Out For A Steak Dinner
They had gathered at the White Hart Hotel, and were to rendezvous with the local corrupt coppers, or so they thought. Andrew stood drinking his jug of Bourbon and ice, he was in his element, pipes flowed abundantly and soon the room was filling up with the acrid smell of meth and tobacco. “Could be a good night”, Andrew mused to himself, “Have another drink Louie, have another J.D. on ice in a pot”, Louie’s reply was straight and to the point, ”Blow it out your fucking arse Andrew, I’m not having another pot of whiskey, you fucking loser”, and so the friendly banter continued, much to the chagrin of the publican. “Where are you going to get a tasty morsel from, Andrew”, asked one of the coppers, who by this time had explained their rather nebulous situation, “Should be able to pick up in Horsham, bit of fun to be had”, Andrew replied, “How do you usually pick up Andrew”, was the next question,, “Well, bit of green, bit of ecstasy powder and they are pretty good to go, once you start with a bit of light anal they’re usually rearing to go”, “Bit of green Andrew”, came the reply, “Yeah, bit of Roey, good as gold”, Andrew was always straight to the point.
Pretty soon the Gang of Ten were boarding a bus headed towards the Little Desert, they had been invited to a bush party, all the drinks provided, plenty of gear and whatever else was needed. They and their horrible little gang of miscreants stared out the windows into the darkness, “I hope there is going to be a fire up there, gets cold in the desert”, Louie began wailing to no one in particular, “They’ll have a fire you loser, we won’t go without”, remarked another of their brethren. Soon they arrived at the predesignated location, flanked by the local coppers from the area, who shepherded them with affable geniality. One of them sensed something was off and peered into the darkness, “Is that someone moaning”, was the pertinent question. “Oh yeah, that’s just Peter, we just want to know about Rachel and her family, you know, the one with the appetite for star pickets”, Louie spun around to confront the speaker, “Oh bullshit, you’re not going to stake us out in the fucking desert are you”, came the whispered tone, “Yes we are you fucking pathetic loser, think you’re going to target 37 coppers and 92 ASIO agents, well it’s not going to happen fuckface, guess what losers, welcome to your steak dinner”, before Louie and his band of wanna’ be Gestapo agents could answer they were all grabbed from the darkness, deprived of their clothing and were very soon, spread eagled on the ground on top of the nearest ant mound”.
