Plugged - Eoin Colfer [94]
spit. Totally illegal.’
‘Totally illegal, eh?’ Mike is intrigued. ‘How much you paying for that bottle?’
Zeb smells a profit. ‘Ten bucks. I could sell it to you for twelve.’
Mike and Zeb put their heads together and start horse trading as though the former had never kidnapped the latter who had just tried to blackmail the former.
For a second I can’t remember which one of them is my friend, and when I do remember, I can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s time I tried forgetting instead of remembering just for an hour or two.
‘Hey, Zeb,’ I say. ‘Pour me a glass of that yak spit.’
We can talk about the brakes later.