fleeing also was a long shot, should the man turn violent. Assuming he had a gun on him, it was a long and straight path to any exit. If he decided he wished he hadn’t confided in me, it would be easy to put a bullet in me.
Frankly, if it came to fighting, I didn’t like my chances. I just liked them better than running away.
I kept things light, taking time to eat the food when it finally arrived. Asking to change the order to carry-out would have seemed obvious that I was trying to get away. I aimed for seeming interested, but not too interested.
I ate, skipped dessert, and paid my bill.
When I got up, he shook my hand and said, “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. No reason to say anything beyond that to anyone.”
I agreed and thanked him for an interesting conversation.
After that, I walked toward the lobby entrance. Hotel security sat just around the corner. I briefly considered and rejected the idea of informing them. I didn’t want guns drawn around anyone and didn’t consider hotel security equipped to handle things.
Besides, if the murderer just walked a few feet, he’d see me talking to them.
What happened next solidified the man’s claims to me. I looked up the news story as I made my way to the room.
I called the hotline number, which connected me with the sheriff’s department where the murder had occurred.
The dispatcher listened to my story in a bored voice until I described the man. No physical details of the shooter had been given in the news story.
After I described him, the dispatcher perked up. He put me on hold.
A minute later, someone else came on the line. I repeated the details. They said they were passing the information to the local police. Ten minutes later, that sheriff’s office called me.
“The restaurant closes soon,” I told them. “If you’re coming, you need to do it now.”
Part of me felt bad. My handshake with the murderer seemed like we had created confidence.
Oddly, calling the police frightened me more than talking with the man. Maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off. Perhaps I was worried the police would come and not get him. Then he’d know I’d called.
He’d already killed a friend for betraying him.
Why did I call then? One, it was the right thing to do. And two, if I hadn’t, I’d be too ashamed to tell anyone the story. And I was always going to tell people the story.
What happened next? I let my work know about it. They had me in a different hotel the next morning. Good for them.
My takeaway from this was not to stop traveling. There’s too much adventure in the world.
I didn’t stop meeting and interacting with new people on my journeys. That very trip, I found myself invited to a sushi party with what became a dozen new friends.
It reminded me that life is precious. It’s also perilous. It reminded me to stay vigilant. Stay aware of potential dangers around me.
It also gave me a new story to connect with people on my travels. And I share it with you now. Hello, new friends.
Scott Hughey has been Googling the story for over a year now, trying to determine if the man was ever caught. If he was, Scott’s not been able to confirm it.
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