"We are gathered here today to view the last will and testament Pieter Uitgeverij, beloved captain of the Nishimi Maru." Clint Slee intoned the words like a demented Colin Clive proeclaiming his newly created homunculus, his imitation of life lived. Slee waved his hands and made imaginary flashes and noises of lightning and thunder.
Their rented helicopter lifted off the dock at the Port of Prince Rupert and Schuyler Klock buzz-killed Slee's happy-who-hah idiocy.
"If that's the way you behaved in the law firm, no wonder you got fired. Just cut through the horseshit and tell me, how big an estate did Uncle Pieter leave me?" Schuyler said. Slee's smile plunged faster than a ball of blue snow from the back end of an Airbus at 30,000 feet.
"Bitch! Having been through his legal papers, I can definitively tell you that your Uncle's vast estate consists of the Nishimi Maru and that ugly-assed khaki green duffle bag he always carried. It's not my fault your Uncle tried to ride out the Tsunami," Slee said as he folded his arms over his chest and turned away from Schuyler. They flew over Prince Rupert Airport and the Haida Gwaii archipelago towards the Pacific Ocean.
* * *
Meanwhile, Duffy sat expectantly by the door bulging, his zipper frowning like a Pagliaccian clown watching Les Miserables. Full of all the things needed for an island holiday, he had waited for his owner, the ever-adventurous Pieter, to return and take him to the sun.
"Fucking cock-balls!" Duffy exclaimed, for he had started his career in the army and never lost its fruity vernacular.
The cock-balls separated and shrugged. "We prefer to call it making love," said one.
"This story isn't really going anywhere, is it?" the other suggested.
And on that, they could all agree.
Opening: Dave F......Continuation: Anon.