I drained the glass, and gestured to Angel to bring me another. She stopped scratching the flaky rash that spread across her thighs, pulled her skirt down, and waddled toward me. She was all I had! Jesus, I thought I’d hit the bottom, but the truth was I had only broken the crust on the surface.
Slobodan Zecevic was after me because his wife had been out whoring while he was in Finland; as if I was to blame for that. I only did what anyone in Novi Sad would do with a scab-free hooker, and had ridden her relentlessly. Vasa was trying to put the squeeze on me, and now he knew I was trying to stab him in the back. Boris seemed to be growing distant as he mistakenly considered himself to be a good football manager. The local anglers were after me for filling the river up with unsold programmes. The club was in debt to the tune of nearly £1 million. Chairman Milan Labus had stated that he feared for the long term financial future of the club. A shoddy draw had knocked us off the top of the table. I didn’t have enough money to pay for the drinks I was ordering. However, worst of all was the scabby peasants had started singing that song again.