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‘For a moment I did wonder.’
‘The content of my screenplay is private and personal, subject to copyright, patent pending.’ She looked at her wrist. ‘Your session is terminated.’
Without warning, she slipped a hand under my armpit and pulled me to my feet. I was fumbling with the laces of my shoes as I was bundled out of the door and escorted to the bottom of the stairs. The door was opened and I was ejected on to the street, blinking at the sudden whiteness of the overcast afternoon. I turned to protest but the door was slammed in my face. My eyes fell on the buzzer and I saw something I had not noticed before. The word scratched into the paint was not ‘ITCH’ as I had first thought. In front of this was the letter ‘B’.
Something hard poked into the small of my back but before I could react, a familiar voice spoke: ‘Hand over your crocodile bag and make it snappy!’
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