The Obituarist

By Paul Waters

The Obituarist - Dead people are the safest story around. They can’t answer back. But if you follow in death’s footsteps, it can be dangerous to get too close.
When a war hero dies suddenly, a struggling journalist finds himself in the right place at the right time to make his own reputation.
Dead old soldiers make for wonderful obituaries - their lives so much more vivid and action-packed than our own humdrum existence.
For an obituary writer, they’re a welcome relief from boring men in grey suits and large-breasted Z-list “celebrities”. But how can an obituarist meet his deadlines when death moves so slowly?
It’s not what you think.
Brace yourself for handlebar moustaches, stiff drinks, hyphenated surnames, greed, treachery and, of course, death. With a twist.
“Mordant, funny, dark, teasing and ironic.” MakinMovies.net
“I was hooked from the first page.” Andy in Hungerford.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Waters
• Release date: May 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476373478

Paul Waters

Paul Waters is an award-winning BBC producer. He grew up in Belfast during “the Troubles”, was involved in cross-community peace groups and went on to report and produce for BBC Northern Ireland, BBC Radio 4, BBC Radio 5 Live, BBC World Service and Channel 5. His claim to fame is making Pelé his dinner. But Paul has also covered elections in the USA, created an alternative G8 Summit in a South African township, gone undercover in Zimbabwe, conducted football crowds, reported from Swiss drug shooting-up rooms, smuggled a satellite dish into Cuba to produce the first BBC live programmes from the island and produced the World Service’s first live coverage of the 9/11 attacks on America. Paul has taught in Poland, driven a cab in England, busked in Wales, been a night club cook in New York, designed computer systems in Dublin, presented podcasts for Germans and organised music festivals for beer drinkers. He currently co-presents a book and writers podcast called We’d Like A Word. He lives in Buckinghamshire and has two children. His email is paulwaters99 AT hotmail DOT com

Book preview

The Obituarist

Paul A. Waters

Copyright 2012 by Paul A. Waters

Smashwords Edition

To Stan

For your indefatigable support

CHAPTER ONE

Bunty was too good to kill. He was far more useful alive than dead. He knew all the members of the famous TripleX mission. The dozen or so guys from that daring raid on occupied France. They smashed the Nazi long range rocket programme right under Hitler’s nose.

Which is why it was my tremendous good fortune to meet Bunty that night at The George. Group Captain Joker Gerry Godfrey had just died and I hadn’t a clue about him. Bunty had. And he unlocked his vast story chest for me. I got the piece written just in time for a spot on the front page. Not much. Just a nib, with a link to the main obituary inside the newspaper. But it also featured prominently on the paper’s website.

It was the story of Joker Godfrey’s nickname that did it. A pack of playing cards in his shirt pocket had stopped a German bullet heading for his heart. The slug had torn through most of the pack, but ran out of steam just before the joker, which, like Group Captain Joker, remained unscathed. Hence the nickname.

Add to that tale, the episode when he’d bluffed his way past enemy sentries armed only with a spoon, and I was well set. Heroics with a twist. Ordinary honest-to-God bravery doesn’t quite cut it these days. It was a great obit. Bunty was a fantastic find.

I was just making my way in the world of newspapers and found myself stuck in the stuffiest most obscure corner. It was also safe, in that our main subjects couldn’t sue. Except for those thankfully rare times when we accidentally jumped the gun, and they weren’t quite dead after all. Even then, if the lawyers dragged out the legal process long enough, reality usually caught up with the printed fiction – thus ending the court action, and allowing us to reprint the obit, with added bile.

But even in the dusty world of obituaries there was a pecking order, and I was at the bottom. It had been pretty slim pickings for me till I met old Bunty. Bit of a soak. Best taken with a pinch of salt. Better still avoided altogether, I was warned. But back in the day he’d played his part. And he didn’t mind telling you so, at length.

He only paused to drink, which is why other regulars included him in their rounds. A kind of shutting-up-Bunty tax. But I was happy to ply him with drink that day, to keep him talking. After all he’d got me a story and a bridgehead on the front page. See, I was even using his language.

It occurred to me in a rare flash of inspiration, that TripleX could be a rich vein worth exploiting. So I put it to Bunty that he could ease my path, by way of making introductions to his old comrades from the mission. I’d get myself some bang-up-to-date quotes on how the country was going to the dogs and the incompetent prosecution of the latest war, and Bunty could unlock a few more juicy tales from the targets for me. Did I say targets? I’m getting ahead of myself.

What did Bunty get out of it? We had a deal. No. It was