“What?”
“Fungus. It’s fungus cream.”
My eyes widen in horror. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I whisper angrily.
“What are you going to do?”
“Run!” I hang up and take the stairs two at a time. “I’ve got to go,” I call as I run for the front door.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing personal,” I yell. I grab my wallet. “You’re very hot, by the way.”
For a gorilla.
I run out the front door and down the stairs. I burst out onto the street as if I’m being chased by an ax murderer . . . or in this case, a gorilla with fungus.
A cab is driving past, and I put my arm up. “Taxi.” He pulls up, and I’ve never been so relieved. I dive into the back seat.
“Where to?”
“BB Backpackers.”
“Sure thing.”
Ten minutes later we pull up in front of the backpackers’ hostel, and the driver turns to me. “That will be twelve euros.”
I take my wallet and go to get out my card to pay and frown. It’s not where it goes . . . huh?
It’s gone.
The driver looks up at me in the rearview mirror. “Twelve euros.”
“I heard you the first time,” I snap as I search through all the compartments in my wallet.
Fuck . . . I have no other cards. How am I going to pay him?
What if I’ve lost it? I have no money . . . what the hell will I do?
I begin to sweat again . . . I know why every fucker smells around here. Everything about this place is stressful.
No deodorant is this powerful.
“My card is gone,” I stammer in a panic. “Where would it . . .”
The penny drops, and I sit back in my seat, shocked to silence.
That hairy bitch stole my card.
Chapter 4
“I’m so sorry, my card has been stolen,” I stammer. “Can you take me back to where you picked me up from so I can collect it?”
“No.”
“No?” I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I not take you anywhere without money,” he replies in his heavy accent.
“But my card has been stolen?” I gasp as I keep pulling my wallet apart. Please be in here. “I can’t help it if my card has been stolen.”
“You can come and pay me tomorrow.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “I can do that. I’ll come and pay you first thing.”
“Give me your license.”
“What?”
“Give me your license, and I’ll give it back when you come pay tomorrow.”
I think for a moment. This doesn’t sound like a good idea.
“Or I can call the police right now and have you charged.”
“Fucking hell!” I stammer. “This is the worst day of my life.”
“Going to prison will be worse.”
My eyes widen. “I’m too pretty for prison.”
He holds his hand out for my license, and I slam it in his hand. “Thanks for nothing.”