Sequel: The Hangover: Part IV ›
Status: Completed
The Hangover: Part III
The Call
The breeze was strong on the 86th floor Observatory Deck of the Empire State Building. The sun had risen only a few hours prior and it was looking to be a beautiful Sunday. Not a cloud in the sky.
Except over the heads of four individuals standing aimlessly, damn near broken, separate and yet apart while tourists flocked to the viewfinders to taken into the panorama on each side of the iconic skyscraper.
Phil Wenneck hunched forward with one hand gripping the safety fence as he stared out at Central Park before him, eighty-six stories below, twenty-five blocks away. His tired and bloodshot blue eyes were hidden by his caramel colored Avaitor sunglasses and his clothes had seen better days; they were not only disheveled or tattered, but stained with grime, blood, sweat and other things that were undechiperable to the average passerby. His skin was bruised, cut, and had a sheen of sweat mixed with dirt. And somehow, he was still standing.
His cell phone up to his ear, he squinted despite the sunglasses and the morning sun to his left. "I'm sorry, Trace. We fucked up royally this time." He paused a moment, turning slightly to look behind him at his friends.
Stu Price stood, arms folded and wearing an ace bandage around his head while trying to ignore the questionable gaze from a security guard. Alan had his hands shoved in his pants pockets, his beard missing but his mustache in place, looking down at the ground as he shifted his weight around from foot to foot. A few feet in front of Stu and Alan, stood a female with auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, dark sunglasses on her face as she rested her hands, clasped together, on top of her head, with a bruised right jaw and what might've been a puke stain on the front of the light pink dress she was wearing. She looked over and met Phil's gaze for a moment and then looked to her right, toward the East River.
"I don't know what to say." He paused again to whatever it was Tracy was saying on the other end. He was wincing again. The security guard giving Stu the stank eye turned his attentions to Phil this time. "Yeah..." he drawled slightly. "We didn't just lose Doug this time. We lost a bride, too."
The security guard walked up to Phil and tapped him on the soldier, his expression all business.
"And we're in some serious trouble."
Except over the heads of four individuals standing aimlessly, damn near broken, separate and yet apart while tourists flocked to the viewfinders to taken into the panorama on each side of the iconic skyscraper.
Phil Wenneck hunched forward with one hand gripping the safety fence as he stared out at Central Park before him, eighty-six stories below, twenty-five blocks away. His tired and bloodshot blue eyes were hidden by his caramel colored Avaitor sunglasses and his clothes had seen better days; they were not only disheveled or tattered, but stained with grime, blood, sweat and other things that were undechiperable to the average passerby. His skin was bruised, cut, and had a sheen of sweat mixed with dirt. And somehow, he was still standing.
His cell phone up to his ear, he squinted despite the sunglasses and the morning sun to his left. "I'm sorry, Trace. We fucked up royally this time." He paused a moment, turning slightly to look behind him at his friends.
Stu Price stood, arms folded and wearing an ace bandage around his head while trying to ignore the questionable gaze from a security guard. Alan had his hands shoved in his pants pockets, his beard missing but his mustache in place, looking down at the ground as he shifted his weight around from foot to foot. A few feet in front of Stu and Alan, stood a female with auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, dark sunglasses on her face as she rested her hands, clasped together, on top of her head, with a bruised right jaw and what might've been a puke stain on the front of the light pink dress she was wearing. She looked over and met Phil's gaze for a moment and then looked to her right, toward the East River.
"I don't know what to say." He paused again to whatever it was Tracy was saying on the other end. He was wincing again. The security guard giving Stu the stank eye turned his attentions to Phil this time. "Yeah..." he drawled slightly. "We didn't just lose Doug this time. We lost a bride, too."
The security guard walked up to Phil and tapped him on the soldier, his expression all business.
"And we're in some serious trouble."