John Holland worked with his three illegitimate daughters in a small office in San Francisco. Each thought she was the only one and believed that the other two were mistresses. He didn’t see any need to correct them. According to the yellow pages, he was a lawyer. According to the signs wielded by the mob outside, people thought he was a con man, a pedophile, and an abuser of the elderly. One of those signs was wrong.
Cans of spam flew into the office and landed into piles of tin-encased meats.
“Thankfully their aim isn’t getting any better.” John said. “Haven’t you gotten through yet?”
Anna covered the mouthpiece of the phone by holding it against her blouse. “The sheriff says he can clear a way to the street but we’ll have to figure out where we want to go. He suggests putting some distance between us and the people who are talking about using us to recreate the Human Centipede.”
Thick fingers tapped the desk. “I don’t know what that is but I’m going to assume it’s bad. Ladies, how does Denver sound?”