Chapter Twenty
The Drill
“A drill never works alone.” —Verruca’s robot
The hand ushered Bunnie and Beryl behind the counter and through a heavy velvet curtain. Beryl stared at the thick walls and spiral stairs. Bunnie, with a “you first,” pushed her on.
The stairway was lit by tea lights and filled with the noise of Scottish dance music and the fast chatter of women. Some would have found it mystical; Beryl, however, stumbling in the dark, spent her time choking on the incense with as much noise as possible. The scent of vanilla always made her feel sick.
She stumbled on the seventh step and let out a loud “Oh, for pickling s**t!”
“Shhhh,” snapped Bunnie.
“Nearly broke my ankle,” muttered Beryl.
“No need to shout about it.”
“Shout about it? You try walking in these heels in this—t
