Transforming two hundred retired gentlefolk into silent assassins had been no easy task.
It was probably the gay male stripper who’d tipped the balance.
After years of gentle and, sometimes, not so gentle taunts and practical jokes, the man’s exuberant entry into the common room accompanied by the ear-splitting howl of a camp pop song had finally done the trick. The pure revulsion on their sanctimonious faces as he’d minced, nipples rouged, thong bursting, had been a pure joy to watch and easily compensated for his exorbitant fee. And by the time the paramedics had sedated everyone, the dust had more or less settled so it wasn’t as if any serious damage had been done. Even the stripper would walk again – eventually.
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