Deadfast: Shaggy Dogs & Buckets of Frogs, pt.1

As you may remember, we’d ended up having going on a relaxing cruise and I was worried something dramatic would happen.
Well… it didn’t.
It was a lovely cruise and we had a great time.
I guess the troubles really started when we got home…

“Walter!” Deadfast bellowed. “What is the meaning of this?”
“It’s the doorbell,” I yawned, unfurling myself from where I had dozed off on the sofa. “I expect we have a visitor.”
”Who?” Deadfast demanded, puffing out his chest. “Who is it, man?”
“Shall I go and open the door?”
“Will that solve this mystery?”
“Yes,” I sighed. “Yes it will.”
”Then by all means, go ahead, dear boy!” Deadfast stretched, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his dressing gown undone and his nether regions swinging proud before him. “I need tea and this infernal racket is not helping me get any!”
I dragged myself to the door and opened it a crack.
I peered through and, to my befuddlement, saw a dog sitting on the doorstep.
“It’s a dog.”
”Walter!” Deadfast chastised. “That’s no way to talk about a lady!”
“No,” I sighed, leaning on the door. “There’s a dog on our doorstep.”
”Well,” Deadfast mumbled, his mouth full of stale Bourbon biscuit. “Let the hound in!”

I opened the door and the shaggy beast barrelled past.
“Are you ok?”
“I just need some air,” Deadfast said, gasping and falling to his knees. “Where’s the dog?”
“He ran off.”
”Oh.”
”Oh.”
”Right then,” Deadfast stood up, seemingly recovered from whatever was ailing him. “Pub?”
“It’s 9am!”
“Oh, right…” he paused for a moment. “And?”

To be continued…

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Walter’s Diary Pt.7 – Unexpected Events

We met Mary on time, and we caught our plane home with no problems.

We arrived in London, sped to Lord Hellthwaites private club, he and daughter were tearfully reunited (well, we interupted an informal meeting and Lord Hellthwaites accountant was there … he took one look at the money-grabbing Mary and promptly began to sob like a baby).

Lord Hellthwaite took Deadfast aside for a moment, and when he came back he had a big Cheshire-cat grin on his face, and was clutching what looked like a pair of tickets and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a folded piece of paper. Had he recieved a letter?

“Walter, the bet is off…” he declared, putting an arm around me and steering me outside. “However, the week has been prosperous for us!”
“Would you care to elaborate?”

It turns out that Deadfast wouldn’t be getting a holiday home in Hawaii after all.
He did, however, get two tickets for an around-the-world cruise.
I couldn’t see why he was so happy about this, but he WAS happy and, oddly, he hadn’t had a drink for at least two hours.

It didn’t take us long to get home, get changed, grab clothing, and we were off … all a bit hurried if you ask me, but a free holiday is a free holiday. One can’t complain.
Well, Deadfast did a little, but only because he couldn’t find his bucket and spade.

So, I’m typing this whilst sitting on the deck of the boat (ship, ocean liner, glorified dingy, whatever you wish to refer to it as), and I have a Strawberry Daquiri by my side, a straw hat on my head, a pair of bermuda shorts on, and a charming young man has just winked at me from across the pool.

There is, without any shadow of a doubt, something decidedly fishy going on here.
Oh well … Deadfast is off somewhere trying to get us invited to the Captain’s table for dinner, so I’ve some time to myself.
Now, where did that young man go…?

Walter’s Diary pt.6 – NY Blues

Well now.
I’ve just got out of a jail cell, after spending three nights “chatting” with some lovely police officers from NY’s finest.

My video shop friend, Big Al, let me spend some time in his store on Monday.
“That lady’s always in here, sitting in one of the booths and frigging herself silly!” he told me; I didn’t like to ask how he knew this… I’ve a vague recollection of him once offering to show me some “home movies” once. No doubt he had some elaborate video-camera set-up back there.
I made a mental note not to get myself into one of the booths, just in case.

After seven hours of serving (yes, he let me stay in his shop by making me work there) the “dirty mac” brigade, Mary wandered in.
She didn’t recognise me, and flounced straight out to the back of the store, where Big Al keeps his booths. Al told me this was what she always did, and why didn’t I head back there?

I called the hotel, but Deadfast didn’t answer…. I’d made the mistake of letting him into the mini-bar, and now he was no doubt unconscious.
So, after a few minutes of thinking, I called Al over to mind the till, and I headed out back.

Big Al has four booths back there, and three of them were empty.
The one on the far right had its door shut, so I deduced that Mary was ensconced within.
I crept into the neighbouring booth, and quietly shut the door…. with no plan whatsoever.

I couldn’t see a thing… there was no light in there.
I could barely make out a coin-slot on my left, so I fumbled for some change and put in a coin, expecting a light to come on.
Instead, a tv screen flickered on infront of me (behind a slightly-stained plastic window) and I was suddenly confronted with some very saucy material!
I averted my eyes, and saw a hole in the wall… a hole that would lead directly into Mary’s booth!

As I looked, I saw a finger poke through, and make a beckoning “come hither” gesture.
I was looking at a gloryhole!
I’d been told about such things by Deadfast once or twice during a long winter night around the fire, but put that (and his tales of a “no-hands bar” in Thailand in which you would recieve oral sex by an unseen mouth whilst sitting at the bar) down to his active imagination.
This was real… ye gads!

I knew what was expected of me, but… I couldn’t do such a thing!
However, here I was, in a booth next to Mary Hellthwaite, and she wanted my… special purpose.
This was unexpected!

What was I to do?

Well… I knew that I had to make some form of contact with her, and so… yes, dear reader, I did something that I regretted, and … well … after many minutes of self-doubt … and I am blushing as I type … I presented myself to her!

I undid my trousers (making sure the door was locked) and slipped my underwear down, and stepped forward… the blood was rushing, and so I poked through the hole just fine.

And that’s when the lights in the booth came on, and a voice boomed out “You’re under arrest, sir, please get yourself dressed and step out”.

Oh, bother.

Turns out, I wasn’t in a booth next to Mary at all.
That swine Big Al had seen Mary slip out the back a little while before, and had not said anything to me.
Instead, he had phoned the police and informed them that there was a sex pest in his store!
The blighter then sat back and watched as I headed back there and… well… you know the rest.

I was carted down to the station, and questioned as to what I was doing in New York, who I knew there, and so on.

Luckily, after a few days of there rather inept questioning, Deadfast had bailed me out (with, I hasten to add, my own money that he had pilfered from my bank account whislt I had been “missing in action”), and we headed back to the hotel.

“Walter,” he said through the door of the bathroom as I slipped into the hot bath I’d just ran. “I know where Mary is.”
“Oh,” I stuttered, somewhat in shock. Surely he couldn’t have done some actual work?
“I bumped into her in the bar downstairs, appologised for your behaviour on Saturday night..>”
“My behaviour?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, oblivious to the real world. “I then invited her back here for a chat and, when she left in the morning, she agreed to come home with us.”
“Has she ran out of money?”
“Yes.”
“You two got along, didn’t you…” I muttered, sinking under the bubbles.

In a few hours, we are going to be sitting on a plane, headed back to London.
We’ve spoke to Mary over the phone (well, Deadfast made some strange cooing noises when he had the mouthpiece, whilst it was left to me to arrange things) and she is due to meet us in the lobby in twenty minutes.

I must go and wake Deadfast now… I’ll inform you of the reunion with Lord Hellthwaite and his daughter when we get back to the UK.

I’d kill for a chip buttie right now…

 

Posted by Walter

Walter’s Diary: Pt.5 – Mary

Mary, it turns out, didn’t want to be found.

“Fuck off, you weirdo!” were, if memory serves, her exact words when I approached her in a bar. “I’m a lesbian.”

I’d tracked her down to Greenwich Village on Saturday night, and Deadfast and I spent alot of dollars and most of our energy trawling bars until I recognised her.
Deadfast, of course, wouldn’t recognise himself in a mirror unless prompted, so these things are always left to me.
I pointed her out, and he sent me over;
“Walter, lad, we don’t want to spook her. She’ll recognise me,of course… so you go. I’ll just sit here and have a drink. Could I borrow some money?”

I had got within five feet of her, and was about to ask if I knew her (well, I wasn’t stupid enough to actually tell her why we were there), when she’d spun around, made eye contact, and growled her above response. Then, with a flourish, she’d grabbed the nearest young lady to herself and proceeded to give her a long and lengthy kiss.

I was enjoying the moment, actually, but it was ruined by the crashing of a table behind me and Deadfast approaching at speed, and with a big dopey grin on his face.

“Ladies,” he annoucned, but I managed to wheel him away before Mary decided to kick either of us in the unmentionables. “Don’t go anywhere!” he yelled over his shoulder at them.

“I think it’s best if we…”
“Oh, tish and pish, Walter… I know what to do!”
“Have a drink?”
“Exactly.”
And, with that, he wandered off to the bar.

I figured it would be best if we followed her as she left, and approached her in a less-public place.

So, for the next two hours, we sat about and drank (water for me, with a slice of lemon, and alochol for Deadfast… he isn’t fussy which type).
I was keeping a close eye on Mary and her friends (most of whom, as far as I could work out, were friendly with one another, if you know what I mean… they exchanged saliva an awful lot, and I’m sure that kind of thing isn’t sanitary), but, as is his way, Deadfast got bored of not having my attention and so declared he was going to dance.
He then proceeded to try to start a conga-line.
This didn’t work, of course, but provided enough of a distraction for me to lose sight of the young Miss Hellthwaite for a moment and, when I looked back, she and her entourage were nowhere to be seen.

The evening ended with me running out of there with Deadfast over my shoulder, and an irrate bar patron and his friends giving chase after his wife had been the unwilling victim of Deadfast and his rising libido.

He is still asleep, now, and I’m trying to figure out what to do next.

I’ve a friend who works in a video store (believe it or not, some still exist) down the road who says Mary is a frequent customer.
I’m thinking of sitting in one of the booths there all day on the off-chance that she comes in.

It’s going to be a long, hard day…

Posted by Walter

Walter’s Diary: Pt.4 – A Bet Is Made

“Walter, pack your things, we are going to the Americas!”This was the phrase that Deadfast greeted me with this morning as he stumbled into the kitchen.
I handed him his dressing gown (even though we were an “open” house, I didn’t want the maid seeing him in all his morning glory…) and a bowl of cereal, and sat him down at the table.”Why is this?”

“A-ha, lad!” he exclaimed, toppling backwards off of his chair and flinging cornflakes everywhere. “Lord Hellthwaite has set us a challenge!”

“A challenge?”

“Yes, in the shape of a bet!”

“Wonderful.” The last bet that these two had made had ended with Hellthwaite riding upon one of the stone lions at Trafalgar Square, naked except for a bowler hat. “I’ll get the bribe money out now, shall I?”

“Oh no,” he grinned, plonking himself on a chair. “This is a good one… we’re on a search to find his daughter!”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh yes!”

“Oh, great.”
Lord Hellthwaite was a man born into money, but he had doubled his family fortunes with a shrewd property deal in the early 60s.
His daughter, Mary, was born at the end of the 70s (for a while, Lord and Lady Hellthwaite had dabbled with punk fashion… a disaster that ended up with safety-pin sin their condom drawer. Don’t ask!), and had, for want of a better word, wasted her life.
She was, I guess, what you’d call an “IT” girl… you know the type; always attending parties, getting drunk and doing very little else except spending the family fortune.
Well, I’d heard recently that she’d hooked-up with some musician wannabe, and this hadn’t gone down too well with her father.
“What the hell do you think you are doing, woman?!” was, I think, the phrase he most used when the two conversed.
Anyway, after one-too-many arguments, young Mary had stuck two-fingers up at her father and the establishment, and had fled the family home.
This was, of course, an embarrassment to the Hellthwaite name, and so… we were roped in to find her thanks to Deadfast and a bottle of Tequilla.

“Get your things, lad, we’ve work to do!” he yelled, and leapt out of his seat and ran off to his room. I heard him shout over his shoulder; “Get on the phone and find her for me!”

So, I spent the most part of last night making frantic phonecalls to the few contacts I have.
It turns out, according to the editor of a top-shelf magazine, that she was seen boarding a plane to New York.
A few minutes later, I had booked us a flight and a hotel.

That’s why I’m sitting here typing this in the departures lounge of Heathrow airport.
Deadfast, for his part, is downstairs in the hotel bar, playing the piano and trying to get some rich socialite to buy him a drink. I don’t think it’s working; I’ve recieved two text messages already, both of which said “Walter, it’s your round”.
For the record, I’ve never seen him buy a drink, and I’ve known him for ten years.

I’m off downstairs now; I’ve arranged a meeting with a friend of Mary. Hopefully, he’ll push us in the right direction.
I’ll fill you all in later on.

-Walter

PS.
“How is this a bet?” you ask?
Well, it turns out that Deadfast somehow managed to persuade Lord Hellthwaite to give him a holiday home in Hawaii if we find his daughter.
The Lord has more property than he knows what to do with, so I don’t think he’ll miss one.
And, for his part, if he loses, Deadfast must walk naked down New Oxford Street in nothing but a bow tie.
I think it’s a private school thing.
I find it best not to ask.

Adieu.

Walter’s Diary: Pt.3 – An Unexpected Bet

Well, that was a surprise.

As I mentioned earlier, Deadfast was indeed coming up the drive way.
I wish he wouldn’t do that… it’s hell on the paving out there. The amount of scrubbing I’ve had to do of late is UNBELIEVABLE.

Anyway.
I digress.

When he got into the mansion, I met him in the hallway and he had a grin on his face.

“Walter,” he slurred. “I’ve made a bet.”

This, trust me, was not going to lead to good things.
The last bet he made involved a male dance troupe from Berlin, an ostrich, and a small frozen turkey.
It wasn’t pretty, and I didn’t sit down for a week…

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“What kind of bet?” I asked, guiding him to his favourite chair.
“One that I am sure we can win!” he laughed gleefully, wriggling out of my grasp and doing a little jig on the carpet. “Whoo-hoo!”
“Ok, is there any chance you can describe this bet in a little more detail?”
“No.”
“Oh.”

He then collapsed, and is still asleep there on the floor.

I should, really carry him up to his bedroom and put him into his bedtime clothes.
To be honest, though, I can smell his faeces from here and the maid is in a little later.
I’ll leave it to her to find him.

I wonder what this bet could be?
I’ve only just settled back into being in England.
I was hoping to catch the football this weekend. Oh well. No doubt I’ll soon be plunged into peril yet again…

Posted by Walter

Walter’s Diary: Pt.2

Today, I’m writing to you from a small room in Deadfast’s family mansion somewhere in the north of London.

I can’t reveal the exact location… last time I gave someone our address, she passed it on to one of our many enemies and… well, let’s just say it didn’t go well for the rose bushes.
That wasn’t my fault!
I had been drinking in a secret drinking hole in South of the Thames, and a beautiful young lady had been allowing me to buy her drinks all night, and she seemed willing enough to come home with me for the night (purely for conversation, you understand).
I went to the cloakroom before leaving, and when I returned, she was nowhere to be seen. Neither was my wallet, as I later discovered.
It turns out that she was working for Russian Boris, a nemesis of Deadfast (trust me, they are myriad in number), and had passed on everything I had been telling her. The wicked harlot!

Deadfast wasn’t pleased.
It was our first night home to the U.K in three months, and he had expected me to polish his shoes.
I had slipped out in the morning to fetch some boot polish, and had somehow (ahem) wandered into a bar and let slip some of the family secrets and… well… these things happen.

Anyhoo… here I am typing to you, and just as I’m about to tell you about our LAST adventure, I can hear Deadfast marching up the driveway, so I have to go!

Be back soon, I hope!

Posted by Walter