breath tickling his neck, his stomach, and then…
Is she insatiable or am I just old…?
Don’t answer that , he answered himself. Still, honour was at stake…
As he rallied for a second assault, he thought he detected an odd, chemical smell. Must be the cheap hotel shower gel, he thought.
Then he didn’t think about it any more. The pills were still pulling him towards oblivion. He had to concentrate…
*
Mervyn was awoken at about one in the morning by an ugly noise from the car park. A car engine grumbling to itself.
‘Whurrrrghh?’
Bloody BMW drivers.
He stuck a pillow over his head and tried to plunge back into unconsciousness, but the noise didn’t go away. Surely by now the sodding car would have revved off up the M1?
He struggled out of bed, dimly aware he was now alone, and went to the window. He could hear voices, some of them shouting. He looked down.
Thirty seconds later, he was in his clothes and out of the door.
*
He collided with Smurf as he reached the hotel door, and they both charged into Morris and Nicholas who were already in the car park. Mervyn’s shoes sloshed in shallow puddles.
The stink of petrol flooded the concourse, making them retch. From the hollow rumbling sound, it was obvious the Styrax Superior was practically running on empty.
A pipe ran from the exhaust and was wedged deeply into its side grille, held in place by a rag. Mervyn pulled at the rag and the pipe came away, exuding sickly fumes. Everything was cold and wet from the rain, droplets dawdling and slipping down the shell of the Styrax like tears.
Mervyn placed his hands on the shell of the monster, but it was wet and slippery and he couldn’t get a purchase on the secreted door handle. Thankfully, the rag was dry and he foolishly dried his hands on it, forgetting about silly things like DNA and forensic evidence. He threw the rag in a puddle, covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve, gripped the handle with his other hand and pulled. The door exploded open and belched out a cloud of exhaust fumes.
Simon Josh tumbled out onto the concrete.
Dead.
For the third time that day, the fan’s head hit the floor with an almighty ‘thunk’.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Simon’s tongue coiled against his cheek; his complexion dark and purple like a fat bruise covering his face. An empty whisky bottle was clutched in his hand.
Mervyn felt hysteria prowl up his neck and pounce on his brain. Nevertheless, he surprised himself by stepping over Simon’s body and fumbling inside to turn the engine off.
Unfortunately, he turned the wrong key.
The Styrax lit up like a Wurlitzer, disco lights blazing and pulsing in the night. Futuristic sound effects blasted through hidden speakers, whooshing and bleeping and zapping in all directions. ‘DEATH TO ALL PEDESTRIANS!’ it boomed.
This was one of four phrases programmed to fire off in quick succession when activated. All, ironically and unfortunately, along the lines of death, killing and eradication.
‘Turn it off! Turn the bloody thing off!’ screamed Smurf, his hands clapped to his head.
Mervyn found the ignition and twisted it. The Styrax juddered and died, leaving the silence to sing in their ears. The lights in the hotel were crashing into life all around them.
There was an awkward moment. No one knew what to do next.
Mervyn started to move back from the Styrax, but Nicholas clutched at his sleeve.
‘Wait a minute,’ he hissed, peering into the Styrax. ‘Mervy. Look. There…there’s something inside…’
It was on the dashboard, carving out a white square in the gloom, and Mervyn groped towards it. He positioned himself awkwardly, holding on to the door and straddling Simon’s twisted body so he could make a lunge at whatever it was. It had been fastened to the dashboard, and came away leaving a string of goo.
Blu-Tack, of course.
Mervyn hopscotched backwards into Nicholas’s waiting arms. The object turned out to be an envelope with VixEnterprises stamped
Is she insatiable or am I just old…?
Don’t answer that , he answered himself. Still, honour was at stake…
As he rallied for a second assault, he thought he detected an odd, chemical smell. Must be the cheap hotel shower gel, he thought.
Then he didn’t think about it any more. The pills were still pulling him towards oblivion. He had to concentrate…
*
Mervyn was awoken at about one in the morning by an ugly noise from the car park. A car engine grumbling to itself.
‘Whurrrrghh?’
Bloody BMW drivers.
He stuck a pillow over his head and tried to plunge back into unconsciousness, but the noise didn’t go away. Surely by now the sodding car would have revved off up the M1?
He struggled out of bed, dimly aware he was now alone, and went to the window. He could hear voices, some of them shouting. He looked down.
Thirty seconds later, he was in his clothes and out of the door.
*
He collided with Smurf as he reached the hotel door, and they both charged into Morris and Nicholas who were already in the car park. Mervyn’s shoes sloshed in shallow puddles.
The stink of petrol flooded the concourse, making them retch. From the hollow rumbling sound, it was obvious the Styrax Superior was practically running on empty.
A pipe ran from the exhaust and was wedged deeply into its side grille, held in place by a rag. Mervyn pulled at the rag and the pipe came away, exuding sickly fumes. Everything was cold and wet from the rain, droplets dawdling and slipping down the shell of the Styrax like tears.
Mervyn placed his hands on the shell of the monster, but it was wet and slippery and he couldn’t get a purchase on the secreted door handle. Thankfully, the rag was dry and he foolishly dried his hands on it, forgetting about silly things like DNA and forensic evidence. He threw the rag in a puddle, covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve, gripped the handle with his other hand and pulled. The door exploded open and belched out a cloud of exhaust fumes.
Simon Josh tumbled out onto the concrete.
Dead.
For the third time that day, the fan’s head hit the floor with an almighty ‘thunk’.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Simon’s tongue coiled against his cheek; his complexion dark and purple like a fat bruise covering his face. An empty whisky bottle was clutched in his hand.
Mervyn felt hysteria prowl up his neck and pounce on his brain. Nevertheless, he surprised himself by stepping over Simon’s body and fumbling inside to turn the engine off.
Unfortunately, he turned the wrong key.
The Styrax lit up like a Wurlitzer, disco lights blazing and pulsing in the night. Futuristic sound effects blasted through hidden speakers, whooshing and bleeping and zapping in all directions. ‘DEATH TO ALL PEDESTRIANS!’ it boomed.
This was one of four phrases programmed to fire off in quick succession when activated. All, ironically and unfortunately, along the lines of death, killing and eradication.
‘Turn it off! Turn the bloody thing off!’ screamed Smurf, his hands clapped to his head.
Mervyn found the ignition and twisted it. The Styrax juddered and died, leaving the silence to sing in their ears. The lights in the hotel were crashing into life all around them.
There was an awkward moment. No one knew what to do next.
Mervyn started to move back from the Styrax, but Nicholas clutched at his sleeve.
‘Wait a minute,’ he hissed, peering into the Styrax. ‘Mervy. Look. There…there’s something inside…’
It was on the dashboard, carving out a white square in the gloom, and Mervyn groped towards it. He positioned himself awkwardly, holding on to the door and straddling Simon’s twisted body so he could make a lunge at whatever it was. It had been fastened to the dashboard, and came away leaving a string of goo.
Blu-Tack, of course.
Mervyn hopscotched backwards into Nicholas’s waiting arms. The object turned out to be an envelope with VixEnterprises stamped
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