At the hallway upstairs, the quartet was about to come downstairs – when Daniel pointed at the CCTV camera and told Peter…
“… scrub that…”
Peter who was holding his girlfriend’s hand, nodded and acknowledged…
“… yes, I will…”
Paul was seated at the IKEA table and playing Dota – he noticed Peter-and-friends walking down the stairs. They looked grubby and were perspiring – their clothes were dirty and grimy … with bits of cobwebs on their hair…
‘… where ‘did’ you-all go…? What was THAT ‘NOISE’ behind the wall…?’
They came to the kitchen and Peter opened the fridge and took out 4 cans of coke and placed them on the marbled kitchen counter. Kirk waved to Paul on his wheelchair… and the tween tacitly nodded…
Kitty at the backyard barked…
“You have a dog…?” Kirk said as he walked over to the backdoor.
Before Paul could say ‘yes’ – Peter cut-in…
“Yea, ‘that’ stray mongrel… mom took it in ‘temporarily’ – if it’s a further nuisance… you-guys can ‘have’ it – and take it-away to your ‘farm’…”
…Paul was crossed when his-twin ‘said’ that about his dog…
The quartet at the window was watching the barking dog while drinking their coke… as they were talking about the Belgian Malinois breed – in reference to the actress Halle Berry owning 2 of those fighting-dogs in the John Wick movie… until…
… Bella who-then opened the backdoor… WANTING TO PAT IT – everyone was protesting that it was a dangerous-move – her boyfriend yelled…
“Bella-don’t – that dingo will maul you-alive!!!”
Paul at the table was SHOCKED-TOO – if the ‘possibility’ of his dog attacked the girl – then Kitty would be ‘put-down’…
Fortunately, Kitty ‘behaved’ – and licked Bella’s reaching-hand – but ‘when’ Kirk-and-Daniel stepped out to the backyard… the dog grit its teeth and growled – and both the men quickly retreated-back at the door laughing as they stood-by Peter… and watched Bella playing with the fierce-dog.
After 2 minutes, they decided to go home. Bella came-inside and walked-up to the IKEA table…
“…Poe, your dog is a Beauty – what’s her name…?”
“… err… Kitty…”
‘… did she call-me ‘Poe’…?’
Peter laughed-out…
“What a ‘stupid’ name – Mr Magoo-here doesn’t ‘know’ whether he ‘own’ a dog-or-cat…”
Both the men laughed – but-Bella ignored them as she continued-speaking…
“… bye, see you in school next week, Poe – and give my regards to your-girl… Jane Wilson …if she calls you…”
The quiet Paul nodded…
‘… huh… she ‘knows’ Jane…?’
The tall 14-year-old teenager left the dining-area, followed by Peter and the 2 men… leaving Paul at the table… who had a ‘good-first-impression’ of his twin’s girlfriend…
‘… she seems ‘friendly’ – even Kitty ‘likes’ her…’
He saw Peter opening the front door and they all went outdoors – peering out of the window he looked at the men heading towards their superbikes… while Bella lingered a while to chat with Peter – they then kissed – before Bella joined the biker-boys… as they started their loud-bikes and rode-away…
Paul ‘pretended’ to play his videogame… when Peter returned indoor – and sensed his twin was walking-up the stairs…
‘… I wonder ‘HOW-LONG’ it would-take before she would ‘dump’ the-devil… once ‘knowing’ his true despicable-self…? Like his-Janey ‘DID’ IT TO HIM… in the ‘other-Perth… that ended-up with ‘exploding-phones’ on the first-day of school…’
-O-
Peter opened his room-door and caught his-quokka-PET POOPING tiny-cube shaped dung on the carpet…
“OII!!! Don’t bloody shit and stink my-room, you-rat! Didn’t you mom ‘potty-train’ you…? What you think my room is – your bloody-outback…?”
He saw Joey-Walker ‘grinning-back’ at him after defecation – that annoyed Peter…
“You ‘dare’ smirk at me… I’ll kick your bloody teeth-in you-filthy rat…!!!”
Peter picked-up his Babolat from the tennis-rack – and chased it around the room…
“… you’ll be the ‘only’ Quokka who don’t have any teeth… and giving tourists ‘ugly’ selfies…!!!”
… the setonix-brachyurus species hopped fast… running away from its ‘predator’ armed with a swinging-racquet… before the terrified critter disappeared under the bed…
Peter then scooted and looked under the dark bed… seeing Joey-Walker hiding in its box – he also saw several piles of cubed-black poop-pallets on the floor under the bed…
“For a 4-month-old… you ‘shit’ a lot, you dirty-rat! Like I said… this is ‘not’ the bush, and ‘now’ you’re a ‘city-rat’ – I’ll potty-train you ‘myself’… I’ll ‘teach’ you to pick-up your-shit… and ‘put’ it in your-pouch, you ‘mediocre’ marsupial…!!!”
Peter panted with the short chase around his room – and sat on his bed to respire…
‘… soon my room will ‘stink’ of piss-and-shit like bloody Poe’s – maybe I should get ‘rid’ of Joey-Walker ‘once’ school reopens – the rat is ‘getting’ to be a nuisance…’
His stomach rumbled – he looked at his bedside alarm… it was 12:32 P.M. – way-past his regular lunch time. He took out his iPhone and ordered Maccas’ 2 sets of Big-Mac takeaways… before heading to the bathroom to shower…
… he took a long cold-shower as he shampooed away the grime from his hair and used the handled-brush to scrub the dirt from his body… AFTER THE VISIT to his father’s underground bunker…
His phone rang… Peter hurried to answer it as he looked at the time – 1:01 P.M.
It was the Deliveroo-rider at the main-gate WITH HIS LUNCH. He did ‘not’ dress-up nor fit the metal arm to his-stump… The dripping-wet one-armed Peter ran down the stairs clad only in his towel.
He noticed that Paul was ‘not’ at the IKEA table – ‘maybe’ in his room… or the backyard with his dog.
At the main-gate, he paid for his lunch but he did ‘not’ tip the rider, like he ‘usually-do…
‘…bad times, mate… no millions in the bunker… or I would ‘given’ you a $1000 tip…and ‘ALL-YOUHOOS’ food deliver-riders would camp outside the house-of-Walker as my loyal-minions… watching like ‘vultures’ at my window – hoping for my ‘next’ order food…’
While walking to the front door with the paper bag of his lunch – he remembered his brief-stay in the grand-suite @Stamford Hotel in Perthland – when he was the guest-cum-lover of the heiress Jezebel Crowley – who was a generous tipper herself…who gave $100 for food-and-miscellaneous delivery to ‘their’ room…
‘… cash is king…!!!’
Walking upstairs, he sighed in disappointment – OF THE ‘FAILED’ treasure-hunt…
‘… just ‘how’ do I get to you-JEZEBEL…? YOUR UNCLE is ‘sick’ in this post-Treeton – and he ‘needs’ THE CURE… of ‘my’ GOLDEN BLOOD…’
-O-
He was in his room, eating his burger at his desk – with his mind was still at the ‘missed-opportunity’ of Perthland… where his chance of attaining huge-wealth in the UK was ‘sabotaged’ by the Defenders-of-Perth…
… where Paul ‘shot-and-killed’ him… and ‘Jezebel’ in ‘that’ realm…
‘… a version-of Belle is ‘here’ in post-Treeton – this is my 2ND CHANCE to milk the cash-cow, Poe – YOU ‘DARE’ bloody-kill me, you-quad…? I’ll BE ‘READY’ FOR YOU, this time-around…’
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Peter looked-down from his-reverie… and saw the quokka peeking at him eating…
“No-food for you today – YOU STARVE, you bloody rat!”
The frightened pet retracted itself into hiding…
‘… ‘how’ do I get the ‘millions’ TO BUY the house – I can’t ‘trust’ Bella’s promises that her Uncle Jared WOULD ‘BUY’ the house – ‘why’ should he buy this house in the first-place…!? when Principal Harris said the house HAS ‘LESS’ value cos’ it is in a bloody-middleclass area…!?’
Peter caught himself being watched by the-quokka… and it hid again when the boy ‘made’ eye-contact…
“Stay-there! No food for you! And, don’t make a pathetic-face as of a starving-African rat – I’ve read ‘all-about’ you on the net… that you can go without food and -- sustain by the fats in your ugly-rat-tail…”
The-quokka peeked-out again… Peter said loudly…
“Are you playing ‘HIDE-AND-SEEK’ with your-Master…!!?”
The-quokka hid again – ‘frightened’ by the boy’s loud-voice…
Peter was amused with Joey-Walker’s ‘sneaky-antics’ – he knew his pet was hungry but the tween had ‘forgotten’ to pick some leaves from the garden while picking-up his delivered food just now… nor did he ‘want’ to go downstairs to the garden…
… he broke a piece of the Big Mac’s bun… and dropped it in the carpeted-floor…
“… JW, you’re ‘not’ a bush-rat any-more… you live ‘now’ in the city – so, you bloody ‘adapt’ if you wanna be ‘adopted’… you hear-me…?”
He waited for the-quokka to show itself – but it hid…
“… mediocre… stay-there all you want…!”
Peter had finished eating both of his Big-Macs… burped while drinking the large bottle of coke. He looked at the ‘mementos’ he brought-back from the bunker and the music-room…
… 3 journals and a large-envelope of photographs of his late-father, Solomon Walker…
Peter wanted to ‘learn’ of his dad’s past – and unloaded the envelope – over 40 photographs dropped on the surface of the desk…
- He had ‘seen’ his toddler’s photos… playing with his Venom-toy
- Over a dozen photos were of his dad’s architecture job… posing with clients in the houses he ‘had’ built for them
- There were many photos of his dad’s selfies… over the years… looking younger-to-older, looking slimmer-to-thicker – with many clothes-fashions over the years. Even wearing what ‘seems’ to-be Indian… similar to the SHS’s peon, Muthoo Ganesan’s attire who-occasionally-wore
- There were many photos of his dad-and-friends – some were in casinos of Solomon gambling at the table with ‘his’ friends
Peter recognised ‘one’ of his DAD’S FRIENDS – he too was years-younger in the photo…
“… huh… what is ‘this’ fellow doing-here…? Was Dad ‘friends’ with Chucky Miggs…? I know’ him-too… he taught-me ‘how’ to gamble in my tennis-challenge in the public grass-tennis court…”
Peter laughed…
“What a ‘small’ world after-all…”
Peter turned his head to see the-quokka near-him… with its short-hands hold the Big Mac’s piece of bun… and eating it…
The tween showed the photograph to the-quokka…
“See-JW… me-and-Dad ‘know’ Chucky Miggs!”
The smiling-quokka looked at the photo… and it then went-on eating its-lunch…
PETER gathered the photos and put-back in the large envelope – and noticed something ‘strange’…
… that there was a SMALLER-ENVELOPE… ‘hidden’ in the large-envelope…
The tween’s jaw dropped-on-the-floor – as he stood-up ‘exclaiming-aloud’ – that frightened the-quokka to-scram-to… hop-and-hide under the bed…
… Peter had stumbled upon ‘NUDE’ PHOTOS – of the 3 young-teen women in old Polaroid-shots…
“Hahaha! You’re a ‘player’ too! Who are these ‘women’… are they your ‘girlfriends’…? Damn, I admire your ‘taste,’ dad… you’re into ‘BLONDES’ LIKE ME – just ‘like’ Janey, my soulmate…”
Aroused, as Peter ‘fantasised’ being in the-bedroom of the ‘polaroid’… as a fly-on-the-wall – watching his father with the camera – taking nude-photos of these women…
‘… who are ‘these’ women…? Where do they ‘live’ in Perth…? I like to ‘meet’ them… and shake their-hands – to praise them OF ‘BEING’ PIONEERS of-the-Polaroid era… to our present digital nude-photo sharing-culture, hahaha…’
Then he had a ‘funny’ feeling – THAT HE RECOGNIZED ONE’ of the blondes… he then scrambled to get his big-magnifying-glass from his messy-desk drawer…
‘… I ‘KNOW’ you b**** … from ‘SOMEWHERE’… but ‘WHERE’…!?’
Then, Peter had a Eureka-moment…
“Oh-my-God! It’s DOUGIE’S MOM – my dad HAD ‘BANGED’ Dougie’s mom…!!!”
It was his tennis-rival Douglas Zimmerman… who had teamed-up with Zoe William – to ‘play’ the finals of the mixed-doubles SHS selection in the OTHER-PERTH – where they ‘faced’ the Perth’s Famous-couple, Peter-and-Jane…
“… yo-Dougie-dog… wanna see’ some saucy-naked photos of your mom as a teenager, hahaha… I’ll ‘show’ it to you… FOR A ‘PRICE,’ of-course, ahahahah…”
Peter laughed hysterically…
“… okey-mate, I ‘understand’ Dougie… that you don’t wanna ‘pay’ and see your mom’s dirty-pix… but your Germanic-Germania millionaire dad would ‘pay’ to cover-up the ‘shameful’ act of his wife-and-mother of his ‘only’ son…
Peter thought-out aloud of his master-scheme…
“… Pay-up, Pay-up… pay me ‘millions-of-dollars…OR I LEAK the juicy-photos online so that everyone can-see Mommy-Zimmerman’s beautiful big-puppies, hahaha...
“Pay-up, Pay-up… so-that, I CAN ‘BUY’ my house… that MY DAD BUILT for me…”
Peter ‘ROLE-PLAYED’ the ruse-and-ploy to every-situation – to ‘not’ GET-CAUGHT…
‘… what if inspector-mom finds-out… and wanna ‘put’ me away for the ‘extortion’ criminal-offense – I’LL DENY IT… and keep the images in ‘digital’ version – and ‘destroy’ the Polaroids ‘evidence’ if ‘any’ police ‘shakedown’ in my room, like the other-Perth…
‘… I won’t be ‘present’ too for the ‘BAG-PICKUP’ – the Hateful-8 will do my-deed… Kirk-and-Dan will be my frontline-minions in dealing with the ‘negotiations’ with the-Zims…
‘… Bella should ‘NOT’ KNOW ‘about’ this transaction… she’s ‘just’ a controlling ‘rich-b****’ who has been ‘disrespectful’ to me JUST ‘NOW’ at the bunker…
‘… she’s ‘also’ Kirk-and-Dan’s employer and WOULD ‘NOT’ go through with the blackmail… she’d been squeezing my-balls to agree on her Uncle Jared’s OFFER TO ‘help… which I think WON’T HAPPEN in a million-years…
‘… instead, I’ll give the ‘moola’ to Chucky Miggs – and he’ll ‘buy-me’ my house and put-it under my name… for a generous ‘fee,’ of course – HE’LL HELP ME… he’s dad’s friend and mine-too…’
‘… I ‘TRUST’ Chucky Miggs… he’s ‘made’ me money as a bookie before my bloody-unfortunate accident – he’s a millionaire-too… maybe he’s the ‘one’ who makes my UK-Crowley ‘introduction’ a possibility… from one-millionaire to one-billionaire…
‘… cos ‘money’ TALKS TO ‘money,’ right…? These filthy-rich-folks make ‘backdoor’ deals every time – hey Bella-the-b****, you said, I’m minor… and can’t sell my ‘precious’ blood – I’ll prove to you that I ‘CAN’… whether legal-or-illegal…
‘… yes, I’m going to save that old-man-Crowley’s life as a true-Catholic, by giving my blood just-like Jesus ‘did’ shed-his – and-yes, NO-SHAME TO ‘PROFIT’ from it on the side – and ‘what’ you bloody-conmen Protestants-did… ‘NOTHING’… but-yet your-preachers live a billionaire lifestyle living-on by profiting on the poor-and-gullible church-goers’ donations… by living in huge-ass mansions and riding on their private-jet without prick themselves for a single-drop of blood TO-EARN-IT…
‘… now… IS THAT legal or illegal…!!?’
All was ‘not’ lost from the failure of the treasure-hunt mission just-now – with Peter ‘now’ hyped-up believing his dead-father was leaving him CLUES OF HOW to ‘make’ millions-of-dollars… for him to ‘buy’ the Walker-house from his mother…
… with his ‘extortion’ from the RICH-SCHEME…
All he ‘needed’ was a sound-proof masterplan and with-lots OF GOOD LUCK…
… which he can ‘learn’ from his dad’s journal… and the ‘BOOK OF GOOD LUCK’…
And, a good luck charm like a ‘talisman’ from THE OTHER-PERTH…
… he thought of his ‘pet’ as a-lucky-charm… JOEY WALKER…
-O-
The rapt-Peter jumped out from his chair and dived-on his knees to his bed, where underneath in the dark-space was the Nike-shoe-box where Joey Walker sleep…
… and, ‘now’ hiding in-fear from Peter… from his ill-treatment…
“Come-out-come-out, boy… no ‘more’ hide-and-seek… your Master-Dada ‘needs’ you, in some ‘Good Luck’ ritual…
‘… sorry-dear-son, Daddy was rough with you just now… and also calling you a ‘dirty rat’… Let’s be ‘friends’ again…”
Peter waited for a moment – but JW was ‘no-show’…
… the tween peeked under his bed – the Nike-box had ‘shifted’ further under his bed… the only-way to snag the ‘rat’ was to… reach-under to grab the box… that was ‘behind’ the barrier of piles of its ‘own’ stinking-poop…
In ‘need’ of his lucky-charm, Peter ‘had’ no choice BUT TO PUT his metal-arm in…and, cursing to-himself as he reached in – to physically ‘avoiding’ the poop like land-mines… and mentally self-reminding – to ‘vacuum’ his bedroom tomorrow…
… he grabbed and pulled-out the shoe-box – the terrified Joey-Walker hopped-out to scurry escape… Peter’s reflex-action was to grab the critter with his right-hand – and before the Quakka bit him in self-defence…
… his black robotic-arm next-pinned the youngling-joey by its neck… wrangling it…
“Now-now-Joey… don’t struggle… you ‘might’ hurt yourself – be ‘friends’ with your-daddy, mate… cos’ I’ve ‘got’ plans for you, my lil’ cobber – you gonna help your-dada make ‘some’ millions of dollars… relax my-baby-boy… relax… don’t ‘fight’ the eco-system of the food-chain hierarchy... be-friends and my-minion instead… ‘not’ foes…I ‘hate’ foes…”
Peter’s right-hand gently stroked Joey-Walker to make the critter docile – with his-leftie still holding it to the-floor… he bent-over and Judas-kissed its whiskered long-snout whispering…
“…yes, baby-boy… chillax…”
Peter got-up on his-feet and held the quokka by its collar – JW hung-low like a weak-kitten in the clutch-of his black metal-palms…
At his desk, he placed the quokka on the surface-top – JW struggled to escape – but the metal-palm was firm…
“… relax, baby-boy… don’t ‘fight’…’
With his right-hand Peter opened the colourful-covered journal – where his father named …
‘The Book of Good Luck’…
… Peter read aloud the Sumerian-chants – TRANSLATED BY Solomon in its pronunciation in English…
The lucky-charm Joey-Walker shivered… as IT HEARD the human-Master’s loud-voice ‘changing’ inhumanly into dark-and-deep…
... it shut its-eyes -- went into a hypnotic mind-state of self-induced coma... and played-possum...