Another quiet afternoon by the pool. It’s hot
here and humid. So humid in fact that you can work up a sweat just getting the
cap off a beer bottle. Fortunately Oscar’s staff take care of all the menial
tasks.
The old blog’s getting to be a bit of a mess lately. So am I. Need to get my finger out. It’s always the bloody same when Oscar’s around. I’ll admit he’s helped me out of a few tight spots but he’s got me into new ones soon after. No trouble yet but I know it’s coming.
“Seriously Dick,” says Oscar one day, “you need to do something about your blog. If you just go rambling on like this you will lose readers. They'll wander off looking for titillation. Come with me. I want to show you something.”
He takes me off into a sort of study and shuts the door. He gets a roll of tracing paper out of a wall safe and spreads it out on a big mahogany table. It looks like some kind of rubbing. “OK.” says Oscar, “here’s the map.”
Then he starts to tell me how he was wandering around the island when he spots a sort of cave in a hillside.
“I crawl in,” says Oscar, “and it turns out to be a bat-cave.”
“Was Robin in there?” I ask.
“No Dick, he wasn’t. But thanks anyway for the smart-ass comment. Just a few bats hanging around. Noctilio leporinus according to Fabiani who knows a thing or two about bats. Incidentally Dick do you know where the name ‘bat’ comes from?”
“Yes. Want me to tell you?”
“Sure.”
“It comes from Old Norse "ledhrblaka," which means "leather flapper." It became "bakka" somehow and then "bat" in English.”
“Right. So I had a look around inside the cave and I noticed a few squiggly lines on the wall.”
“Then you went home for some tracing paper….”
“Copied the map and…”
“Don’t tell me…hidden treasure!!” There are no flies on Dick Headley.
We study the map together in silence for a while. It doesn’t look like much. A splodge that could be an island I suppose, a line that could be a track and a small X off in one corner. Could be a bit of bat shit for all I know.
But Oscar’s excited. He went looking for the spot he says and found a flat rock that didn’t look natural. It was too heavy for him to lift on his own.
“I’d like to keep this just between the two of us if possible Dick. There’s going to be some digging to do. I could get some guys over from Tortola but it would be all over the Caribbean in 5 minutes. I need your help Dick. Somebody I can trust.”
Sounds like a load of bollocks to me.
“I don’t quite get it Oscar.” I say, “This treasure business. You don’t need more money surely.”
Oscar thinks for a while, scratches his horrible hairy belly and says, “It’s greed Dick. Sheer greed. And the fact that I’m bored stiff. I need a bit of excitement in my life. Plus it could be just the thing to liven up your blog.”
The old blog’s getting to be a bit of a mess lately. So am I. Need to get my finger out. It’s always the bloody same when Oscar’s around. I’ll admit he’s helped me out of a few tight spots but he’s got me into new ones soon after. No trouble yet but I know it’s coming.
“Seriously Dick,” says Oscar one day, “you need to do something about your blog. If you just go rambling on like this you will lose readers. They'll wander off looking for titillation. Come with me. I want to show you something.”
He takes me off into a sort of study and shuts the door. He gets a roll of tracing paper out of a wall safe and spreads it out on a big mahogany table. It looks like some kind of rubbing. “OK.” says Oscar, “here’s the map.”
Then he starts to tell me how he was wandering around the island when he spots a sort of cave in a hillside.
“I crawl in,” says Oscar, “and it turns out to be a bat-cave.”
“Was Robin in there?” I ask.
“No Dick, he wasn’t. But thanks anyway for the smart-ass comment. Just a few bats hanging around. Noctilio leporinus according to Fabiani who knows a thing or two about bats. Incidentally Dick do you know where the name ‘bat’ comes from?”
“Yes. Want me to tell you?”
“Sure.”
“It comes from Old Norse "ledhrblaka," which means "leather flapper." It became "bakka" somehow and then "bat" in English.”
“Right. So I had a look around inside the cave and I noticed a few squiggly lines on the wall.”
“Then you went home for some tracing paper….”
“Copied the map and…”
“Don’t tell me…hidden treasure!!” There are no flies on Dick Headley.
We study the map together in silence for a while. It doesn’t look like much. A splodge that could be an island I suppose, a line that could be a track and a small X off in one corner. Could be a bit of bat shit for all I know.
But Oscar’s excited. He went looking for the spot he says and found a flat rock that didn’t look natural. It was too heavy for him to lift on his own.
“I’d like to keep this just between the two of us if possible Dick. There’s going to be some digging to do. I could get some guys over from Tortola but it would be all over the Caribbean in 5 minutes. I need your help Dick. Somebody I can trust.”
Sounds like a load of bollocks to me.
“I don’t quite get it Oscar.” I say, “This treasure business. You don’t need more money surely.”
Oscar thinks for a while, scratches his horrible hairy belly and says, “It’s greed Dick. Sheer greed. And the fact that I’m bored stiff. I need a bit of excitement in my life. Plus it could be just the thing to liven up your blog.”
No comments:
Post a Comment