chair, this was the position she wanted me in, although I didn’t realise it at the time.
As I sat giggling to maself in the chair she went to ma desk, hunting around it for something or other. I watched her while finding the fact funny that she was looking angry as she could not find what she wanted. Drool had started to run out of the side of ma mouth from ma constant giggling, ma mind was slipping into the land of fuckwits and ninnyhamers as I fought to retain ma sanity.
As ma glazed eyes danced the fandango, I forcibly strained them to focus on ma assailant. As I did I suddenly saw her eyes light up as she produced from out of one of ma desk-drawers a large roll of sticky-tape. As she looked at me I knew what she had in mind and I fought against the drug once more to try and stop her from doing it.
As she made her way behind me I summoned up all ma effort inta swivelling the chair round to face her, then before she had realised what I had done I brought ma knee up as hard as possible inta her crotch. Let me let you all in on a little secret here, whenever your outnumbered or whenever your up against a guy who's some size bigger than yourself the secret to defeating them is to deliver a blow as hard as possible to their knackers. It literally drops them like flies. However one thing that most people with a little common sense will also know, or who haven’t just drank some liquid containing some hippy whacky drug, is that kneeing a woman in the crotch does not have the same desired effect.
As ma knee connected, her face became a raging torrent of anger and she proceeded to pick me up off ma chair and lift me above her head. Then I found maself hurtling down towards ma desk. That fat bitch body slammed me hard, and as ma back hit the hard wood the wind in ma guts, lungs and arse was literally knocked out-ta me.
At this point I must-a passed out as the next time I opened ma eyes I was sat in ma chair with ma hands taped behind ma back and ma feet also taped tightly together.
The only break I got was that fortunately the happy hippy whacky drug had warn off, but that didn’t help ma situation none. The fat bird in the red dress stood laughing as I tried ta free maself from ma sticky bonds. I remember thinking at that time if I'd only been a touch more stingy when going to buy the sellotape I might-a been able to break free and deck fattso before she knew what was going on. Unfortunately I was well and truly stuck and would have to endure whatever she had in store for me. I got to admit at the time, things did not look good!
Fatty then lit up a cigarette and proceeded to tell me what she did indeed have in store for me and why she was doing what she was doing. Apparently she was a hired killer and the geezer who had hired her was none other than Donald "diamond tooth" Dickson, the notorious drug smuggler and suspected mass murderer who I had helped put away earlier in the year. A right nasty piece a work as I recall, the police had been trying to put that scumbag away for years but could never pin anything on the rat. It took ma sheer intellect and skill to capture that sucker on film as he pulled off one-a his big drug deals. I'd heard through the grapevine that diamond-boy was seeking revenge, but I'm not an easy guy to scare and have always taken any threats made towards me with a pinch a salt.
As she explained more I learned that the bloater babe who now filled ninety percent of ma vision was actually an experienced female wrestler called Rebecca "the red rhino" Richardson. An American chick by all accounts, though I didn’t realise it at the time as she’d been putting on an English accent earlier and only now spoke with her true American blabber-box. Apparently everything she had done had gone to plan and now all that needed doing was to make me kiss ma own ass well and truly goodbye. She picked up the red box she had laid on ma desk and then proceeded to tell me the means of ma execution.
She explained that earlier that day she’d been out shopping, no doubt planning on what she would buy when she received the money she would get paid after I was dead. She had wandered around town, window shopping, before coming across a pet shop. She told me when she saw what was in the pet shop window her eyes had lit up in delight. She then looked down at the box as an evil smile spread across her great flabby moosh, telling me that ma death was in that there little box, the very same death she’d bought from the pet shop.
She then opened the lid of the box before quickly throwing the contents inside straight at ma face. All I saw was a red blur come out-ta the box and fly straight at ma head. One thing you need to have to survive if you want to be a good detective is reactions like lighting, and it was at this point that my reactions kicked in. In an instant I had moved ma own head backwards and then I moved it sharply forwards to connect with the missile hurtling towards me. In that moment I carried out a header that the great Pele would have been proud of, the red ball bounced off ma forehead and was projected back at the face of ma would be assassin.
She opened her mouth to scream and as the red ball flew closer to her face, eight large hairy red legs suddenly sprouted outta it, and it (whatever it was) grabbed hold of her face.
An instant later I realised in fact what the red ball indeed was, as it crawled up to her mouth before sticking the front half of itself inside. The Chilean red rose tarantula bit down on fatty's tongue, the fangs of the beast then proceeded to pump a large dose of venom inside her. Her eyes crossed as she let out a scream which suddenly became a strangled death cry as the venom swelled up her tongue so she went blue in the face. She died moments later, fighting and gasping for her last breadth as her over inflated tongue blocked up her throat!
It took three hours before I was finally released, fortunately a friend of mine came visiting (I say friend, actually he was a bit of a git who I owed money too, but on this occasion I was glad to see his ugly mug). Those were the three longest hours I've ever spent in ma entire life. Not out-a boredom may I add, but because a large furry killer happily wandered around freely in ma office as I sat helpless.
Anyway I hope to have taught ya all something about the things that can go on in the life of a good P.I like maself.
Oh by the way if there's any animal lovers among ya who might be a little worried about ma little spidey friend…don't worry! I now keep her as a pet in ma office. She lives in a nice warm tank that I keep on the front of ma desk.
I call her Rebecca.
THE END
…………..
Afterword
As the writer of this story I would just like to say that I share none of the views of my creation Kirk “the kipper” McClacket. Fact is I find the guy a complete dick (pardon the pun). His morals, sexist opinions, and cheap jokes are pathetic.
Also, on a personal note, if Kirk happens to be reading this then I would just like to mention to him that if he does not give me back the twenty quid he stole from my wallet (I know he’s me, but sometimes I let him loose. And because he is me, this means that I know for sure that he was the one who stole it. After all, I was there when he did it!) then I will tell everyone the true meaning of why he is actually nicknamed “the kipper”.
(It’s nothing to do with him being a great detective who kicks up a stink. It’s because…well, let’s just say his very lapse at remembering his weekly order of deodorant!!!)
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