“Have I got the mother of all hangovers.” Connor went to hold his head, only to find his hands firmly restrained behind his back. His eyes came into focus only to realise there was nothing to focus on. He twisted around as much as he could on the wooden chair. A concrete room, one door, no windows and a bare light bulb.
“Hello. Anyone there? Room service? I’ll have coffee and a dozen Panado.”
The door opened and in walked a woman and two men.
“Great service,” congratulated Connor.
“What do you know?” The woman’s voice was low and menacing.
Connor looked at her and ignored the men, who walked to either side. He tried to ignore their odour. Wherever they were, showering was not high on their to-do list.
“I was in a ditch and then you smacked me in the head and now I seem to have woken up in a cliché nineties cop movie.”
“We should kill this smart arse,” growled the stink from the left, standing just behind Connor’s peripheral vision.
Connor stared the woman in the eyes. “Now, if you’re not here to give me a lap dance, will you at least get me some coffee?”
He knew it wouldn’t win him any friends, but it was certain to influence people. The resulting smack in the face almost cleared his head. He spat a mouthful of blood, happy to see that it didn’t include any teeth. He would hate to experience the end of the world without his charming pearly whites.
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Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.
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www.amazon.co.uk/John-West/e/B072833D7Q
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Cheers.
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