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By Steve OTR
The year was 197? The
city was Paris. I was a young private in the Navy for 22 years. Now
I'm retired. I'm Steve (On The Road) working as a street reporter
for Junk Bros. News.
 I was on a call of
port, staying outside the Paris Hilton, when a man on the street
asked me if I'd seen The Spy Who Loved Me. I told him to shove off
and I went inside the cafe to grab a bite to eat. I sat at the
counter and next to me was a fellow wearing a trench coat with a FBI
badge. It said his name was W. Mark Felt.
He said that he was the
number two man at the FBI. I replied to him, "that must be a messy
job," and I asked him if he had ever done business with White House
Plumbers. He gave me a funny look, and I told him that they did
really good work. I told him that I knew Bob and Carl, but he should
ask for Dick when he called or sent them a message by the post.
"Call the Watergate hotel, if you need references," I told him.
I think this seemed to
ease his mind, somewhat; number two can always be a messy, messy
business; even for a double-naught spy. Little did I realize at the
time that this was the guy who wrote Deep Throat. Well that's the
way it was to the best of my recollection. I know, it's hard to
swallow but, You can thank me later.
The waiter
eventually came to take our order. I ordered the quiche and
Felt ordered a wiener.
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