AFTER THEIR ‘FAILED’ TREASURE-HUNT MISSION – Bella-and-the-boys decided to go home…

At the hallway upstairs, the quartet was about to come downstairs – when Daniel pointed at the CCTV camera and told Peter…

“… scrub that…”

Peter who was holding his girlfriend’s hand, nodded and acknowledged…

“… yes, I will…”

Paul was seated at the IKEA table and playing Dota – he noticed Peter-and-friends walking down the stairs. They looked grubby and were perspiring – their clothes were dirty and grimy … with bits of cobwebs on their hair…

‘… where ‘did’ you-all go…? What was THAT ‘NOISE’ behind the wall…?’

They came to the kitchen and Peter opened the fridge and took out 4 cans of coke and placed them on the marbled kitchen counter. Kirk waved to Paul on his wheelchair… and the tween tacitly nodded…

Kitty at the backyard barked…

“You have a dog…?” Kirk said as he walked over to the backdoor.

Before Paul could say ‘yes’ – Peter cut-in…

“Yea, ‘that’ stray mongrel… mom took it in ‘temporarily’ – if it’s a further nuisance… you-guys can ‘have’ it – and take it-away to your ‘farm’…”

…Paul was crossed when his-twin ‘said’ that about his dog…

The quartet at the window was watching the barking dog while drinking their coke… as they were talking about the Belgian Malinois breed – in reference to the actress Halle Berry owning 2 of those fighting-dogs in the John Wick movie… until…

… Bella who-then opened the backdoor… WANTING TO PAT IT – everyone was protesting that it was a dangerous-move – her boyfriend yelled…

“Bella-don’t – that dingo will maul you-alive!!!”

Paul at the table was SHOCKED-TOO – if the ‘possibility’ of his dog attacked the girl – then Kitty would be ‘put-down’…

Fortunately, Kitty ‘behaved’ – and licked Bella’s reaching-hand – but ‘when’ Kirk-and-Daniel stepped out to the backyard… the dog grit its teeth and growled – and both the men quickly retreated-back at the door laughing as they stood-by Peter… and watched Bella playing with the fierce-dog.

After 2 minutes, they decided to go home. Bella came-inside and walked-up to the IKEA table…

“…Poe, your dog is a Beauty – what’s her name…?”

“… err… Kitty…”

‘… did she call-me ‘Poe’…?’

Peter laughed-out…

“What a ‘stupid’ name – Mr Magoo-here doesn’t ‘know’ whether he ‘own’ a dog-or-cat…”

Both the men laughed – but-Bella ignored them as she continued-speaking…

“… bye, see you in school next week, Poe – and give my regards to your-girl… Jane Wilson …if she calls you…”

The quiet Paul nodded…

‘… huh… she ‘knows’ Jane…?’

The tall 14-year-old teenager left the dining-area, followed by Peter and the 2 men… leaving Paul at the table… who had a ‘good-first-impression’ of his twin’s girlfriend…

‘… she seems ‘friendly’ – even Kitty ‘likes’ her…’

He saw Peter opening the front door and they all went outdoors – peering out of the window he looked at the men heading towards their superbikes… while Bella lingered a while to chat with Peter – they then kissed – before Bella joined the biker-boys… as they started their loud-bikes and rode-away…

Paul ‘pretended’ to play his videogame… when Peter returned indoor – and sensed his twin was walking-up the stairs…

‘… I wonder ‘HOW-LONG’ it would-take before she would ‘dump’ the-devil… once ‘knowing’ his true despicable-self…? Like his-Janey ‘DID’ IT TO HIM… in the ‘other-Perth… that ended-up with ‘exploding-phones’ on the first-day of school…’

-O-

Peter opened his room-door and caught his-quokka-PET POOPING tiny-cube shaped dung on the carpet…

“OII!!! Don’t bloody shit and stink my-room, you-rat! Didn’t you mom ‘potty-train’ you…? What you think my room is – your bloody-outback…?”

He saw Joey-Walker ‘grinning-back’ at him after defecation – that annoyed Peter…

“You ‘dare’ smirk at me… I’ll kick your bloody teeth-in you-filthy rat…!!!”

Peter picked-up his Babolat from the tennis-rack – and chased it around the room…

“… you’ll be the ‘only’ Quokka who don’t have any teeth… and giving tourists ‘ugly’ selfies…!!!”

… the setonix-brachyurus species hopped fast… running away from its ‘predator’ armed with a swinging-racquet… before the terrified critter disappeared under the bed…

Peter then scooted and looked under the dark bed… seeing Joey-Walker hiding in its box – he also saw several piles of cubed-black poop-pallets on the floor under the bed…

“For a 4-month-old… you ‘shit’ a lot, you dirty-rat! Like I said… this is ‘not’ the bush, and ‘now’ you’re a ‘city-rat’ – I’ll potty-train you ‘myself’… I’ll ‘teach’ you to pick-up your-shit… and ‘put’ it in your-pouch, you ‘mediocre’ marsupial…!!!”

Peter panted with the short chase around his room – and sat on his bed to respire…

‘… soon my room will ‘stink’ of piss-and-shit like bloody Poe’s – maybe I should get ‘rid’ of Joey-Walker ‘once’ school reopens – the rat is ‘getting’ to be a nuisance…’

His stomach rumbled – he looked at his bedside alarm… it was 12:32 P.M. – way-past his regular lunch time. He took out his iPhone and ordered Maccas’ 2 sets of Big-Mac takeaways… before heading to the bathroom to shower…

… he took a long cold-shower as he shampooed away the grime from his hair and used the handled-brush to scrub the dirt from his body… AFTER THE VISIT to his father’s underground bunker…

His phone rang… Peter hurried to answer it as he looked at the time – 1:01 P.M.

It was the Deliveroo-rider at the main-gate WITH HIS LUNCH. He did ‘not’ dress-up nor fit the metal arm to his-stump… The dripping-wet one-armed Peter ran down the stairs clad only in his towel.

He noticed that Paul was ‘not’ at the IKEA table – ‘maybe’ in his room… or the backyard with his dog.

At the main-gate, he paid for his lunch but he did ‘not’ tip the rider, like he ‘usually-do…

‘…bad times, mate… no millions in the bunker… or I would ‘given’ you a $1000 tip…and ‘ALL-YOUHOOS’ food deliver-riders would camp outside the house-of-Walker as my loyal-minions… watching like ‘vultures’ at my window – hoping for my ‘next’ order food…’

While walking to the front door with the paper bag of his lunch – he remembered his brief-stay in the grand-suite @Stamford Hotel in Perthland – when he was the guest-cum-lover of the heiress Jezebel Crowley – who was a generous tipper herself…who gave $100 for food-and-miscellaneous delivery to ‘their’ room…

‘… cash is king…!!!’

Walking upstairs, he sighed in disappointment – OF THE ‘FAILED’ treasure-hunt…

‘… just ‘how’ do I get to you-JEZEBEL…? YOUR UNCLE is ‘sick’ in this post-Treeton – and he ‘needs’ THE CURE… of ‘my’ GOLDEN BLOOD…’

-O-

He was in his room, eating his burger at his desk – with his mind was still at the ‘missed-opportunity’ of Perthland… where his chance of attaining huge-wealth in the UK was ‘sabotaged’ by the Defenders-of-Perth…

… where Paul ‘shot-and-killed’ him… and ‘Jezebel’ in ‘that’ realm…

‘… a version-of Belle is ‘here’ in post-Treeton – this is my 2ND CHANCE to milk the cash-cow, Poe – YOU ‘DARE’ bloody-kill me, you-quad…? I’ll BE ‘READY’ FOR YOU, this time-around…’

Peter looked-down from his-reverie… and saw the quokka peeking at him eating…

“No-food for you today – YOU STARVE, you bloody rat!”

The frightened pet retracted itself into hiding…

‘… ‘how’ do I get the ‘millions’ TO BUY the house – I can’t ‘trust’ Bella’s promises that her Uncle Jared WOULD ‘BUY’ the house – ‘why’ should he buy this house in the first-place…!? when Principal Harris said the house HAS ‘LESS’ value cos’ it is in a bloody-middleclass area…!?’

Peter caught himself being watched by the-quokka… and it hid again when the boy ‘made’ eye-contact…

“Stay-there! No food for you! And, don’t make a pathetic-face as of a starving-African rat – I’ve read ‘all-about’ you on the net… that you can go without food and -- sustain by the fats in your ugly-rat-tail…”

The-quokka peeked-out again… Peter said loudly…

“Are you playing ‘HIDE-AND-SEEK’ with your-Master…!!?”

The-quokka hid again – ‘frightened’ by the boy’s loud-voice…

Peter was amused with Joey-Walker’s ‘sneaky-antics’ – he knew his pet was hungry but the tween had ‘forgotten’ to pick some leaves from the garden while picking-up his delivered food just now… nor did he ‘want’ to go downstairs to the garden…

… he broke a piece of the Big Mac’s bun… and dropped it in the carpeted-floor…

“… JW, you’re ‘not’ a bush-rat any-more… you live ‘now’ in the city – so, you bloody ‘adapt’ if you wanna be ‘adopted’… you hear-me…?”

He waited for the-quokka to show itself – but it hid…

“… mediocre… stay-there all you want…!”

Peter had finished eating both of his Big-Macs… burped while drinking the large bottle of coke. He looked at the ‘mementos’ he brought-back from the bunker and the music-room…

… 3 journals and a large-envelope of photographs of his late-father, Solomon Walker…

Peter wanted to ‘learn’ of his dad’s past – and unloaded the envelope – over 40 photographs dropped on the surface of the desk…

He had ‘seen’ his toddler’s photos… playing with his Venom-toy Over a dozen photos were of his dad’s architecture job… posing with clients in the houses he ‘had’ built for them There were many photos of his dad’s selfies… over the years… looking younger-to-older, looking slimmer-to-thicker – with many clothes-fashions over the years. Even wearing what ‘seems’ to-be Indian… similar to the SHS’s peon, Muthoo Ganesan’s attire who-occasionally-wore There were many photos of his dad-and-friends – some were in casinos of Solomon gambling at the table with ‘his’ friends

Peter recognised ‘one’ of his DAD’S FRIENDS – he too was years-younger in the photo…

“… huh… what is ‘this’ fellow doing-here…? Was Dad ‘friends’ with Chucky Miggs…? I know’ him-too… he taught-me ‘how’ to gamble in my tennis-challenge in the public grass-tennis court…”

Peter laughed…

“What a ‘small’ world after-all…”

Peter turned his head to see the-quokka near-him… with its short-hands hold the Big Mac’s piece of bun… and eating it…

The tween showed the photograph to the-quokka…

“See-JW… me-and-Dad ‘know’ Chucky Miggs!”

The smiling-quokka looked at the photo… and it then went-on eating its-lunch…

PETER gathered the photos and put-back in the large envelope – and noticed something ‘strange’…

… that there was a SMALLER-ENVELOPE… ‘hidden’ in the large-envelope…

The tween’s jaw dropped-on-the-floor – as he stood-up ‘exclaiming-aloud’ – that frightened the-quokka to-scram-to… hop-and-hide under the bed…

… Peter had stumbled upon ‘NUDE’ PHOTOS – of the 3 young-teen women in old Polaroid-shots…

“Hahaha! You’re a ‘player’ too! Who are these ‘women’… are they your ‘girlfriends’…? Damn, I admire your ‘taste,’ dad… you’re into ‘BLONDES’ LIKE ME – just ‘like’ Janey, my soulmate…”

Aroused, as Peter ‘fantasised’ being in the-bedroom of the ‘polaroid’… as a fly-on-the-wall – watching his father with the camera – taking nude-photos of these women…

‘… who are ‘these’ women…? Where do they ‘live’ in Perth…? I like to ‘meet’ them… and shake their-hands – to praise them OF ‘BEING’ PIONEERS of-the-Polaroid era… to our present digital nude-photo sharing-culture, hahaha…’

Then he had a ‘funny’ feeling – THAT HE RECOGNIZED ONE’ of the blondes… he then scrambled to get his big-magnifying-glass from his messy-desk drawer…

‘… I ‘KNOW’ you b**** … from ‘SOMEWHERE’… but ‘WHERE’…!?’

Then, Peter had a Eureka-moment…

“Oh-my-God! It’s DOUGIE’S MOM – my dad HAD ‘BANGED’ Dougie’s mom…!!!”

It was his tennis-rival Douglas Zimmerman… who had teamed-up with Zoe William – to ‘play’ the finals of the mixed-doubles SHS selection in the OTHER-PERTH – where they ‘faced’ the Perth’s Famous-couple, Peter-and-Jane…

“… yo-Dougie-dog… wanna see’ some saucy-naked photos of your mom as a teenager, hahaha… I’ll ‘show’ it to you… FOR A ‘PRICE,’ of-course, ahahahah…”

Peter laughed hysterically…

“… okey-mate, I ‘understand’ Dougie… that you don’t wanna ‘pay’ and see your mom’s dirty-pix… but your Germanic-Germania millionaire dad would ‘pay’ to cover-up the ‘shameful’ act of his wife-and-mother of his ‘only’ son…

Peter thought-out aloud of his master-scheme…

“… Pay-up, Pay-up… pay me ‘millions-of-dollars…OR I LEAK the juicy-photos online so that everyone can-see Mommy-Zimmerman’s beautiful big-puppies, hahaha...

“Pay-up, Pay-up… so-that, I CAN ‘BUY’ my house… that MY DAD BUILT for me…”

Peter ‘ROLE-PLAYED’ the ruse-and-ploy to every-situation – to ‘not’ GET-CAUGHT…

‘… what if inspector-mom finds-out… and wanna ‘put’ me away for the ‘extortion’ criminal-offense – I’LL DENY IT… and keep the images in ‘digital’ version – and ‘destroy’ the Polaroids ‘evidence’ if ‘any’ police ‘shakedown’ in my room, like the other-Perth…

‘… I won’t be ‘present’ too for the ‘BAG-PICKUP’ – the Hateful-8 will do my-deed… Kirk-and-Dan will be my frontline-minions in dealing with the ‘negotiations’ with the-Zims…

‘… Bella should ‘NOT’ KNOW ‘about’ this transaction… she’s ‘just’ a controlling ‘rich-b****’ who has been ‘disrespectful’ to me JUST ‘NOW’ at the bunker…

‘… she’s ‘also’ Kirk-and-Dan’s employer and WOULD ‘NOT’ go through with the blackmail… she’d been squeezing my-balls to agree on her Uncle Jared’s OFFER TO ‘help… which I think WON’T HAPPEN in a million-years…

‘… instead, I’ll give the ‘moola’ to Chucky Miggs – and he’ll ‘buy-me’ my house and put-it under my name… for a generous ‘fee,’ of course – HE’LL HELP ME… he’s dad’s friend and mine-too…’

‘… I ‘TRUST’ Chucky Miggs… he’s ‘made’ me money as a bookie before my bloody-unfortunate accident – he’s a millionaire-too… maybe he’s the ‘one’ who makes my UK-Crowley ‘introduction’ a possibility… from one-millionaire to one-billionaire…

‘… cos ‘money’ TALKS TO ‘money,’ right…? These filthy-rich-folks make ‘backdoor’ deals every time – hey Bella-the-b****, you said, I’m minor… and can’t sell my ‘precious’ blood – I’ll prove to you that I ‘CAN’… whether legal-or-illegal…

‘… yes, I’m going to save that old-man-Crowley’s life as a true-Catholic, by giving my blood just-like Jesus ‘did’ shed-his – and-yes, NO-SHAME TO ‘PROFIT’ from it on the side – and ‘what’ you bloody-conmen Protestants-did… ‘NOTHING’… but-yet your-preachers live a billionaire lifestyle living-on by profiting on the poor-and-gullible church-goers’ donations… by living in huge-ass mansions and riding on their private-jet without prick themselves for a single-drop of blood TO-EARN-IT…

‘… now… IS THAT legal or illegal…!!?’

All was ‘not’ lost from the failure of the treasure-hunt mission just-now – with Peter ‘now’ hyped-up believing his dead-father was leaving him CLUES OF HOW to ‘make’ millions-of-dollars… for him to ‘buy’ the Walker-house from his mother…

… with his ‘extortion’ from the RICH-SCHEME…

All he ‘needed’ was a sound-proof masterplan and with-lots OF GOOD LUCK…

… which he can ‘learn’ from his dad’s journal… and the ‘BOOK OF GOOD LUCK’…

And, a good luck charm like a ‘talisman’ from THE OTHER-PERTH…

… he thought of his ‘pet’ as a-lucky-charm… JOEY WALKER…

-O-

The rapt-Peter jumped out from his chair and dived-on his knees to his bed, where underneath in the dark-space was the Nike-shoe-box where Joey Walker sleep…

… and, ‘now’ hiding in-fear from Peter… from his ill-treatment…

“Come-out-come-out, boy… no ‘more’ hide-and-seek… your Master-Dada ‘needs’ you, in some ‘Good Luck’ ritual…

‘… sorry-dear-son, Daddy was rough with you just now… and also calling you a ‘dirty rat’… Let’s be ‘friends’ again…”

Peter waited for a moment – but JW was ‘no-show’…

… the tween peeked under his bed – the Nike-box had ‘shifted’ further under his bed… the only-way to snag the ‘rat’ was to… reach-under to grab the box… that was ‘behind’ the barrier of piles of its ‘own’ stinking-poop…

In ‘need’ of his lucky-charm, Peter ‘had’ no choice BUT TO PUT his metal-arm in…and, cursing to-himself as he reached in – to physically ‘avoiding’ the poop like land-mines… and mentally self-reminding – to ‘vacuum’ his bedroom tomorrow…

… he grabbed and pulled-out the shoe-box – the terrified Joey-Walker hopped-out to scurry escape… Peter’s reflex-action was to grab the critter with his right-hand – and before the Quakka bit him in self-defence…

… his black robotic-arm next-pinned the youngling-joey by its neck… wrangling it…

“Now-now-Joey… don’t struggle… you ‘might’ hurt yourself – be ‘friends’ with your-daddy, mate… cos’ I’ve ‘got’ plans for you, my lil’ cobber – you gonna help your-dada make ‘some’ millions of dollars… relax my-baby-boy… relax… don’t ‘fight’ the eco-system of the food-chain hierarchy... be-friends and my-minion instead… ‘not’ foes…I ‘hate’ foes…”

Peter’s right-hand gently stroked Joey-Walker to make the critter docile – with his-leftie still holding it to the-floor… he bent-over and Judas-kissed its whiskered long-snout whispering…

“…yes, baby-boy… chillax…”

Peter got-up on his-feet and held the quokka by its collar – JW hung-low like a weak-kitten in the clutch-of his black metal-palms…

At his desk, he placed the quokka on the surface-top – JW struggled to escape – but the metal-palm was firm…

“… relax, baby-boy… don’t ‘fight’…’

With his right-hand Peter opened the colourful-covered journal – where his father named …

‘The Book of Good Luck’…

… Peter read aloud the Sumerian-chants – TRANSLATED BY Solomon in its pronunciation in English…

The lucky-charm Joey-Walker shivered… as IT HEARD the human-Master’s loud-voice ‘changing’ inhumanly into dark-and-deep…

... it shut its-eyes -- went into a hypnotic mind-state of self-induced coma... and played-possum...