Drum and the Pirates (Part 8)

If the other pirates were not alert to Drum’s presence before, that grenade blast gave them the heads up. Drum knew he didn’t have much time. He snuck alongside a tall platform at the ship’s edge, and hurried along a narrow passage where a single steel guardrail was the only thing between him and a ten-metre dive into the sea. A wicked, sultry laugh assaulted his ears and he froze. From around the corner at the end of the passageway, a voluptuous redhead appeared, and began mincing her way toward him. She was Jezebel O’Leary, Fluorescent Android’s bass player. She was the woman who had bedded over two hundred rock stars and ruined their marriages. Drum was torn—he wanted to run from the she-devil, but he also needed to get to past her to help his friends. O’Leary sauntered up and stood in front of him.

“Hello… Mr Drummond.”

“Out of my way, Jezebel,” he said, weakly.

“Oh, come now. Don’t be like that. You know, this could be the perfect opportunity for us to get to know each other better.”

“I mean it,” said Drum. “Step aside.”

“If you say so,” said O’Leary, with a luscious-lipped pout.

She turned side-on and leaned against the rail. This didn’t make much room. As Drum tried to edge past her, she pressed herself up against him. Her breasts ballooned up like air bags deploying; he jumped back just in time to evade her kiss.

“Seriously, let me get past,” he said, losing patience.

“You want to get past me? Well, I’m the bridge-keeper, and if you want to cross this bridge you have to pay the toll, baby.”

“You know I’m married,” said Drum.

“Don’t worry,” said O’Leary, as she began unbuttoning her blouse, “no one will ever know. It’ll be our little secret.” She took a small handgun from inside her overworked brassiere and aimed it at Drum. “This is going to happen, so you might as well make the most of it. Now give me some sugar, Big Daddy.”

Drum sweep-kicked O’Leary’s legs out from under her; she fell sideways, cracking her head on the guardrail. One of her legs flopped over the side of the boat and dangled there a moment, then an arm followed. Gravity dragged her limb by limb over the edge, her flaccid body slipping under the rail like a buxom squid. Drum watched her plunge into the sea and disappear in the ship’s wake.

“Whore overboard,” he muttered.


He raced beyond the passageway and saw the bridge up ahead. He saw Randy Van Funk, armed with a machine gun, climbing the stairs to the bridge.



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