The Maltese Kraken - Part 1

I sat back in my chair and put my feet up on the battered desk. Pulling my lighter from my breast pocket, I lit up a coffin nail and tried to remember the last time I was offered a case that would let me bring home enough money to buy food.
After a while, the heat had turned the coffin nail red hot and I spat it into an ashtray, the smell of near-molten iron permeating the thick, thick fug of despair, lost love and shattered dreams in the room.
I decided to throw myself into what little work I could do. Rifling through my files, I noticed that there were way too many bills and money demands tucked into various cases, mostly the unfulfilled expense claims and gambling debts I was prone to rack up whilst working on a case. No doubt I had put them there when I was drunk in order to avoid the truth about the amount of debt I was in.
My desk phone rang out in the silence and I span round, cat-like, ready to pounce if it meant the chance of getting a case. I dashed to the desk and picked it up, putting on my best gravel voice.
"Timmerton Spuncy, Private Investigations. Hold Please"
I put whoever it was on hold because I felt it added an air of professionalism; if I was putting people on hold then I was busy, and if I was busy I was good, and if I was good then they would hire me, and if they hired me I could maybe pay off some debts. Possibly do some gambling and drinking and that. Get all pissed up.
"Timmerton Spuncy, Private Investigations. Thank you for holding, how may I help?"
"SPUNCY!"
Great. It was the Chief. The last thing I needed right now was my ex-boss calling me and hollering down the phone like an enraged starling. Murtaugh was the roughest, toughest, meanest son of a bitch in showbusiness. He was even worse in the police force.
"Hello Murtaugh... How's the crime business?"
"SPUN..."
The phone went dead. This could be bad. Real bad. The last time Murtaugh called me he managed to let slip that there was a rat in the department working for one of the big families, and that his life could be in danger. Quite why he would call me if a bad situation arose was at that moment beyond me. He was my ex-boss because when I was a cop I used to get so drunk that I would habitually piss through his letter box and flash my genitals at his kids. I once put a dogshit in a box and wrapped it up in wrapping paper, sent it to his house by courier. Probably shouldn't have signed my name on it.
The phone rang again.
"Timmerton Spuncy, Private Investigations"
"Sorry about that Spuncy, I managed to cut myself off by hitting the disconnect button with my cheekbone"
"Thats OK Murtaugh. Is everything alright?"
"Of course it is, why wouldnt it be?
"I was thinking that the rat had got to you, one of the families was maybe after your blood"
Murtaugh grunted.
"Rat? Families? Spuncy, this is Herefordshire not Washington D.C.! We dont have crime families, or rats for that matter! Although, we did have a sparrow that flew in and got caught in the net curtains at home, and a dog got into the playground at my kid's school and everyone stopped doing their work and was looking out of the classroom windows at it. That ever happen to you?"
"I think it did once Murtaugh, it was a Border Collie, and it done a shit in the field and bit Duncan Wright"
My head started to thump with the rythm of my beating heart; dark spots flashed in front of my eyes. My past was something I didnt want to let anyone know about - even myself, and I had already let too much slip.
"I... I'm sorry Spuncy... I know what talking about your past does to you..."
"It's OK chief... So why did you call? What happened to the rat? The last time you called you told me your life was in danger"
"Thats the whole point Spuncy. It wasn't me. Someone is calling people all over this crazy town and pretending to be me. I was calling because at first I thought it was you, but then I realised that you were probably too goddamn shit-thick or pissed to do something like that. Plus, your voice is all like, gravelly, and mine is all like, squeaky and that"
He had a point. A good point.
"Get to the point Murtaugh"
"The point Spuncy, is that this is too sensitive to be handled internally - I can't have this investigated by any of the guys in here. This thing goes all the way to the top, and even the Mayor is starting to sweat. I need you to look into it"
"You saying you want to hire me Murtaugh?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying Spuncy. Get over to my office and we'll work out the details [click]"
He hung up on me without even saying goodbye. See what I mean when I tell you how mean and rough and tough and that he was? All he said was [click].
So. A case. It was about time. Sure it was dirty, and definitely dangerous, the pay would stink and I could end up dead, but a case was a case, and I was harder up than a diamond on a clifftop.
I realised that now would be a good time to clean and oil my weapon - the last thing you need in a tough situation is a weapon so clogged up and dirty that it backfires on you - so I got up, went to the basin and scrubbed it with a wire brush. I then laid it on an old rag and polished it with gun oil. When it was clean I tucked it into my belt and went back into my office to sort out my old files. My penis had never felt so clean.
Little did I know then but it was about to get dirty. Real dirty.


TUNE IN SOON FOR THE NEXT THRILLING INSTALLMENT OF "THE MALTESE KRAKEN".