♪ ♫ ♪
Lou shook his head when Steve held a dripping bottle towards him. “No, thank you,” he murmured, his lips curling up like a stallion scenting the air. Seeing our raised brows, he cleared his throat and pointing at the Esky, deadpanned, “I’ll have a Whiskey if you’ve got one in your portable ice-chest.”
Ha-ha. So not funny deadshit. If the dude wasn’t a fucking genius-type-savant on the Gibson and my Boss, I’d vote we piss him and the spazzy, black-eyed turd the hell off.
I’d keep Lila though. She was an asset, who just happened to have great assets. One’s I wanted more and more to investigate in a hand’s on way.
Steve screwed his nose up at Lou’s request, almost as if he’d been asked for a bottle of stale piss. He sighed. “Nup, none of that nasty shit, you’ll have to wait ‘til ya get back to the hotel for that mate. Ya choice at this moment in time is water, water or fucking water.”
“Dude,” Danny piped up, pointing at Lou with the hand holding his drink, “Ice-chests went out with the First Fleet and bushrangers, y’know? After Ned Kelly invented the bar fridge. Or did he invent cigarette lighters? Dunno, can’t remember learnin’ that part of Aussie history. Hated history. Boring as all shit.”
He shrugged. “Coulda been stoned that day too.” Taking in a mouthful of water, he swallowed, and with his next words he proceeded to demonstrate to everyone why he’d barely scraped through High School, “Anyway, my point being Mr Boss-man, it’s the Twentieth century fucker.”
He rolled his eyes, sighing heavily as if he was trying to explain the complexities of the Theory of Evolution with a single-celled amoeba. A dead and long decayed one.
I had to chuckle. Dude actually rolled his fucking eyes like a chick.
At the sound of my amusement, he turned those narrowed spit-fire hazel weapons on me briefly before looking once again at a bemused Lou, telling him, “Get with the fucking program man.”
Rhys laughed. “It’s actually the Twenty First century,” Professor Rhys corrected in an amused tone, adding beneath his breath, ‘you dumb deadshit.”
Danny cocked his head and turned his eye-weapons on Rhys, glaring up at him with the force of a thousand mega-tonnes of radioactive annoyance. “Whatever cunt. Who gives a shit what century it fuckin’ is anyway? Go bang on ya gorilla nuts with ya sticks or something,” he snarled, chugging back his water, effectively ending the stupid conversation.
One which he’d started in the first place.
His silence didn’t last long.
“Got any of those giant chocolate frogs on ya?” He asked magician Steve.
Steve shook his head. “Sorry dude. Ate ‘em already.”
I’m fairly sure he was lying outta his arse.
“Oh.” Danny bobbed his head, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. I could almost see the cogs spinning in his head. “No worries man. Got a stash back in my room.” Danny fell silent as he sucked on his water bottle, no doubt contemplating stuffing his face with the chocolate frogs. “Hey Williams.”
“What?” Rhys groaned.
Danny cackled and swiping his free hand through his curls he pulled his lips in, snuffling through his nose as he suppressed more laughter before snorting out, “Whatcha call a sexy chick on a drummer’s arm?”
“Jesus, Forrester, you’re a pain in my arse.” Rhys scratched the underside of his jaw. “Okay, I’ll bite. What?”
My face creased up and I shook my head, looking between the pair of them.
Danny threw his arm out and bounced his hand up and down as he pointed at Rhys. “A fucking tattoo, drum monkey.”
♪ ♫ ♪
Extract: Wicked Good copyright (c) Jennifer Crowfoot 2016