Cocktails with a kick (6/6)

By Drum Digital
19 June 2015

Dumi was an opportunist, not a feminist.

Then she swayed up to Roach and served him the drink, saying, “With the compliments of the house for our valued customer, Mr Roach!” “Thank you, Dumi,” said Roach, grinning up at her. “How are the shoes?” “Perfect – just perfect!” she said, and continued patrolling the room. Dumi waited for the double tot of mortuary disinfectant in Roach’s glass to have its effect – which turned out to be spectacular.

The hustler suddenly stood, groaned, threw up, and fell to the floor. The girl screamed. When the paramedics came to remove Roach, one of them told Dumi that her customer was in a coma. As she swiftly cleared the glasses from the table Dumi told the paramedic, “I knew it! He always had a weak heart. And such a nice man, one of my regulars.What a shame . . .”

As the ambulance left, Dumi popped out to pour her remaining isopropyl down the drain and drop the empty container into a wheely-bin in the yard. Then she resumed her patrol of the tables, as cold thoughts revolved behind her warm smile.

Too bad if he goes blind, too bad if he dies, too bad if the cops come and I have to pay a fortune to make the docket disappear. For that would be money well spent, she thought. When Roach had cheated her with those lousy “bargain” heels, there was one vital thing he didn’t know. Dumi was the kind of woman who would kill for a pair of shoes.

The End.

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