05 September 2008
Everybody Likes Likely
“Who on God’s green earth would want to kill me?” I spluttered indignantly, as I held the rather threatening note from a would-be assassin in my hands. “Surely everybody likes Likely?”
Inspector Albert Spunkleford shuffled awkwardly in his place, deftly avoiding my gaze by looking up into the sky and whistling discordantly into the air.
“I believe this is the point where you leap gallantly to my defence, and reassure me that everyone does indeed love me, as I am so cocking-well wonderful and fabulous and superb, Spunkleford,” I reminded the detective.
“Well…it is just that…well, gosh, I shall just say it – there are a hell of a lot of people who would like to see you dead, Likely. A hell of a lot.“
“Oh really, Spunkleford? I should like to see you try and name one!”
“Well…” said Spunkleford, taking a deep breath. “There’s Ivan Romanov, the criminally insane former Russian Ambassador to Great Britain, who you bought to justice last year. I believe his last words to you were, ‘I will get you, Likely.’”
“Hmm,” I mused, as I recollected that particularly perilous adventure. “Yes, he certainly would fit the profile, I sup-”
“Then there’s Mrs. Dinklesuck’s killer prostitutes, the crew of The Hairy Clam, evil conjurer Silas Surprise, The Brown Mist, Lord Rydeham Harde, Alfredo di Clitt, Kenneth the Hat’s army of murderous tramps, Captain Dick Jerker of the Boston City Police, and Lord Hungwell,” Spunkleford continued. “Not to mention the dozens of beggars you have urinated upon in the past, the numerous paupers you have mocked, the countless party-goers you have offended, or the hundreds of husbands whose wives you have ploughed over the years. And then there’s Finnegan, here,” Spunkleford concluded, motioning to the latest miscreant to have been bested by my superior self.
“Aye,” Finnegan snarled. “I’d kill ye in a flash!”
“Well,” I said, slightly overwhelmed by the impressive roster of arch-enemies I had attracted over the past few months. “That certainly was a comprehensive list, Inspector. Have you quite finished?”
“Yes, yes. I think that covers it,” Spunkleford beamed. “Well, except for Botter, of course.”
“Pardon?” I asked, my ears barely believing the words tumbling out of the detective’s speak-hole.
“Oh come on, Likely. You do treat that poor fellow rather abominably, do you not? I would not be at all surprised if your man-servant was plotting your demise almost daily.”
“Pffft. I very much doubt it, Spunkleford. Botter is loyal and obedient to his master, and would not even think to harm a hair on my impeccably barbered bonce. Besides which, I think he lacks the cognitive prowess and opposable thumbs to perform such a task.”
“Really?” said Spunkleford. “And where, pray tell, is your loyal man-servant at this very instance?”
“I sent him into town to run some errands for me,” I snorted dismissively.
“I see.” Spunkleford grinned. “I see.“
“Now listen here, Spunkleford, I refuse to listen to your slanderous flim-flam any further. Now, if we could put aside such ridiculous flights of fancy, maybe we could turn our attentions to trying to locate the actual real killer, hmmm?”
“Certainly, Likely,” Spunkleford concurred. “I apologise for my terrible deviation. You did ask, though…”
Then Spunkleford went on to explain at great length the known aspects of the murder at St. Bumthrusty’s school. However, try as I might to focus on the case at hand, my mind could not help but mull over the possibility that Botter might be trying to kill me.
He wouldn’t dare, would he?
He better not, the little shit-ball. If he did dare to kill me, I would certainly dock his pay for a couple of months.
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Get Botter!
humor-blogs.com would probably try to off Likely too. The swines.
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