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Hart of Darkness Part 5



I wake the girls and tell'em its time for round two.

Naturally, at this hour, they're not too enthusiastic. In their dessicated state from the dry Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc (finest the land of the short clipped vowel has to offer!), they drink greedily from the proffered bottle of Evian
liberally laced with nasolin which I prepared earlier.

Wait a few minutes…

Ahhhh!…sleeping beauties!

Knowing Beemo and Fun have to be at the mosque soon I check out and grab a cab back into town.

I spied “The Rose” last night. Dingy, decrepit and dangerous. This inn of a thousand broken dreams is right up my street.

I check in, repair to my room, and take a well earned nap. Three hours later, refreshed, spruced up, and ready for some brekkie I enter reception.

“Hullo Beemo!”

“Meestah Hart…you naughty man!”

“Ha, ha takes one to know one Beemo!”

“I forgive you Beemo, let's go get some grub. My shout!!”

We trudge off to the mall. It's a bit like Tops Pattaya, only five flights up.

We adjourn to a windowside table with a panoramic view of a sewer.

“You know Meestah Hart we businessman same.”

Beemo gives me a simian stare and croaks confidentially “You know I have business in Bali?”

“Do tell, Mein Furhrer.”

“In Bali I have many New Zealan' girlfrien!”

Beemo, the balinese boytoy!

“White lady New Zealan' and Austroolia they give me big money!”

Beemo, the chimp chippie!

“Many, many lady, all love Beemo!”

Beemo, the juicy gigolo!

Visions of legions of 220 kilo Janet Frames swim in my head. The pasty skin, the freckles, the cellulite, the varicose veins…

“I got naughty polaroid, hehehe…you wanna see?”

“Whatsa matter Meestah Hart, you sick?”

“No, perfectly fine old chap, just feeling a little woozy.”

“But I want other business too.” – solemnly.

“Expansion is the key, Old Boy. Go on, I'm all jeers, er, I mean ears.”

Beemo slyly flicks his eyes down and out to the deserted market adjacent to the mall.

Realising this is Top Secret, I do the same flick. I take in the filth, the papers and empty chip packets blowing in the whirlwinds, the faded fraying fibreglass umbrellas over the filthy formica tabletops, two dogs fighting over what looks
like a fetus and, most of all, the absolute absence of anything resembling a customer.

In a hushed whisper Beemo reveals his Masterplan.

“I wanna build new market just like that!”

I'm gobsmacked! I'm clapperclawed! The sheer brilliance of it! The man is a genius!! Watch out Sam Walton, you're about to be toppled from your perch.

I ejaculate – “We must begin work at once, Mr President!”

“Ahem, take a letter, Maria.”

“What, no Bic? No paper? No problem, you've got enough muck under your index claw there, just moisten it in your coffee and use this handy napkin.”

“Now, where were we? Oh, I remember, ahem, Il Capo di Tutti Capi, Banco Ambrosiano Di Vaticano, Vatican City, Roma, etc., etc.,”

“What's the problem Old Cock? Going too fast for you?”

“Nevermind, you're the ideas man, you can't be bothered with detail. I'm sure with all the dirt I've got on His Grace, we can raise the readies somehow…”

To be continued…

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