The young man in the pinstripe suit strode
confidently up to the desk, polished shoes clicking on the tiled floor. The girl on reception looked up expectantly.
‘Can I help you?’
The man coughed, putting up a hand to his mouth
as he did so. As he took it away, the
receptionist’s eyes widened. His
moustache was hanging loose from his upper lip.
He tried to push it back on, gave up and ripped it off.
‘Design fault,’ he giggled.
‘Dawn? What are you doing dressed as
a man?’
‘It’s my surveillance outfit, Julie. What do you think?’
Julie was spluttering with laughter. ‘I think you need better glue for your
moustache. And your wig’s slipping.’
‘It’s not, is it? Shi…ugar.‘
Dawn pulled off the black wig and ran her hands through the flattened
red frizz until it regained its normal bush like appearance.
‘You’re going to need to work on the voice,
too. Anyway, what’s with this
surveillance?’
