So there I was, on top of a mountain in Tibet, surrounded by a pack of angry wolves...
Rory paused for a moment in the midst of his tale, to knock back a shot of Whisky.
So, how did you escape, old chap?
Bellowed my good friend Anulus, a fine chap despite having a face like penis custard.
That was easy old chap, I remembered the butter in my pack and slowly... Ever so slowly got it out, undressed and smeared it all over myself.
I tipped more Whisky into his glass. It was a fine one, a 30-year-old Lagavulin.
Carry on, old fellow!
I laughed, raising my own glass high.
Rory drunkenly leapt to his feet, jarring the table slightly causing the drinks to make a cheery tinkling as they shook.
It was easy old chap. Once I had slathered myself in butter the leader of the pack came forward for a lick. And well... You know... One thing led to another and I ended up marrying the blighter!
He slapped his thigh and guffawed, tears of merriment glistening on his cheeks.
But, but... Isn't the leader of a wolf pack a male?
Interjected Anulus, his face chewing up in a frown.
What?! Well, possibly, old chap but fuck it. You know what wolves are like, all the bloody same in the dark!
We all roared and clapped each other on the back. Rory bent so far forward clutching at his side's that he fell onto his face.
Excuse me, sirs? One of the patrons has asked if you could keep the noise down somewhat?
A scrawny looking man-thing of a waiter with a skinny moustache that looked like a cat's arse stain on a carpet had popped into the private room we were in.
Blearily, I peered at him.
What's that, old fellow?
I cupped a hand behind my ear looking puzzled.
One of the patrons has asked...
The young peon started up again but I cut him off.
Closer, young man. I am a trifle deaf?...
The peon rolled his eyes as if I were eating twice-cooked parsnip chips. He stepped up until he was right beside me.
One of the... URRKH!?
The bottle of Lagavulin exploded in a mess of Whisky, hair and glass shards as I crashed it off the side of his head. A great gout of blood sprayed over the wall opposite.
The peon slumped to the floor with a groan.
I looked at the two other fellows, Rory and Anulus and nodded. They grinned and nodded in return.
We fell upon the semi-conscious peon and began raining down a hail of blows upon his supine form.
Ahem.
A small cough interrupted the peon-thrashing. I looked up in annoyance.
Oh, Hilton, old fellow. How are you?
Chief Inspector Hilton stepped into the room and rumpled his brow in distaste at the broken and bloodied mess we had been pummeling.
I hope that poor bastard isn't dead?
He asked, pulling out his pipe.
The flare of the match he used to light it painted his face momentarily like the sun setting in a sea of blood.
Anulus and Rory shuffled their feet and looked guiltily downwards.
I knelt down over the quite dead corpse of the peon waiter and held his head and jaw in my hands, clacking them wetly together.
Oh no, Mr Policeman, sir! Oim quite alive!
I said out the side of my mouth in a grisly attempt at ventriloquism.
Chief Inspector Hilton shook his head and sat down heavily in one of the vacant chairs.
Stuff him in a bloody corner then and get some more bloody whiskey.
He sighed taking his hat off and placing it on his lap.
I motioned for the other two to drag the crumpled peon-bundle to the side and sat across from the Chief Inspector.
Sorry about that old fellow, a bloody peon though, no harm done.
Hilton shook his head.
One day, Boomy. One day you will go too far.
He accepted the glass I passed him which I had filled with the contents of another bottle.
Anyway, that's not why I'm here. I'm here because of your maid, Liselle.
He examined me closely.
What about her?
I harrumphed impatiently. I could never stand shilly-shallying.
I am afraid I have to ask. Just how intimate were you and your maid, this Liselle creature?
I took my own pipe out. Lighting it and giving it an impatient puff.
Intimate!? Liselle? Well, I'm a man after all. I might have thrown some beef in her rusty old oven once or twice when drunk but that would hardly make us intimate?
Hilton made a dissatisfied face as if his wife had stopped fellating him when they got married.
A sudden squelching, wet tearing noise interrupted us. We looked over only to see Anulus attempting to push his head between the dead waiter's now naked arse cheeks.
Anulus, what in the bloodiest of fucks are you doing!?
I roared.
He looked up, the crown of his head splobby with red and brown gobbets.
Oh, sorry Boomy. I was trying to stretch this peon's arse so I could slip it over my head and wear him like a dress. You know. To give you a fright?
For god's sake man, have some respect. Find out who his mother is and send her a boiled ham or something.
I turned back to face Hilton.
Sorry about that, now where were we?
Hilton tipped his whisky back and swallowed with an appreciative grimace.
I'm afraid that Liselle was found this morning. Quite dead I'm afraid. Floating in the river...
Let me guess, with her throat cut?
I interrupted.
Hilton blinked slowly.
Well, yes. How did you know? I'm also afraid to say that people are starting to talk. First your friend Dobbers and now your maid Liselle?
I fixed Hilton with a steely eye as if he were a partridge in a pear tree and it was Christmas Eve.
Let them talk then.
I said, waving a hand at the air in annoyance as if patting a fat fellow's side-boob.
Hilton hesitated.
It's not as simple as that. I might have to ask you to come to the station and tell us everything you know.
I snorted and took a savage puff of my pipe.
Tell you everything I know? Pfft. I don't think that would be possible, old fellow. After all...