Excerpt from “Big Bertha”

The ringing of the phone cuts through your throbbing brain like a chainsaw.  You try to stretch, then realise the sofa you’re sleeping on is too short for the length of your legs.  You hear Bill’s gravelly Kiwi tones as he moans to Liv about having to get out of bed to answer it.

           ‘Kris.  It’s for you.’

           ‘Huh?’  You lift your head from beneath a blanket.

           ‘The cops,’ Bill mouths silently. 

           Shit.  You take the phone he’s holding out to you.

           ‘Hello.’     

           ‘Is this Kristi Taylor?’ 

           ‘Yes.’

           ‘Morning, Miss Taylor. Sergeant Williams here.  I’m ringing from the local police station.  Just to let you know your bag was handed in here this morning.  We found this phone number inside it.  I’ll need you to come to the station to pick it up.’

           ‘Right. I’ll be straight there.’

           You hang up and look at Bill. 

           ‘I need to go to the station.  They’ve got my bag.’

           Bill rubs his stubbly head, biceps straining at his tee-shirt.  Rumour has it he killed a man once.  Now his crumpled face looks like that of a bulldog chomping a nettle. 

            ‘Shit!  If the cops have your bag, that means they’ve got Bertha.’