Aurora’s carmine lips formed a determined line, as she received Patterson’s latest up-date; she favoured him with an ice-blue stare: ’and when might I expect the camel’s return?’
The suave, silver-haired man spoke smoothly: ‘a plan is being put into place.’
On the south-side of the city, in the DHSS Office on High Park Street, Gary glared across a yellowing Formica table-top at his subordinate Reg, a short, squat individual whom he’d never taken to, waiting for his response.
‘It was just a favour, like, for a mate; Joey Moran’s got something of his and me mate wants it back,’ Reg shrugged, ‘said it was valuable – even showed me a picture of it – I dunno what’s so special about a little curled-up camel statue, it looked more like a turd to me.’
‘Your mate has Mr Moran’s UB40 but he doesn’t know his address, so you took it upon yourself to look it up in the office records?’ As Gary spoke, dread rose from the pit of his stomach – a curled up camel – his fingers gripped the edge of the table-top, purple veins standing out on the backs of his hands – surely not that same evil little statue?
Written in response to two challenges:
Photo credit: illustration from a book somewhere on my bookshelves which has mysteriously disappeared🐪