THE WIND OF SHAME

 THE WIND OF SHAME

As they waited for their cab, Dr Doyle and his small entourage of cronies huddled together for protection against the inclement weather.  It was still early in the morning but last nights alcoholic effect was beginning to wain, and the need for booster shots was evident.

The battered Mercedes drove in to view with its windscreen wipers working furiously to extinguish the flotsam and jetsam thrown up by the turbulent weather. 

As usual, Dr Doyle entered the front passenger door and placed his overweight arse in to the welcoming refuge of a sick covered seat. The rest of the roustabouts squeezed in to the back seats and shuffled about until all of their corpulent and unwashed bodies were secure.

 As the taxi engaged gear and began to enter the sparse early morning traffic, they each individually glanced back at the hotel that had been their refuge the previous night. The various incidents were unsettling to all involved and each inhabitant of the cab shivered as they recalled the nights biggest surprise.

The mini cab driver gruffly inquired of there destination, and suggested the airport. Shaking his head and thick red neck, the Doctor drew in a deep breath and explained that he wished to be taken to a run down area of town adjacent to the canal and derelict Victorian era wharfs and docks. 

Dr Doyle's target was a well known establishment was situated next to a small humped back bridge over the canal, which was renowned for selling good fried breakfasts, cheap well stocked ale and lager, and the best stout in the city.

The pungent smell of formaldehyde was still thick in each of the groups nostrils as they exited the vehicle and strolled nonchalantly towards the shabby structure of the building. A gaggle of geese swam eagerly towards them as they approached the entrance, eagerly awaiting some form of reward. However, they were not expecting the half brick that was flung in there direction by the Doctor.

Pushing the door open, the team scanned the premises seeking out there target. Eyes darting from left to right soon settled on the large, overweight and balding character seated at a large table by a window, with a flickering candle on the checked tablecloth. A  small tot of Jameson's sat in front of him, beside a freshly brewed cup of black coffee and an empty ashtray.

 Noticing the arrival of Dr Doyle and his associates, he gestured for them to come over to him, and gently stood up.  

To be continued......