Gerry and the Beans of Glory Part 7

Continued from part 6

"Look mate", said Gerry, "I chose your fuckin' peanut, I came to your scummy fuckin' house, but what kind of prize is this? I'd rather fuck an actual dog than have Tru as my queen. No offence Tru, but you've got a face like a bucket of fish gut".

With his last sentence, Tru let forth a piercing scream of anger and threw herself towards Gerry, her ratty french tips raking the air as she attempted to claw his face. Gerry stepped back with a smirk as Leonard-the-henchman wrapped a burly arm around Tru's bony midriff and gently pulled her back.

Terrence Carabobo wearily facepalmed. Tru began to slowly calm down as Gerry snickered at his own wittiness. Leonard let go of Tru and they all stood oppposite one another in a rough circle. The crowd of 50 people had fallen silent as they watched the exchange with curiosity. It appeared that Gerry had rejected Tru as his Cleopatra.

A small monkey came scurrying out of the crowd and climbed up onto Terrence Carabobo's shoulder. It chattered in a shrill high-pitched voice and began to massage Terrence Carabobo's scalp with a well-practiced motion. Terrence closed his eyes momentarily and made a soft purring sound. The image made Gerry feel sick.

Tru scowled at Gerry. She looked ridiculous in her Cleopatra get-up. Gerry had heard of mutton dressed up as lamb, but this was clearly a case of dogshit dressed up as sugar-frosted dogshit.

Everyone had fallen silent, and that was when Gerry noticed a thin little gay-looking man standing near the stairs. The man was dressed in a tight-fitting fishnet shirt and had brightly coloured bike shorts on. He clasped a walking lead in one hand and had a sinister smile on his face... at the end of the lead was a staffy. Staffies were easily Gerry's favourite breed of dog. They had a certain manly quality about them, like they didn't take guff from no one and didn't give a shit about themselves either. Gerry could identify with that. The little gay man kept staring at him and smiling though, and Gerry suddenly regretted his earlier use of the words "fuck", "actual" and "dog".

It was so quiet that Gerry could hear the crackle of a sweat bead evaporating on his brow. He felt his stomach constrict in fear and his bowels rumbled sympathetically. He liked staffies, but not that much.

The dog's tongue lolled out of its mouth as it panted in the heat. Black lips curled over seductively as its drool glinted from across the room, and the thick muscles around the dog's neck coiled as it regarded him mysteriously.

Gerry's mind raced as he contemplated his options. There were too many people around the exits for him to run away, and Leonard looked like he could've raped Gerry with a single finger if he wanted to. Gerry could tell that Terrence Carabobo was, on some level, a much more reasonable man than himself, but he would have to think fast if he wanted to squirm his way out of this situation.

The little gay man loosened his grip on his lead and the staffy fell back on its haunches, displaying its emerging manhood for all to see.

That was when Gerry noticed something about the staffy's face. Something that might just save him from a very unpleasant situation.

"Uh", Gerry had to say something. Fucking a dog wasn't on his agenda when it came to holidays he could tell his mum about. "Uh, of course, the dog would have to be a purebred".

The little gay man's smile disappeared completely. Gerry had him! That staffy was clearly crossed with a labrador. Its head was too elongated, and Gerry could always pick a mongrel. Gerry let out a long sigh of relief as the tension in the room suddenly dissipated, confirming Gerry's hunch.

"Yep", continued Gerry, "That dog aint a purebred. Sorry, I just can't be wading into any old muck, can I?"

Terrence Carabobo chuckled softly and wagged a finger at Gerry, "You're a smart guy Gerry", and dismissed the little gay man and his dog.

"I guess this was the wrong way to go about trying to recruit you" admitted Terrence Carabobo with a heavy shrug, "I contacted Tru over the internet a while ago. She answered an ad that we put together", Terrence Carabobo threw one arm out to gesture to the crowd of 50 onlookers, "We are the Venezualan Foot, a secret society who seek to liberate powerful and ancient artefacts and store them in Venezuala for safekeeping. I want something very special from Australia, and Tru is my woman on the inside. Through Tru I organised for you to have a big win on the pokies, and I have been subliminially bombing you with messages via your cigarette packets so that you would end up here".

"You cunt", replied Gerry. He pulled out his ciggie packet and, sure enough, the warning read Smoking makes you go to Venezuala.

Terrence Carabobo continued, "Myself and Leonard will be accompanying Tru and yourself back to Australia".

"What the fuck for?" Gerry was pissed off, "I just left there, I don't want to go back!"

"We're going to pull off the heist of the century" Terrence Carabobo lowered his voice to a reverent whisper, "We're going to steal Ian Turpie's golden cock ring".