Thursday, 17 August 2017
It wasn’t like Frankie to be late. He was usually so reliable that he was someone you could set your watch or even mobile phone by. Indeed, why not text or phone call? Paul felt a deep sense of unease as the minutes ticked by as he sat in the T Hive nursing a large cappuccino and gazing wistfully at the luscious cakes at the serving counter. But it was only 10.30 in the morning no time for a cake; maybe an almond croissant …. But where on earth was Frankie?
The door lurched open and a dishevelled Frankie staggered in and sat down clumsily and heavily in the chair next to Paul.
- Frankie?Frankie looked at Paul from a bruised and swollen face.
- What the fuck happened to you?
- I dunno (He shrugged his shoulders and winced)… Well yeah I got the shit beaten out of me last night…. Or rather early morning …. In the town centre… Northern Quarter… near Al Faisal…
- Who did this to you?
- It was too quick to get a good look at them.
- Them. There were two of them… A very professional job… Not enough to leave much damage – a couple of cracked ribs and a pain in the testicles.
Paul winced in empathy.
- It does sound professional.
- But why?
- Why Indeed!