Northwind (Robert Hoon Thrillers, #1)

by J.D. Kirk

For a man who’d never visited the country, he was as Welsh as rarebit and sheep shagging.

“What in the name of all that is fucking holy is that?” Chuck’s eyes flitted to the drink. “It’s a Flamingo Frappuccino.” “Sorry? It’s a what?” “It’s a Flamingo Frappuccino.” “No, I heard the fucking words you said,” Hoon replied. “I just didn’t understand them, or why you’d be drinking what appears to be the contents of the Pink Panther’s ballsack.”

Whatever happens here, I want you all to know that it’s not due to any sort of prejudice on my part. I’m what I like to think of as an equal opportunity bastard. I don’t hate people because of the colour of their skin, which imaginary sky fairy they support, or the gender of the genitals they’re driven to mash their own against. I hate people because they are, by and large, all arseholes.”