Pet Steeve excerpt: Chapter 62
Hmm, let’s see here, what else has been going on? Oh yeah, there’s this: A small white van pulled up outside farmer John’s house and out stepped a man round enough to roll around comfortably. How he managed to fit into the tiny van is beyond me. The little white van was still rocking from side to side when the man slammed the door. Mr Chubby, better known as Timothy Goodfellow, was a balding man who wore thick spectacles far too low down on his nose for them to be aiding his eyesight; unless, only seeing where his feet were headed was his only concern – which was fair enough considering he couldn’t actually see them. He wore a white button-up shirt to conceal the workings of sweat, and gracing each of his shoulders was a suspender strap; the poor things stretched as far as they could, holding up his golfer’s trousers. His shoes were, well, I don’t actually know. His pink – or salmon, if you will – socks were visible, however. His thick cologne had a similar job to that of his shirt. He finished off the half a pasty he was throttling in his left hand in one giant bite and stuffed the wrapping down his trouser pocket. “Timothy! Good to see you, old chum!” said John from his front door. “John, hello there, how are you?” The words fought their way through steak bits and puff-pastry shrapnel. “Very well, thanks for coming on such short notice.” “No problem, what you got for me?” The two shook hands and John gestured for his guest to go inside, then hung back for a few seconds. And when Timothy was properly inside, John looked around suspiciously as if he were paranoid of being watched. “Tim, would you like anything to drink?” asked John once he had caught up. “Do you have any Red Bull?” “I’m afraid I don’t, sorry.” “Then, nothing. So what do you have for me, John? I have to get back to my other pasty … Uh, I mean other work, you know? Busy, busy.” “Well, I’ve got a real good-looking one for you this time. Almost primed and ready. Come, I’ll show you.” “Ooh! Very exciting,” gushed Timothy as he followed Farmer John out the back door and down the back garden all the way to the serene stream where a crumbling shed awaited them. “We have her hidden down here,” John mentioned as the two walked side by side, “but we don’t have much time. There’s a lunatic running around chasing its disappearance.” “I don’t even want to know, John, you know our deal.” “Yes, yes, plausible deniability.” “Good.” When they arrived at the shed, John stepped forward and knocked three times; then another three times in quick succession; then once; then once again but a little louder; and finally, ten times really, really quickly. “Why?” asked Timothy, puzzled. “Just, why?” “It’s our secret code,” offered John. Timothy looked around at the vast nothingness surrounding the shed. The only noise and, in fact, the only thing moving, was the stream trickling peacefully by, minding its own business, a few feet away. “It seems a little cumbersome, don’t you think?” he finally suggested. “Best be safe and not sorry, you know?” “How about saying, ‘Peter, it’s me, your father, not an imposter, let me in.’” John thought about this for a few seconds but was distracted by the shed’s door swinging open, so they walked inside. “She’s looking good, dad,” announced Pee’ah as the room suddenly shrunk. “Thank you, son. Well, Tim, have a look, what do you think? She’s a fine specimen, don’t you reckon?” The chubby man leant over the baby calf and gave it a once-over with his eyes. He then asked Pee’ah to help him out by shifting the animal around so that he could see it from various angles. When he was satisfied, he said, “Yes, quite a marvellous creature, this one. It’s been well looked after. Good job, boy.” The two men left Pee’ah and the calf in the shed and spoke business just outside. After five minutes, Timothy announced that he had to get to “that thing” he needed to get to, so they shook hands and promised to meet again in a few days. John was glowing as he thanked his old pal again for coming. He walked him to his van and watched, in juvenile amusement, as the circle shape squeezed through the square shape. “Hey, dad?” asked Pee’ah once the man had left. “Yes, son?” “What’s veal anyway?” Musical sting: Dum, dum, duuuuuuum!