`Especially important is the warning to avoid conversations with the demon. We may ask what is relevant but anything beyond that is dangerous. He is a liar. The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us. But he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us. The attack is psychological, and powerful. So don't listen to him. Remember that - do not listen.`
The Exorcist.
Ring…ring… ring… John Malley was in ecstasy. The usual nocturnal utopian dream, of sun sex and sangria. Ring… Ring… ring… Fumbling for the receiver he picked it up.
`John… Malley?`
The voice on the other end sounded respectable, rational even.
`Yes.` Replied Malley, picking a hardened crust from the corner of his eye.
A, Mr Malley, I’m dreadfully sorry to call at this god forsaken hour but I have a dilemma. It’s my car you see, It appears to have broken down. I was given your number from the all night filling station in Larchwood. Do you know it Mr Mallay?`
`Yes, retorted Mallay sighing, I know it.`
`Mr Malley could you come to my assistance? I have been driving through the night and I have the most important meeting in London tomorrow morning, the petrol station attendant said you are the best mechanic around and you offer a 24 hour breakdown service. I realize the hour but I felt I had no other option?`
`Ok, Ok.`Malley was despondent at the thought of dragging his warm arse out of bed. The fact that it was 3am and he had the most gorgeous piece of fluff lying next to him made it all the more unbearable.
`It’s a hundred pound call out and that’s before I try to fix the thing, Mr, Mr…?`
`Yes that’s fine and, I’m so dreadfully sorry, replied the voice, it’s Rimmon, Dr Peter Rimmon.`
Malley, pulled on a pair of oil stained jeans. ` Just my fucking luck, I score the best shag for a long time and some tory fuck breaks down in his… fuck I never asked him what kind of car he drives. It’s gotta be a BM or Merc by the sound of the voice. Tory bastard, what the fuck does he expect me to do in the middle of the night?`
Malley slapped the sleeping woman’s buttock. `Be ready for me when I get back.`he hissed.
The woman grunted, `Johhnnn`, sighed and pulled the crumpled duvet back over her naked body.
Malley's pick-up stood where it always stood. Battered, rusty red, the pick-up had belonged to his father and was definitely nearing the end of its shelf life.
Malley pushed the key into the lock and pulled open the door.
The burst mattress imitation synthetic seat was breathtakingly cold against his warm back.
`Shit, shit, shit,` it's Baltic thought Malley as he popped the ignition .
The pick-up burst into life with a cough.
There isn't very much in this story. Unfinished work? This script could have potential if indeed it went anywhere. The lead character has Tourette's syndrome, so that might be hard to follow up on.
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