Danny Yates Must Die

‘Okay, so tell me about her.’

‘Danny, this girl has rock hard nipples. Every morning, climb from bed, go downstairs, collect two eggs from the fridge, close the fridge door, get a frying pan, go back upstairs, walk into her bedroom. Tap once, tap twice, crack those eggs, one on each breast. Sizzle sizzle sizzle. Sunny side up, you’ve got breakfast. That’s how firm we’re talking. I know how important spigotal hardness is to a man in a home-sharing scenario.’

‘Lucy, nipples are not a factor.’

‘Mine were.’

‘No. They weren’t.’

‘Don’t lie.’

‘They were never important.’

‘What you saying? You saying they’re rubbish? You saying they’re too close together? Too far apart? Too identical? Too unalike? Too high? Too low? Too inbetween? Too two? Do they lack character, charm and mischief? Do they lack thrust? Do they thrust too much?’

‘Yes.’

‘ “Yes,” what?’

‘ “Yes,” all that stuff you just said.’

‘You’ve not even seen them, for Godssake; apart from surreptitious glances when I’ve been wearing something clingy. And don’t tell me you didn’t look. Coz I know you did.’

‘No, Lucy, I didn’t.’

‘Yeah, right,’ she sneered, and crunched gears.

‘No, seriously, I didn’t.’

‘Yeah. Right.’

‘No. Really.’

‘Really?’

‘Breasts are too passive,’ he said. ‘All they do is hang there.’

‘What do you want them to do? Attack you?’

‘I’d just like them to do something. Nothing dramatic. Nothing clever. Just something. Anything.’

‘Well that’s where you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘Because breasts are the best things ever and don’t need to do anything in order to be entertaining. Just sitting here my own chest’s a veritable fun fair. And no one can have too much of them.’

‘I suppose you want me to look at them now,’ he sighed.

‘You’d be the last person I’d show them to. Wait till I get my new ones. Try ignoring them, Mr I’m So Squeaky Clean I Don’t Even Look When They’re Shoved In My Face. Not that I’ll let you see them. I’ll probably wear a double thick overcoat every time I see you. And you’ll just have to dream about what you’re missing. Probably keep you awake at nights, craving.’

‘What about this Annette woman?’

‘They’re too small. She’ll never make an impact at parties; not with her, “Hey, boys, I’m a non-underwire-dependent cyberman,” malarkey. Size, that’s what gets you noticed. And you can tell her that from me.’

‘I meant, tell me about this home offer.’

‘She called me an hour ago, saying you could move in with her.’

‘But I don’t even know her.’

‘Who can figure it? Must be desperate. I don’t think she gets many callers, what with being flat chested.’

‘So, what’s the catch?’

She drove on, gaze fixed on the road ahead.

‘Lucy?’

She drove on.

‘Lucy?’

‘No catch.’

‘What’s the bond?’

A lump slid down her throat before she answered, still looking straight ahead. ‘No bond.’

‘References?’

‘No references.’

‘Rent?’

‘No rent.’

‘Terms? Conditions?’

‘No terms. No conditions. Simply be there. But, Danny, under no circumstances mention her embarrassingly small breasts. Between you and me, she attaches far too much importance to such things. I tried to avoid mentioning them on the phone when she called but somehow it slipped out.’

‘Is there anything about this place you’re not telling me?’ he asked. ‘It’s not in an earthquake zone or something?’

‘Believe me, this is the house to be. And, Danny?’

‘What?’

‘Imagine cracking those eggs.’

‘So where is it?’

‘666, Hellzapoppin Cul-de-sac, Nightmareville.’