Gerry and the Beans of Glory: Part 4

Continued from Part 3

Only a minute had passed in Terrence Carabobo’s luxurious three storey mansion but it had felt like several hours.

The two men stood in the foyer about a foot or two apart. Terrence, the mysterious stranger in the crisp white suit maintained his ominous stare at Gerry in his Hawaiian shirt, who was now sweating quite profusely and forming large sweat stains under each armpit.

Gerry finally broke the deafening silence while violently shaking his head from side to side.

"What kind of sick fuckin’ game are you playing at mate? Am I on fucking TV or some shit?" spat Gerry tilting his head left and right, looking for hidden cameras.

"Oh, this is no game," said Terrence without hesitation. “Simply a once in a lifetime opportunity for you and nothing more my friend”

“Well I’m not fucking having any of it! And I’m not your friend, GET FUCKED CUNT!!” Gerry yelled.

The words immediately echoed out into the vast and seemingly empty mansion.

“UNT..unt…unt..”

Gerry continued swearing under his breath, fuming at the ridiculousness of the whole situation as he made his way to the nearest exit door.

He’d hardly put his sweaty palm around the handle to turn it before barging his 120kg frame dead smack into the rock solid and locked door, falling backwards onto the cold tiled floor.

“Are you fucking serious!? Open the fucking door would ya, I’ve had enough of this bullshit!”

Terrence remained deathly still. His weathered eyes began to narrow as he had to refrain from a belly laugh at Gerry’s futile attempts at escape.

“I must apologise Mr. Gerry. I insist you make the decision before we go any further. We didn’t bring you here for nothing”

“We?! Who the fuck we?!”

The sound of a bullet entering the chamber of a nearby unseen rifle, pierced the air.

Gerry’s heart skipped a beat and he buckled over again collapsing onto the floor, causing one of his legendary, three-packs-a-day coughing fits.

After he had hacked up another considerable part of his tar-filled lungs, he slowly dragged himself to his feet again, hanging onto a priceless statue on display next to him for support.

“Okay, okay, fucking hell!” Gerry spat, slowly raising his hands above his head as he’d seen numerous times before on his favourite TV show, The Force: Behind the Line.

Please, there’s no need for that. I insist you only make immediately your decision”

Gerry stared bug-eyed at the clenched fists in front of his face, knowing that his whole worthless life now depended on picking which hand the peanut lay.

Terrence showed the beginnings of a smile at the creases of his mouth as he eagerly awaited Gerry's decision with nervous anticipation.

"Ah! Fuck it, let me think!" Gerry spat angrily, wiping a thick layer of sweat from his forehead.

What he would have given to be back in the musty smelling confines of his local pub, feeding the first of many garlic sauce-stained five dollar notes into Queen of the Nile and sipping the froth from an ice cold schooner of Reschs Draught.

“So what'll it be Mister Gerry- left or right?” Terrence calmly spoke raising one fist, then the other.

“One is your chance at a different life, the other- your swift and imminent demise” he said coldly, tracing an invisible line wide across his throat.

At this point, Gerry’s clogged arteries were contributing to his heart virtually beating out of his chest.

It's a 50-50 chance he thought to himself. Just like picking whether it’s the red or the black when having a punt. He summoned all his gambling bravado he could, thinking of the many years and many coloured notes he'd carelessly gambled away and immediately shouted without giving it a second thought.

“SPADE!! Fuck, shit sorry, I mean, RIGHT! It’s in your right hand,” Gerry stammered nervously fumbling over his words.

Terrence just kept smiling, maintaining eye contact and a solid poker face, desperate not to give the result away.

At least another 30 seconds went by.

“WELL? FUCKIN’ TELL ME! DID I GET IT OR NOT?”

Gerry could barely stand to look, as Terence fists began to unclench at a snail’s pace.

For a split second it appeared there was nothing in either hand but then it suddenly appeared. Amongst a few grains of salt, a tiny, shining legume emerged out of the skin folds in Terrence’s heavily lined right palm.

More so than ever you could hear a pin drop until Gerry quite noisily dropped his guts, all the tension now disappearing followed by a burst of laughter from both of the men.

“YES!! I fucking did it! So…what now? Girls? Champagne? A trip to the casino?” Gerry excitedly said with a glint in his bloodshot eye, slapping his fatty drenched palms together.

Terrence continued to chuckle but it wasn’t a friendly laugh anymore. More like a Sideshow Bob laugh.

“It appears as if we’ve found our chosen one. This is the beginning of quite an adventure for you Mister Gerry. There’s just one more thing. Bring her in Leonard,” Terrence yelled to his left, the same direction the rifle sound had emanated from earlier.

Around the corner came Leonard, Terrence’s henchman, sporting massive arms and tree trunk legs, dragging along a very familiar face.

“G’day, Limpdick! Thought you’d leave me behind did ya?!”

It was Tru. She was legless drunk and wearing plenty of shiny jewellery.

“Oh fuck me…not you, anyone but YOU!” Gerry almost threw up at the sight of her disgusting knee level breasts.

“That’s right cockbreath, your one and only! Now where the fuck are those water streets you told me about?”