Another Chapter - Perhaps two.
A droning in the distance gradually modulated into a nagging voice in Larry’s consciousness. Instantly aware of the aching pain in his arm, he opened his eyes as slits but even that was too bright. He closed them again.
"Wake up sunshine." said the disembodied voice, quietly. Larry squinted into the blinding light but he could make nothing out. He closed his eyes again and felt a slap on his face for his trouble.
"Come on!" said the voice again, not quite so patient now.
He tried again and silhouetted against the blinding light he could make out a hazy figure.
"You broke my bloody arm." mumbled Larry, the sound of his own voice surprising him as he thought he was still gagged.
"Well, welcome back." said the hazy figure. "What was that little secret you were uttering to me then?"
Larry gave his eyes a second to focus a little better. Very close to his face was a heavyset and unshaven face. Every breath brought a wave of garlic and stale cigarette smoke.
Larry tried to sit up and realised he was bound to the hard chair he was sitting in.
"I said", said Larry through gritted teeth, taking his time "You broke my bloody arm!"
"Really?" said the fat guy in a very concerned tone. "Was it this one?" he said and tapped Larry’s elbow with his truncheon.
The pain made him scream and jolt forward in his bonds, he felt the bile rising in his throat and involuntarily he threw up.
"Jesus!" said the face leaping back. Larry looked up to see a large transit cop in a sweat stained light blue shirt moving rapidly backwards. The cop raised his truncheon to hit him again but was stopped by another cop coming from behind the chair.
"Alright, Charles, that’s enough." Said the new one with authority, "We need him conscious at least for a little while."
Charles let his arm drop, but stared menacingly at Larry before looking around for something to wipe the vomit of his pants.
"Let’s get your name straight for start, eh." said the new cop, leaning back against the edge of a table. He was only slightly better dressed, in that his shirt was actually clean and he didn’t have vomit on his shoes, however he had the air about him of someone used to being obeyed. Close cropped grey hair, pallid skin and a small neatly trimmed moustache.
A droning in the distance gradually modulated into a nagging voice in Larry’s consciousness. Instantly aware of the aching pain in his arm, he opened his eyes as slits but even that was too bright. He closed them again.
"Wake up sunshine." said the disembodied voice, quietly. Larry squinted into the blinding light but he could make nothing out. He closed his eyes again and felt a slap on his face for his trouble.
"Come on!" said the voice again, not quite so patient now.
He tried again and silhouetted against the blinding light he could make out a hazy figure.
"You broke my bloody arm." mumbled Larry, the sound of his own voice surprising him as he thought he was still gagged.
"Well, welcome back." said the hazy figure. "What was that little secret you were uttering to me then?"
Larry gave his eyes a second to focus a little better. Very close to his face was a heavyset and unshaven face. Every breath brought a wave of garlic and stale cigarette smoke.
Larry tried to sit up and realised he was bound to the hard chair he was sitting in.
"I said", said Larry through gritted teeth, taking his time "You broke my bloody arm!"
"Really?" said the fat guy in a very concerned tone. "Was it this one?" he said and tapped Larry’s elbow with his truncheon.
The pain made him scream and jolt forward in his bonds, he felt the bile rising in his throat and involuntarily he threw up.
"Jesus!" said the face leaping back. Larry looked up to see a large transit cop in a sweat stained light blue shirt moving rapidly backwards. The cop raised his truncheon to hit him again but was stopped by another cop coming from behind the chair.
"Alright, Charles, that’s enough." Said the new one with authority, "We need him conscious at least for a little while."
Charles let his arm drop, but stared menacingly at Larry before looking around for something to wipe the vomit of his pants.
"Let’s get your name straight for start, eh." said the new cop, leaning back against the edge of a table. He was only slightly better dressed, in that his shirt was actually clean and he didn’t have vomit on his shoes, however he had the air about him of someone used to being obeyed. Close cropped grey hair, pallid skin and a small neatly trimmed moustache.
