No Thanks

Hank sat in in usual place at the bar, right next to the antique rotary phone. The owner, Teresa, had given him the job of answering it. So, when it rang, it was instinct to pick it up first ring.

“We’d like to congratulate you on winning a trip to the nefarious Mountains of Drilthor. We will accommodate you and one other guest. No corpses allowed.” Hank hung up.

“Who was it?” Teresa asked, motor in her hip acting up again.

He answered with a defamatory grunt, “Telemarketers.”

The seedy atmosphere and half-naked android women were all Hank needed.