11
Waking. Sleeping. Waking. Waking.
Good cop, bad cop.
Cannon and Ball.
Baseball Cap and Ray-Bans were back, the former carrying a tray containing a steaming cafetiere and a plateful of assorted biscuits which he placed on the half moon table by the chairs. Ray-Bans, meantime, had placed two unsavoury objects on the coffee table by the rear wall. Even from her chained predicament at the centre of the room, there was no mistaking what they were: a Taser and a horse whip.
Baseball Cap poured the coffee into three cups. He added two sugars to one cup before passing it to Ray-Bans. The second was his own; the last intended for her.
‘Sugar? I’m afraid we’re out of cream and sweetener.’
She shook her head.
Ray-Bans drained his cup in one go before flinging it aimlessly at the wall, shar
