Throw Him Away and Get a New One

“Very well. You leave me no choice.” There was a sound of metal on metal and then the click of shifting lock tumblers.

The door opened. A man in a business suit and round glasses put away the hair grip he’d used to spring the lock. “Good afternoon,” he said. “My name is Winthrop. May I come in?”

“No!”

Winthrop came in. Closing the door, he gave the hotel room a cursory scan. “Well, I’ve seen worse. Do you mind if I open a window? Damp plays havoc with my lungs.”

“Do what you like.” Angus flopped back onto the bed with its uneven mattress, nearly-white bed sheets and strange aroma. Not for the first time, he noticed that one of the stains on the ceiling looked like a map of Africa.

After opening the window, Winthrop picked up the bottle of drain cleaner and read the label. He shook his head and tutted. “I can’t believe you chose this,” he chided, placing the bottle on the window sill. “You’ve no idea how unpleasant an overdose can be. You’d have died in screaming agony.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m here.”





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