Larry awoke to a splintering crash. Or thought he did. Was it a dream? No, there it was again. Some dislocated part of his brain thought of the front door just as he heard it crash back against the wall.
Sonia, his wife, jolted into wakefulness in the bed next to him.
"Larry, what was that!?" she asked in a tremulous voice. He started to rise as he heard heavy footsteps running up the stairs. When the bedroom door burst open and Sonia screamed, he had his boxers in one hand and one of his slippers in the other. The lights came on with blinding intensity and in his momentary blindness he felt himself forced face down onto the bed by many gloved hands.
His face in the quilt he could barely breathe and could see nothing, but could hear Sonia screaming still. This was abruptly silenced as he heard a male voice say "Shut up sweetheart, no one is interested in you".
His hands behind his back, Larry's wrists were taped together and he was rolled onto his back.
He glanced over at Sonia, who was being held from behind, his own boxers stuffed into her mouth. "Don’t hurt her please!" he begged.
"Jesus mate, what do you think we are, criminals?" said the one with the roll of tape in his hand.
"You should invest in pyjamas, sunshine." said one of his accomplices. "You never know when you might be getting raided."
Larry opened his mouth to protest and a pair of his own socks was pushed into his open mouth and then taped in place. Blinking he looked above him at four men in black body armour and helmets, two of them carrying weapons.
He felt pressure on his thigh and looked down to see the closest figure resting his nightstick on his groin.
"Now, sunshine." he said quietly "Are you going to assist us by coming along nicely, or am I going to be having your savoury nuts on toast for breakfast?"
Larry looked up at the visor glinting in the bright room lights. There was no face behind it that he could see, but above it he could see the initials TPA.
Transit police? What could I have done to the Transit Police? thought Larry. All he could do was nod.
They stood him up and pulled a pair of track pants and a paint spattered sweatshirt from the dirty washing basket by the bedroom door and helped him into them, the sweatshirt being pulled over his still taped arms.
Sonia, his wife, jolted into wakefulness in the bed next to him.
"Larry, what was that!?" she asked in a tremulous voice. He started to rise as he heard heavy footsteps running up the stairs. When the bedroom door burst open and Sonia screamed, he had his boxers in one hand and one of his slippers in the other. The lights came on with blinding intensity and in his momentary blindness he felt himself forced face down onto the bed by many gloved hands.
His face in the quilt he could barely breathe and could see nothing, but could hear Sonia screaming still. This was abruptly silenced as he heard a male voice say "Shut up sweetheart, no one is interested in you".
His hands behind his back, Larry's wrists were taped together and he was rolled onto his back.
He glanced over at Sonia, who was being held from behind, his own boxers stuffed into her mouth. "Don’t hurt her please!" he begged.
"Jesus mate, what do you think we are, criminals?" said the one with the roll of tape in his hand.
"You should invest in pyjamas, sunshine." said one of his accomplices. "You never know when you might be getting raided."
Larry opened his mouth to protest and a pair of his own socks was pushed into his open mouth and then taped in place. Blinking he looked above him at four men in black body armour and helmets, two of them carrying weapons.
He felt pressure on his thigh and looked down to see the closest figure resting his nightstick on his groin.
"Now, sunshine." he said quietly "Are you going to assist us by coming along nicely, or am I going to be having your savoury nuts on toast for breakfast?"
Larry looked up at the visor glinting in the bright room lights. There was no face behind it that he could see, but above it he could see the initials TPA.
Transit police? What could I have done to the Transit Police? thought Larry. All he could do was nod.
They stood him up and pulled a pair of track pants and a paint spattered sweatshirt from the dirty washing basket by the bedroom door and helped him into them, the sweatshirt being pulled over his still taped arms.
