The amber liquid swirled as it caught the artificial light from the ceiling, sending shafts of caramel light to play over the desk. Martin and I were sat in our draughty office,
celebrating our title win. Setting all kinds of records and finishing the season unbeaten, meant that we were immortalised in Denmark and icons in Roskilde. Half-drunk from the expensive whiskey, we reclined back.
Suddenly, the door burst open and the lights went out. I leapt up out of my seat, upsetting the glass of whiskey which fell to the floor, shattering the glass and spilling whiskey everywhere.
The room then exploded in shower of stars as a blunt object connected with the back of my head and I slumped to the ground.
The room swam into focus. A blinding light shone into my face. I was sat on my chair behind my desk. I could head Martin groaning next to me. Please don’t let this be over a cock-fighting debt. A gutteral voice sounded, instantly recognisable.
“So, Raymondo, sorry, Besus…Ah, and Martin too..”
“Don’t worry, this is not over Martin’s debt. In fact, I am here to be magnanimous. Your gambling debts are wiped clean. However, there is a price for such generosity”
My gun was in the desk drawer. Five, six inches away from my hand. It was tempting. I hadn’t decided which of us to use it on, though..
“We have outgrown Denmark, we’re shutting down our operations here and moving to the Netherlands. You two will be coming”
I protested. We’d done well here. We were looking forward to becoming professional.
“No, no. You will be coming with us and that’s final. Roskilde will be compensated. You amigos are lucky”
“What I am is unlucky,” I snarled. “You know I got dragged into a court case last year? You know what the husband turned out to be doing at night? He had formed a sex cult that broke into an ostrich farm at midnight three times a week. You know what it’s like, finding eight middle-aged guys having tantric sex with ostriches?”
The voice made a sympathetic noise he’d probably learned off a talk show. “I’m not sure I can even imagine that.”
“I had that image in my head for two months. I couldn’t have sex. My girlfriend came to bed one night in a feather boa and I started crying. She left me for a woman named Bob who designs strap-ons shaped like dolphin penises.”
“That’s sad, mano” The voice had a hint of amusement in it.
“Bob had a hair transplant procedure on her nipples. They email me photographs.”
At this point, I don’t think I was babbling. Maybe.
“Anyway, good night and we’ll see you at the airport tomorrow!”
Stars shone again as we were sent into the sweet embrace of oblivion.