“What time are the punters gonna be here Eric?” Lobster Ron asks.
The stitches are out, the bandages gone, so Lucky Eric can look at his watch again.
“Any minute now. I’m more worried about that tosser, Jimmy. Where is he?”
“Still in the bogs. Last time I saw him he had his tackle in a sink
full of ice.”
“Lovely picture, that is.” Lucky Eric says.
“Didn’t seem to be working.”
“Alright, alright. That’s enough.”
A siren trails into the distance and on its coat tails, riding round the corner come voices, raucously singing,
“... we go, 'ere we go, 'ere we gooooo.”
Three skinheads hove into sight, two of them dragging the third between them.
“Ah,” Lucky Eric says, “And about time.”
“You what, Eric? You don’t mean ..? What ...?”
“Ted, Ted, get the cameras out here.” Lucky Eric yells, “We’re on.”
“But they’re rat-arsed, Eric.” Lobster Ron says.
“Yeah. Well, that’ll make it more real won’t it. Now remember, no
rough stuff. Take control. Think, prevention. Think, security.”
“If you say so Eric.” Lobster Ron sounds a little uncertain. “What
about Jimmy? Shall I go and get him?”
“No. No time. Better off without the fucker anyway. Here we go.
Ted! Ted! Action mate, action!”
Causes Luke James Supports
Doctors Without Borders