Donnie’s underarms were an ocean of sweat.
‘Call 1800 555 551 if you want Donnie to live,’ said Freddy. ‘Although I don’t think he deserves it after pissing about so much in today’s episode — and call 1800 555 552 if you want a new contestant!’
Donnie stood, a decision made, and started to walk back.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that Donnie,’ said Freddy. ‘There are guards not far away who have orders to shoot on sight.’
‘Trapped?’
‘Oh yeah!’
* * *
‘Cos this is a man’s game,’ foamed Freddy, rising to a peak of orgasmic arrogance. ‘A man’s game for Real Men!’
The crowd roared again.
‘All calls charged at Twenty dollars a minute,’ exclaimed Freddy. ‘Make your calls now!’
‘But this isn’t fair,’ said Donnie over the PA.
‘Oh, but you wanted to be on the show Donnie,’ grinned Freddy. ‘You signed the Death Disclaimer the same as every contestant!’
‘But…’ Donnie stammered. ‘I can be more use to you than this–’
‘Then tell me what those white-faced freaks wanted with the Gavel?’ Freddy demanded.
‘I… I don’t know,’ said Donnie truthfully. ‘They spouted a lot of mumbo jumbo and said they’d pay me a ton of cash to find it.’
‘Oh well, that’s a pity,’ said Freddy shrugging. The audience laughed. ‘Cos if you can’t tell me any more then you don’t get to the next stage.’
A great screen began to lower from the ceiling, on it were call statistics, numbers rattling around like an old-style slot-machine.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Freddy. ‘We’ve got a great turnout for this one!’
He paused, counting under his breath.
‘But there’s got to be–’ began Donnie.
* * *
Freddy and turned to stare menacingly at the nearest camera.
‘The lines are now closed…
‘…And your time is up.’
Click to see the next installment: The Middle Child of the Secret of the Lost Gavel
Pingback: Book 1 | Daisy Donnie: Prehistory