The Big Ask by Shane Maloney Read Free Book Online Page B

multiplying like some collagenic amoeba. Seamlessly the music segued into a track by the artist then still known as Prince. Doof, doof. Wang, wang. Time to hit the frog.
    As I skirted the dance floor, I felt my tail-feathers begin to twitch. Weakened by alcohol, my body was succumbing to the all-pervasive beat. Some of these women are here to find a man, my libido wheedled. Perhaps one of them will show a little pity. ‘You should be so lucky,’ warbled Kylie Minogue.
    What the hell. I shuffled into the fray. The dance floor was sardine-tight with bodies, a roiling cauldron of halfglimpsed faces and lurching torsos. As I sashayed deeper into the throng, Audrey bopped into frame, dancing by herself, flushed and radiant, a picture of pulchritude.
    Sweet dreams were of this, and who was I to disagree? I hove-off at a respectable distance, took in the view and gave myself over to a little gentle grooving.
    Then Stevie-boy appeared, hot on Audrey’s delectable tail. He sidled up close and proceeded to get as grabby as ever. But the bits he was trying to grab were strictly off limits, at least in a public place and without prior permission.
    Audrey’s expression made her annoyance apparent. Girls just wanna have fun, not be mauled by monomaniacal morons. She removed his hand and mouthed something succinct and unmistakeable.
    Clearly, Audrey was a girl who knew how to take care of herself. Gallantry, on the other hand, did not permit me to stand there, swaying on the spot, waggling my buttocks. When McQueen lunged again, I shoulder-shimmied into the breach and wang-dang-doodled him aside. He tried a flanking manoeuvre but I headed him off with a series of rapid-fire John Travolta arm-thrusts. Then I blocked all further attempts at advance with a space-invading frug-jerk combo enhanced with Elvis-inspired pelvic thrusts and I-Dream-ofJeannie neck wobbles.
    Hep, I hoped, to my chivalrous intent, Audrey took the opportunity to vanish backwards into the crowd. Her foiled suitor scowled and gave me the finger. I flexed my groin in his general direction. Steam appeared to come out of his ears, but it was just artificial fog. Then he, too, melded into the crowd and disappeared.
    My innovative terpsichorean technique had attracted a certain amount of attention. Beautiful people of every sex, gender and lifestyle orientation began backing away at a rapid pace. My career as a babe magnet was in tatters.
    Hip-hop melded into rap. I collected my jacket and headed for the exit, pausing only to visit the men’s room. The original urinals were still intact and fully operational. I gave one of them the traditional greeting, then turned to the hand basins.
    Despite the heavy bar traffic, there was only one other customer. It was Steve McQueen. He must have followed me in. I could see at once that he wasn’t there to relieve the pressure on his bladder. ‘Reckon you’re clever, don’t you?’ he slurred.
    For a drunk, he was very fast. He swung wide and his fist connected with the side of my head before I saw it coming. I stumbled backwards, skidded on something slippery and landed flat on my backside on the floor.
    Vicious Steve said something in Anglo-Saxon and cocked his foot for a kick. I rolled sideways and started scrambling to my feet. He grabbed the back of my collar and propelled me into a toilet stall. My fingers grabbed for the frame but found no purchase. A white ellipse rose to meet me. Pressure bore down on the back of my head, shoving my face into the toilet bowl. A flushing sound thundered in my ears. Niagara Falls descended.
    I fought it hard, gripping the rim of the bowl and arching my back, legs flailing and kicking, my mouth and eyes screwed shut against the torrent of water. The grip on my neck was relentless.
    I’m drowning, I thought. What a way to go. Ducked to death in a dunny. I thrashed and heaved and jerked, gasping for air, spluttering and retching. My head banged against the bowl