a plan so cunning you could put a tail on it...

So anyway…’The Brain’ went off to find some rope, while I foraged around in the back garden for a suitably heavy rock to weigh down the corpse. Ten minutes later we were hovering over the unquestionably dead hooker, deciding how best to attach the rock to her frail, little body. It was taking us a great deal of time to get the rock placed, which was just as well, because as we propped her up to try sticking the rock under her t-shirt…she coughed.
‘Jesus Christ, Fingers…she’s still alive.’
At this point I wasn’t sure whether ‘The Brain’ regarded this as good news or not, half-expecting him to turn into Freddie Krueger any second and produce an axe to finish the job.
‘Fucking hell, Brain…if we’d gone ahead with your stupid plan, we’d have actually been responsible for killing her. If they ever found the body and determined there was water in the lungs we’d be charged with murder, you cunt.’‘
'Well, you’re the one who said she was dead already.’
‘I’m STILL not a coroner, you fuckwad.’
As the wave of relief swept over us, an agreement was reached that the hooker had to leave the house…since neither of us were terribly convinced she wouldn’t die at some stage in the near future. Luckily for all concerned, The Royal North Shore Hospital was just a few minutes drive away. We hatched a meticulous plan to leave her in front of ‘Casualty’ where she’d be safe, so to that end we wrapped her in a blanket, carried the young lady down to the garage and opened the door.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuckety, fuck, fuck, fuck…I forgot the Jag’s fucked…we’ll have to take ‘The Scary Bobmobile.’
‘Oh brilliant.’
‘The Scary Bobmobile’ was a jet-black 600 SEL Mercedes, with ‘BOB’ number plates and nuclear-flash-white-walled tyres; possibly the non-stealthiest vehicle in the whole of Sydney. Still, we had few options (other than the many obvious, civilized, sensible ones) so we rolled the hooker-in-a-blanket into the boot (she was still at risk of throwing up), drove carefully over to the hospital, past the busy front doors, round the side to an unlit emergency door…and propped the now-semi-conscious body up against the wall.
We then drove out the other side of the hospital grounds, found a phone booth and called the hospital to let staff know there was a patient waiting for them outside. On the way home, ‘The Brain’ and I congratulated each other on taking the honourable course of action; we’d saved a life, we were possibly heroes…perhaps we’d both get a medal some day.
As we drove back to the house it started to rain, gently at first but then all of a sudden it was bucketing down, as only it can over on The North Shore, where it sometimes feels like God is trying to pour The Pacific Ocean on it through a sieve…

To be continued…