Chapter 43: Deep Six

Author: Andrew Keaton
Date: 26th May 1998

Rex hopped towards the gangplank that led down towards Ray, make-up and freedom. However, escaping from brutal Finnish floral stationery smuggling gangsters is one thing; doing it while bound hand and foot and with a steaming load in one's Jockeys is something else altogether and Rex, sadly, wasn't up to it.

No sooner had he made it to the top of the plank that he was crash tackled from behind. This was a bad move all over for Monsieur van Slooten, who happened to be doing the crash tackling, for as he dived and made contact with our boy Rex, three things occurred. First, Slooten's face made firm contact with Rex's posterior. Second, Ray Martin had a crew shooting a promo on the docks. And third, Slooten's copper anti-arthritis bracelet got caught in Rex's bindings.

"Raaaaayyyyyy!" Splash.

"Trudeeeeeeeeee!" Splash.

Later that night, after ACA had gone to air sans footage, Ray, Argus McPhee, ACA executive producer, and Francis Treduff, camera operator, stood watching the images of Rex and Van Slooten falling like fornicating penguins, their screams rendered as an ascending tone before being cut off by the final splash. Ray stood in the foreground, looking for all the world like a well groomed penguin who'd been left out of the action.

The tape stopped and for a moment no one said anything. Then Argus looked at Ray. "Why didn't you dive in after him?"

Ray didn't bother answering him.

"In any case, we can't use footage of our star reporter falling off a boat, tied hand and foot, with a load of shit in his pants. I mean, look at it in slow motion -- you can see it shift against this other guy's face!"

Ray looked at Argus again, still saying nothing. As far as he was concerned, Argus was a deviate and Rex was even more of a deviate; the fact that he died with a load in his pants proved it.

After it had become apparent that Rex wasn't resurfacing, Ray had pulled out his Nokia 5110 and pressed 1, which put him straight through to his publicist. Ten minutes later, he'd never been there, the Anthony Michael Hall was steaming out of the docks, bound for Finland, and the Water Rats crew was pretending to film an episode in a vain attempt to locate the corpses.

"Well, let's put it in the film library," said Argus. "Never know when that sorta stuff'll come in handy."

"Righto," said Treduff, who grabbed the tape, took it into the basement and put it into a Sony digital deck. He pulled up the menu on the screen, hit 'Save as MP3', and sent the output to his Silicon Graphics O2. After he'd compressed it, processed the sound and enhanced the images he ftp'd the file up to his server, snorted a bunch of go-powder, and reclined with a sigh and a smile on his face. "That'll please that fucker Anttilanien," he said, eyes like pinholes. "That'll please him."

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