“Why aren’t you wearing a suit?” Peter asked.
I could tell he was angry as he flicked the zip on his fly
“I just, I, I just came here to get a quote.”
“Well you’ll not get a quote from me. You didn’t turn up in a suit and that shows me you aren’t ready for business?”
“Is it business time?” I asked, terrifed of the answer.
“Yes, yes it is” he said.
Peter flicked a switch to the side of his chair. The hot studio lamps turned off and were replaced by disco lights and a lava lamp.
“Oh, god. OH god… please, no!” I screamed, knowing that the rumours had been true. Soon I’d know why all the all the people who had invested in Peter’s businesses had gone mad, gibbering about ‘the ring’.
Peter Jones stood up and dropped his trousers. He was wearing white pants, and his socks were held up with old fashioned suspenders.
“It’s time for you to learn the truth about business.”
The lights dimmed again, and then shone bright on Peter’s crotch. His tiny penis was erect, surrounded by a perfect circle of public hair. A ring of hair trimmed to exactly a centimetre in width – a flawless hoop of carefully styled curls that harboured an ancient evil.
I’d seen the truth. The truth of THE RING.