Worst. Person. Ever(43)

Someone said, “Why are you asking us?”

“Because your new co-worker here, Patient Zero, actually did.”

“Thank you, Stuart,” I said. “Might I add in my defence that I was cunted out of my brains on booze?”

Someone near the front said, “I still don’t know, mate. Pretty fucking stupid if you ask me.”

“Who died and made you Alex fucking Trebek?”

“Watch your language!” shouted Stuart. “There are ladies present.”

“But you swear yourself!”

Ignored.

Everyone melted away to various destinations. Fiona left too, scurrying to a nearby private jet. Joy to the world! I did watch her closely, however, and because of this I saw her hand the pilot a bag of money. How do I know it was a bag of money? Because I know Fiona. When we were together, we purchased truck-loads of blow all the time, and she has a very specific way of handling money; her body language changes when she’s in contact with cash. She keeps her hands close to her stomach and then passes the wad to its recipient in a direct line from her belly button. Of course, she might only be scoring coke from the pilot, but it was a pretty big bag, so … I made a mental note and left it at that.

Sarah, meanwhile, peeked out from behind Stuart, looking fresh as the dawn, her breasts as insistent as rising dough. “Looks like I’m missing out on some fun here.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Raymond, you poor thing, you’re sunburned! Let me go get some lotion from the medic. I’ll warm it up to just above body temperature so that it feels nice when I put it on you.”

From behind, Neal jabbed me in the ribs with his index finger.

Sarah went off to get some lotion, and Stuart said, “Gunt. Stop brain-raping Sarah. I am on to you, buddy.” He looked at his watch and cursed as he got back into his pickup truck, muttering, “Fucking atomic bombs.” He peeled away from us.

Me, Neal and Elspeth remained on the tarmac. Fiona’s jet was just taking off.

“Ooh,” said Elspeth, pointing at Sarah, now far down the tarmac in pursuit of lotion. “Play your cards right and you’ll be stonkering her something quick. Watch out for that Stuart fellow, though.”

“So what do we do now?” Neal asked.

“While I await my lotion, why not investigate …” I looked at a sign, “… Bonriki International Airport.”





28


Welcome to Bonriki International Airport!

Gateway to the city of Bairiki. Whether you’re

passing through or staying for a while, be happy

and enjoy our fine island hospitality!

•

Miss Phibbs’s Restaurant and Foot Clinic now

open after tsunami repairs. Perhaps enjoy a delicious

meal of octopus, coconut, tinned luncheon meat

and hen’s eggs. Or maybe excellent entertainment

on a colour television set.

“Satellite dish since 1994.”

•

Bridge to North Island is now out of commission

due to salt corrosion. Truck access now only

at lowest tide.

•

Remember: condoms promote licentiousness,

so reconsider before using.

•

Coral is pretty, but it cuts you easily and then

infection will set in and you will die.

Remember sand shoes when visiting reefs.

•

Kiribati is a full voting member of the United Nations.

Kiribati has few natural resources. Commercially viable phosphate deposits were exhausted by 1979, when it gained its independence from England. Copra and fish now represent the bulk of production and exports. Tourism provides more than one-fifth of the country’s GDP. It’s a very, very dull place.


Dear al Qaeda,


If you ever feel like putting some of your young lads on planes again, I have just the place for you. Snuggled in the warm waters of the central Pacific, Bonriki Airport has about as much protection as a leftover plate of spaghetti in the fridge covered with a layer of cling film. The facility’s security team is composed of mange-ridden, malnourished stray dogs whom the natives take great relish in taunting with hurled coral chunks. And I wouldn’t worry too much about CCTV cameras or the like. Chances are greater than not that the power is out. Honestly, you could stuff 200 pounds of Semtex up your gary in this place and no one would ever notice your payload. These people are massive.


Yours,

Raymond Gunt





29


“Sarah, we just passed our hotel.” (The hotel, I might add, resembled a detention facility in a cruel post-architectural world of cinder blocks and corrugated zinc sheeting. Dumpiness notwithstanding, I very much wanted to be there.)

Sarah was rubbing my head with PABA lotion. “We’re going into town for supplies.”

“Why now? Shouldn’t we at least check in first?”