Chapter Seventeen
The Storytelling Center
“The purpose of a wiry thing is hard to define without a name.” —H2
Eunice, a woman convinced her hormones were radioactive, had no time for small talk. If Patsy was holding her ground, Eunice was digging the trench. She knew when there was a serious threat to her home, and with Patsy out of action on Elton John shoes, it was up to her to take control.
“I want you lot out now or I’m calling the police,” she huffed. “And give me that dog.”
Mex shook her head.
“Right, that’s it, I am calling the police.”
“Look, the dog is irrelevant,” said H2. “All I need is that wiry thing.”
“This?” said Patsy, pulling the wiry thing from her pocket.
Izzie whimpered.
“Why should I give it to you?”
“Do you know what that is?” said H2.
Izzie eyed the wirin
