Spinneyhead First Drafts

So Much To Answer For

2007-05-09T03:52:00.000-07:00

So Much To Answer For is available through Lulu for only £3.05 (plus postage) or £1.25 to download.

Tommy Hill walked back into Manchester on the tail of a thunderstorm, promising easy money and atonement for his former sins. Joe Wilkinson doesn't want anything to do with his former friend, but it's not going to work out that way. Once again the Police think he's involved, and some want revenge for Hill's escape last time, and there are some dangerous characters who already think he's Hill's bag man. Can Joe stay out of jail and alive long enough to keep his name clean? And who is the mystery blonde who wants to buy his art? Originally published as a serial at the Spinneyhead weblog.

Whilst I'm unemployed I'm trying to up my output from at least one new product a month to at least one a week. The next piece of fiction available will probably be Ruby Red, which I'm working on at the moment.

Global Weirding - part nine

2007-04-23T04:15:00.000-07:00

Global Weirding - part eight

2007-04-23T03:51:00.000-07:00

This is my contribution to Pixel Stained Technopeasant Wretch day. I'm going to spread it over a few sections because it is over 20,000 words long. There'll be a version available through Lulu as soon as possible, and a donate button at the bottom of each section if you like it and would like to support my work.

This was written for National Novel Writing Month. I didn't finish the 50,000 words called for, but this stands up well as a novella and part one of a longer story.

Global Weirding - Part Eight

We decided to collect the last of the pins. Going back to either my flat or Jana's Hall would be just as quick that way as any other.

We walked quietly along the Sunday streets, hand in hand. We'd only got together the day before and tomorrow everything would change and we wouldn't, hopefully, be tied to the sex magic that had brought us together. I missed that part of our relationship already, and I hoped Jana felt the same.

The last pin was on another piece of path. With two pins each it was easy for us to divine its location. We distributed them between pockets and the back pack, hoping that would keep them from setting up a resonance.

We went back to Jana's hall and picked up Pebbles. She packed an over night bag with him nestled safely amongst her stuff. "You could stay here tonight. Bring him along tomorrow." I suggested.

"Is that what you want me to do?"

"No, of course not. But with the pins all together we can't be sure what we'll end up doing if we spend the night together."

"I'll take the risk. 'If I've got to be damned you know I want to be damned dancing through the night with you.'"

"Shakespeare?"

"Lyrics."

"You too?"

There was a message on the living room floor when we got back. 'Sex magic not everything. Still help us when done?'

A mouse watched us from the bottom shelf of the bookcase. I was certain others looked on from their own vantage points. "Of course we'll help you. If only so you'll stop tearing up my mountain bike magazines."

Jana put her bag on the table and lifted Pebbles out. I picked Twiggy up, more gently than usual now that I was wary of charges of bush abuse, and put him on the table as well. We stepped back and waited for the fireworks.

Twiggy and Pebbles got on far better than I'd expected. My irascible shrub seemed to be calmed by the stoic little pile of stones. We left them on the table in the living room, probably watched by mice, and set to preparing a meal.

"Maybe we should try to not have sex." There are some sentences you never expect to come out with.

Jana stroked down my back. "Do you have the self control for that? Because I know I don't."

"No. I guess not. But maybe we should try not to go all the way."

"You want to cuddle?"

"I guess. But with no clothes on."

"You know where that leads."

"Yes. But let's try anyway."

She wrapped her arms around me from behind. "For you, darling, anything." She didn't want to stop the hug. "I think the gnome had a point. I don't just want to fuck you. I think I...."

A younger (by two days), dumber me would have fumbled for what to say at this point. But I was learning. And who could say that granddad's advice had anything to do with sex magic or any of the other strangeness at all? I took her arm and kissed the inside of her wrist. "Yeah, me too." I turned round to hug her back and kissed her forehead. Then I kissed her nose, cheeks, lips, chin and then back again. She responded in kind. It was all we could do to keep from going at it right there in the kitchen.

"Make me dinner. Quickly. I'm sure you shouldn't do strenuous exercise on a full stomach, that should slow us down."

"Go and talk to the rock and the twig then, or you'll just distract me."

I knocked together a stir fry, about all my concentration would allow. We ate it on the table, watched by Twiggy, Pebbles and probably a mouse or two. When I cleared the plates away Jana collected all five pins and laid them on the table. "Oh bugger. Those things." Twiggy muttered, "It's good ye've pulled them up, but their bad work's already done I'll bet."

The pins began to move. Just a little, so we could sense the movement rather than really see it, like catching it at the edge of our vision. They scraped across the table, leaving trails in the varnish. "There goes another bit of my deposit." I sighed.

The tips of the pins touched and then they spread themselves to form a five pointed star. "Their natural alignment, I guess." Jana observed. I pushed one and, after a moment, it slid back into position. Jana tried the same with a different one. When it was back in position she lifted it and moved it slowly across the table. The others followed.

The four of us, and no doubt some mice, watched the star in its new position for a few minutes. It didn't do anything. "Aligns. Then reacts." Pebbles said eventually.

"Yeah. I guess that's what it does." I stood and gently massaged Jana's shoulders. The little "Ooo." that she made was a surprise. "That's good. I hadn't realised how stiff I was."

"I can try to massage that out."

"Oh yes. Please."

"Go to the bedroom and get undressed. I'll see if I can rustle up some massage oil."

"So much for the self control."

"Keep your knickers on and we'll see about the self control."

I had some massage oil in the bathroom, hiding behind everything else on the toiletries trolley. A memento from a previous relationship, but I tried not to think about that. It was still within its use by. I ran some hot water in the sink and dunked the bottle into it. "Are you ready yet?"

"I'm lying here waiting for you."

"Just close your eyes and think happy thoughts. I'll be with you in a couple of minutes. Got to warm the oil."

"Hurry up." That last came out as a squeak. I decided that the oil would warm just as well in my hands, dried the bottle and headed through.

Jana was lying on her stomach on the bed, wearing nothing but her knickers. There's something about those moments when nothing is on show that's more alluring than being able to see everything. It's the mystery, I guess. I'd only explored this pale, gorgeous land a few times and then I'd gone straight for the treasure. This time I was going to search for those other special spots.

I started stripping. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I don't want to get the oil on my clothes, do I?"

"Any excuse."

I left my boxers on, but with the front tented out so there was hardly anything mysterious about my state. I climbed onto the bed and straddled Jana's legs. After warming the oil in my hands I leaned forward and started working on her shoulders. The muscles were quite tight. I don't know when she'd stiffened up so, but I resolved to release the tension.

As I moved my hands over alternate shoulders I found that my erection had slotted neatly between her buttocks. I'm sure her appreciative noises were down to the kneading and unknotting but I was ready to let out the occasional whimper from cotton restricted contact. It took a while to register that some of the sensations were due to her moving her behind up and down. I think I went cross eyed for a moment.
I leaned back and splashed out more oil. I pushed my thumbs up her spine from the waist band of her knickers to just above where her ribcage began. Then I worked my way back down again, firmly pushing away from her spine with the palm of my hand stretching the skin and pushing at muscles. She made appreciative noises.

I skipped over her knickers and started running both hands down her left leg. I stroked the back of her knee and was surprised by the reaction. She went taut and made an "Aaaa" sound, muffled by the pillow her head was buried in. Her rear was raised in the air, invitingly firm and round. I resisted it and worked my way down to her foot. I was teasing her, I knew, but I could tell she appreciated it. I moved to the other leg, starting at the foot and working my way up. This time I kissed the back of her knee and ran a hand up the inside of her thigh, stopping just short of the material.

Jana thrust a hand back, passing a condom to me. "Don't even pretend you're going to resist." Her derriere was moving back and forth and side to side, practically in my face. I reached up and pulled the red knickers down. "Hurry up." I pushed my boxers down, rolled the sheath on and positioned myself behind her. "I'm so close." I slid in easily, she was so excited. Good to her word she came almost immediately with her quiet orgasmic moan. I pulled out, ready to thrust again.

There was a loud crack and crash from the living room. I didn't want to stop, but I really had to. Jana had twisted around to look in the direction of the noise and all but thrown me out. "What was that?"

We went through to find the cause of the noise. On the table Twiggy and Pebbles were struggling up from where they had been thrown. The five pins were standing upright on their heads, ghostly lines like the after image of sparklers linking their tips and forming a lattice that joined in the centre of the pentagon. "Are you two okay?" asked Jana.

"Yes. Well enough." said Twiggy, "Let me guess. You were having sex?"

"Yes." I admitted.

"Good sex?"

"Oh yes." Jana replied enthusiastically.

"Have more." said Pebbles.

"Sorry?"

"Have more good sex." Twiggy suggested. "You're powering up the pins. You can use that power to your advantage later."

Jana slapped my arm, "And there you thought celibacy was the best option."

"Okay, I was wrong. Bagsy more doggy style."

She pulled me to her and kissed me hard. "You're on."

When I woke up I had Jana's hair in my mouth. It tasted of salt and a lot of sex. I kissed the back of her head and cuddled her closer. I swear she purred. "Tea?"

"Tea."

Cradling warm cups , we sat side by side with the sheets pulled up to our waists. It was the most demure we'd been in hours. "I'll have to phone my boss, tell her I won't be in today."

"Shit! I'll be missing lectures. I'll see if Alison can get me notes. What are you going to say?"

"I'll say I've been in bed most of the weekend."

"It wasn't all in bed."

"No, but I don't think I'm allowed to take shag days."

We finished the tea. Jana kissed my shoulder. "Thank you."

"For the tea?"

"I lost count. Of the number of times I came. Thank you for all those orgasms."

"It's not like it was a chore. I loved every minute of it."

"What if it's all down to the magic? What if, after the magic stops, I'm all dried up and you're," she waved her hand vaguely over my groin, "floppy or something."

"We won't be."

"You're certain?"

"Well, no."

"So why risk this stopping?"

"Because someone set this up to tap the power and use it, probably for something selfish. If we become so addicted to the sex that we do nothing about the root cause we're no better than them."

Jana hugged me. "I'm addicted to you." Which had to be one of the sweetest, if cheesy, things anyone had ever said to me. I found myself welling up. I kissed the top of her head.

"Come on. Let's get up and on with business before we get distracted."

"You already are distracted." Jana giggled.

"Er, yes. More distracted, then."

I felt like I should be pulling on some sort of fighting rig, bandoliers of bromide across my chest and a cold water dispenser on my waist. Instead I just put on my usual boots, cargo pants and T-shirt. I wanted to look bad ass, but came across as what I was, a geek who could at least dress himself.

The pins looked shinier than before. The inlaid symbols seemed to glitter. They weren't tied to each other any more either, one could be separated from the bunch without the rest following it. We put them in different pockets anyway, just in case. Pebbles and Twiggy had each found a pin that resonated with them, so they held those when we put them into a bag each. Jana and I had one each in a trouser pocket and the fifth went on a length of string and hung around her neck. I suggested this because I just knew what it was going to do to her nipples. I hadn't factored in what the pins in our pockets were going to do, though, and it was a bit uncomfortable walking at first until we entrusted them to Pebbles and Twiggy.

The hole was still in the fence and the puddle hadn't shrunk. But the little shed had gone. "That can't be good." Jana stood where it had been and looked around.

I released Twiggy and wandered to the edge of the muddy puddle. "I've found a fishing rod." I held up the stick with string attached to it.

"So this wasn't something we imagined. Where are they?"

"We're here lass. No need to worry yourself." The gnome had materialised at the edge of the clearing. The soldier and tin man appeared from other edges. "We cleared that space 'cause we'll need it later. Hello lads."

Pebbles and Twiggy had climbed out of their bags and ambled over to meet their brethren. They exchanged masonic looking handshakes and started handing around pins. Jana slipped the last pin from its string and held it in front of the tin man, the last one without a marker.

"Lots of power." the gnome commented. "You've been making the two backed beast then?"

"A lot." Jana blushed to admit it.

"It's the best way to store up energy that I've ever found." I added.

"Good. Good."

"What do we do now?"

"Ye have to go to the centre. Find the focus and defuse it. We will stay here, channel this power and use it to help you."

"He makes it sound so simple." Jana sighed. "What can we expect?"

"Demons, six headed dogs, mythical beasts. That sort of thing."

"You'd best be joking."

"Nay lass. But ye two have stolen a lot of the energy. They'll be small and you'll be tough."

"Well. I feel confident. Where are we going?"

I dug out the AtoZ that we'd marked up and flicked through a few pages until I found the relevant one. "Not there...... There."

"Okay. Is there a famous building there then?"

"Not that I know of."

"You'd think there'd be something distinctive there, if it's the centre of this magical arrangement."

"It does not have to be so spectacular now. Or ever. It could have been important at some point in its history."

"So we look for a blue plaque." I suggested.

"If it is tagged that way, yes. Now, we must set up." They took their pins, formed a small pentagon and pushed them into the ground. Then the little figures bowed to each other and sat. The low hum may have come from them or the pins, which were sparkling. Pale lines joined the pins and formed the outline of the pentagon. "Now go." the gnome told us, "We will focus power on the centre when ye get there."

We turned to go, but Jana had a thought. She knelt beside Pebbles and kissed him on the head. "Goodbye." The little figure looked up at her. Its expression was the nearest any stone has ever come to sadness.

I couldn't bring myself to be so affectionate with Twiggy. I patted the top of his leafy afro. "Are you going to take root here?"

"Nay lad. I'll get dug up when they redevelop."

"I'll come and get you and transplant you."

"That's awful decent of ye."

I took Jana's hand, "Now we should go."

There were tears on Jana's cheeks when we'd slipped back through the fence. I didn't want to see her so upset. I wiped the tears away and kissed her forehead. "It's what they want."

"I know. But it's still upsetting. And I'm scared of what happens next."

"We're going to kick arse."

"We are?"

"After everything we did last night, those pins will probably go nuclear."

She stroked my chest and smiled. "That position where you had your legs outside mine was nice. And I loved everything you did with your fingers. Even...." She went adorably red.

"Yeah. That was good." We kissed. "Let's go get a bus. We don't want to keep the boys waiting."

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine

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Technorati tag: Fiction, Fantasy, Weird, Pixel Stained Technopeasant Wretch

Global Weirding - part seven

2007-04-23T03:35:00.000-07:00

This is my contribution to Pixel Stained Technopeasant Wretch day. I'm going to spread it over a few sections because it is over 20,000 words long. There'll be a version available through Lulu as soon as possible, and a donate button at the bottom of each section if you like it and would like to support my work.

This was written for National Novel Writing Month. I didn't finish the 50,000 words called for, but this stands up well as a novella and part one of a longer story.

Global Weirding - Part Seven

Jana marked the locations to explore in the A to Z and I stuffed plastic bags and some other bits and pieces into a back pack. All the preparation was done in an uncomfortable silence, and we didn't say anything until we were halfway to the first point on the map. We conferred on the best place to join the footpath and, just for a moment, our arms touched. I stole a glance at Jana, who had gone a light red, and chose not to push the issue.

We found the first junction easily enough. It was what we were supposed to do there that threw us. In the end we settled for the tried and tested method of walking back and forth swinging sticks through the grass. Except this time we didn't find anything. "Is it possible we're wrong? That the pins have nothing to do with our elementals?" Jana asked.

"It's possible. Or someone got there before us. We could go and look at the next one along."

"That's the one where they haven't put a path through it isn't it?"

"Yes. Hopefully no-one's got at that one yet. That way, I think."

It was as we were walking away, beyond the edge of our search area, that something went clink in my back pack. I stopped, walked back a little. Something went clink again. Jana noticed and came back to where I stood, moving the bag back and forth. "What have you found?"

"I'm not sure." I delved into the bag and found the two spikes we had recovered earlier. They were warm. Holding them in my palm I passed them back and forth. As they passed over some invisible line they made the clink sound again. They didn't move, as far as I could tell, but something passed between them and they kept getting warmer.

"You seem to be divining."

I had an idea where the invisible line was, but to find it I started on a zig zag path. Every time the pins clinked I took another couple of steps then turned. Jana, rather wisely, marked the first clink point with her stick. The pins got a little warmer every time, if I didn't find something soon they were going to get too hot to hold. I was also going to run out of cutting, because the embankment rose sharply before me, and in front of that were brambles.

I zigged, took a few steps and heard the pins clink. I took a few more steps, zagged and set off to cross the invisible line. But the pins didn't clink I took a few more steps. Still no clink. I retraced my steps. Nothing. Unzagged and retraced the previous leg. The pins clinked.

"Something?" Jana walked over.

"I think there's something between here and somewhere over there."

"Okay, come back until you're on the line." Half a step and the pins went clink. Jana Checked my position against the marker stick. "Right," she adjusted my orientation a little, "Walk slowly in that direction. Tell me when the pins stop reacting."

One step. Two steps. Three steps. "Now."

"Okay." Jana knelt down and ran her hands through the grass. "Found it!" She tugged the pin from the ground and stood with a big grin on her face. I wanted to kiss her, but, because of our earlier conversation, didn't know if that would be right. I think she felt the same way. She bit her lip and turned away. "What do we do now?"

"Go to the next point, I guess."

"Okay. Hey, there's no thing here."

"Thing?"

"Yeah. You know, like Pebbles or Twiggy."

I surveyed the path. We were a little east of the junction, for whatever reason, and there was nothing to be seen that didn't belong there. "Maybe someone else found it. We have just started searching for these pins ourselves, after all. You keep that one. These two are getting a bit warm as it is, don't know what would happen if they were all together."

"Okay."

Jana was about to set off for our next objective. I reached out and clasped her wrist, but when she turned to see what I wanted I didn't have anything to say. I tried a smile. After a moment she returned it. We stayed like that for a while, then she pulled me to her and hugged me. I stroked her hair and her shoulders and didn't make a move to kiss her. Eventually she broke the clinch and kissed me quickly on the lips.

"This may not be quite right. It's possible we're being manipulated by someone or something. But it feels good and it is fun. And I didn't want you to get the impression this morning that I didn't really like you. Because I do."

I brought her hand up and kissed it. "I'm sorry I got offended. I'm just a bit insecure, you know? Let's go and see what's at the fourth point."

We skirted around the next location, going up and down dead end streets trying to find a way onto the fenced off railway line. Eventually we found an alley that ran along the fence.

"We could try to climb it." Jana suggested.

"Not with rusty barbed wire on the top, thank you. See if there are any holes through it."

We found our hole, eventually. Someone had cut the chain links and taken out a section large enough for an adult to fit through if they crouched. "Quite recently, too," Jana commented, "look, the bare metal hasn't started to corrode yet."

I pushed my backpack through the hole, to guard against brambles, and was careful not to snag any bits of clothing. By the time Jana was through I'd found a path made by previous visitors. "Down there."

The embankment was steep, I proceeded down it by swinging from tree trunk to tree trunk, grasping each one tight as I judged my next move. Jana seemed to have a lighter step, judging by the noises from behind me, but I didn't look around to see how she was doing. I reached the bottom eventually and gladly stepped onto flat ground. And into several inches of deep mud.

I was wearing my usual army surplus boots, Jana was in trainers. I turned, stepped up the bank and stopped her just in time to save her footwear. "That looks disgusting."

"It felt quite icky too. Let's head that way, it looks drier."

The bottom of the cutting had given way to woodland. Hard to think that one day trains had steamed through here. I wondered how long ago it had been abandoned. Just how many years before nature reclaimed the world from humans.

"Hey. I think there's a camp over there." Jana pointed at a shape on the other side of the mud puddle.

"Back that way then."

As we neared the construction the pins in my back pack started clinking again. They were going geiger counter crazy by the time we reached it. It looked like a tiny stone hut, open on one side, with slanted plastic sheet as the roof. The occupant of such a building would have to be about a foot tall. Directly in front of the building was another of the pins. I pulled it out of the ground and handed it to Jana. "Now we have two each. If we can find the fifth we'll see what happens when they're all together."

We both crouched to look into the mini hut. "Where do you think the owner is?" Jana asked.

"Don't know. Maybe they've gone hunting or something."

Jana looked around. "Let's go over there." she suggested. She took my hand and led me to a stand of trees. Leaning against one of them she asked, "Are you feeling horny?"

The front of my pants answered that for her, so my stuttered "Yes." was redundant. She handed me a condom and started unbuttoning her baggy khakis. She stepped out of them, then pulled down her knickers and stuffed them into a pocket. "I er, thought you weren't so sure about this?"

"I'm not. And I am. How can something that feels so good be bad? You don't want to do it?"

"Of course I do. I just wanted to be certain you were certain." I dropped my trousers and rolled the sheath on. She giggled as I shuffled toward her.

Jana stood on tip toe as I approached. I stooped and tried to aim. We weren't quite at the right levels. In the end I grasped her thighs and pushed her up the tree trunk. With her trainers swinging in the air she reached down and helped guide me in. I let her slide down the trunk and onto me. "Oh yes." she sighed.

With her legs clasped behind my back and most of her weight taken by the tree I began thrusting. "That's good." she announced. "Now. This is a real forest. Last night wasn't a real forest."

"I'd say this is more of a copse." I kissed her on the end of her nose.

"Don't go spoiling the mood." She reached over her head and grabbed a branch and started pulling herself up and dropping down. I stopped moving and let her do the work for a while. I don't know how much noise we were making, but they could probably hear us up in the alley. We didn't care.

Me with my pants around my ankles, her with her top and trainers still on, her trousers draped carefully over a branch. It should all have felt faintly ridiculous, but neither of us took the time to let that register. Her hair fell across her face, making her look even more wanton. She couldn't keep up the pace, so I took over thrusting again.

She draped her arms around my shoulder and leaned her head forward to whisper incoherent encouragement in my ear. I needed it, because my thighs were beginning to ache, without her spurring me on I might not have been able to keep up the thrusting. She kissed my neck, grabbed handfuls of my shirt and went that special kind of quiet that meant she was coming. A few more thrusts and I pinned her against the tree as I came.

Her legs uncrossed and slid down my side until she was, shakily, supporting herself again. I dipped and pulled out of her. She gasped, a mix of pleasure and loss. "I'm just going to stand here like this for a while." she admitted, "I'll let the tree hold me up." I brushed the hair from her face and kissed her.

I pulled the condom off and tied it. I didn't want to litter, but I wasn't looking forward to carrying it home. After a couple of false starts I pulled my trousers back up. In one of the pockets was a wad of paper towel. I wrapped the condom in the paper and gingerly put it into the pocket. When I looked up Jana was pulling her combats back on, not bothering with her knickers.

“Done, are you?” asked a little voice. Jana froze with just one leg in her trousers. I looked around. "Over here. By the hut." He was, indeed, less than a foot tall. A gnome, but somewhat more battered than the jolly red faced chaps found in kitsch or ironic gardens. I moved to the side, putting myself in his line of sight to Jana. He tamped tobacco into his pipe and put it into his mouth. "Look, laddie, I know she's the hottest thing ye've ever had, but to me she's just another tall'n. Six times too tall, far too soft on the outside and full on the inside." He tapped his chest, getting the hollow tink of pottery. He hadn't lit the pipe, I doubt he had any matches. "It's okay lads. You can come out now."

There was a rustling and two other small figures came into the clearing. One was a soldier, an Action Man rip off, dressed up like Rambo. It looked around, wary of ambush. The other was a humanoid figure made of empty tin cans. They stood beside the hut, watching us carefully.

Jana had managed to get her trousers on. She'd come over to put her arms around me and watch the three strange figures before you. "They must be, I don't know, Twiggy and Pebbles' relatives."

"Aye, lass, I guess we are. I take it you've given the boys good homes?"

"I have. I think he abuses his bush."

"Hey! I do not abuse my bush. We just don't get on very well."

"And ye have four of the five stakes? Of course ye do, ye pulled the fourth from right afront of me house. Ye'll have to collect the fifth yourselfs, we can't seem to get them out of the ground. Then ye can figure out where we came from."

"You don't know?" This came as something of a disappointment.

"Well. I think I was once in some folks' garden, till I was nicked and pitched up here, where I awoke. But that's just the pottery's memory. I don't know how I come to be some mockery of alive."

"You're not alive? What are you? I mean... I don't know what I mean." Jana had done as good a job as I would have at voicing the confusion.

"Of course I ain't alive lassie. And ye know I can't be, and neither can the rest of the lads. We's physical impossibilities. I, for one, don't like existing when I oughtn't. This life lark's a pain far more often than a pleasure."

"You want to die?" Jana sounded upset.

"Lass, I shouldn't be alive. We could have a big philosophical about it and it warms me empty innards that you'd care, but ye and I both know we should change whatever it is that's got me walking and talking."

"He's right." I admitted.

"I know he's right. I just feel odd about it when it's about killing him."

"Not killing, just returning him and the others to their proper state. You said you wanted the strangeness to stop."

"I guess."

"Let's see what they can tell us."

The three animated things in the wood couldn't tell us much. They had each come alive some time a week and a bit earlier, with vague memories of their inanimate lives and a certainty that their existence was somehow wrong. A little calculation put their arrival around the time that I had found Twiggy and just before Jana had met Pebbles.

The five points of the pentagon were joined by invisible lines, the ones I'd divined with the pins. Somehow the pin in this little bit of woodland was the anchor. The soldier and the tin man had made their way here along the lines. Removed from the proximity of the lines by Jana and me, Twiggy and Pebbles had settled into their new surroundings. The gnome had built his little hut and waited, knowing that one day his brethren, or their representatives, would find their way there.

"What did you do while you were waiting? Do you need to eat?"

"Strictly I don't need the food. But- and lassie ye're not to laugh- I found myself picking up a stick, tying some string to it and sitting by yon puddle fishing."

"Did you catch anything?"

"Ye weren't to laugh."

"I know. Sorry, but I didn't promise not to, you told me not to. It's not the same thing."

"Humans. They're almost as bad as lawyers." the soldier spat.

"So, what do we do now?" I asked.

"Well, and don't ask how I know this," the gnome started, I noticed that tin man hadn't spoken at all and the soldier was nearly silent, "this sort of large scale symbol magic is usually designed to channel energy. Each of the pins catches it and funnels it toward the centre of the symbol. I think this one went horrible wrong when it roused us. The pins weren't proper earthed or something. And that means that some of the energy has probably been redirected, into animating us and affecting you somehow. If only we knew what sort of energy it was. You been having bad luck? Unexplained anger?"

Jana and I looked at each other. I really wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her there and then. "I think we know what type of energy is being channelled."

"Good. What type?"

"Sex."

"I should have known, the way ye were at it."

"So what do we do now?"

"Get us the last pin, and bring the other two. Then we shall look at short circuiting the energy flow and getting ye back to normal. Don't look so upset, ye can still try to replicate the effects, ye've got an affection what wouldn't be there with pure sex zombies."

"We have?" Jana had been holding my hand all this time. She gave me a smile and squeezed my hand.

"Sometimes you fleshy ones can be so blind. Bring the last pin and the other two of us tomorrow. It is getting too late in the day to do anything effectively today. And I would like a night to contemplate my coming return to non-existence."

"Okay. Until tomorrow."

"Go. You have much to discuss as well. Yer relationship is young and it's about to have a major upheaval."

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Fantasy, Weird, Pixel Stained Technopeasant Wretch

Global Weirding - part six

2007-04-23T03:20:00.000-07:00

Global Weirding - part five

2007-04-23T03:05:00.000-07:00

This is my contribution to Pixel Stained Technopeasant Wretch day. I'm going to spread it over a few sections because it is over 20,000 words long. There'll be a version available through Lulu as soon as possible, and a donate button at the bottom of each section if you like it and would like to support my work.

This was written for National Novel Writing Month. I didn't finish the 50,000 words called for, but this stands up well as a novella and part one of a longer story.

Global Weirding - Part Five

Charlie, and his minions (sorry, the students under his care), arranged a floor party in the Hall of residence. He invited me, if only so he can try to find out what's bugging Jana. After a bit of soul searching over just what level of quality to aim for in the alcohol to take I settled for a few cans of Guinness. Not too expensive and not too cheap. I didn't want to look like I was trying to impress the children with my wage and stuff, but I'm not going to buy any of the really cheap crap I used to put up with when I was a student.

The new Halls are far more flash than what was around when I was a student. Listen to me, sounding like the old man. But it's true, most of the new builds have en-suite bathrooms, ethernet and high speed internet access is a necessity and, as they've all gone up in the last few years, they haven't started to peel apart. I found the button and pressed it. After a moment the speaker above the buzzer crackled into life. "Hello."

"I'm here for the party."

"Okay, come on in." The door clicked and I pushed it open.

Some things never change about student life. Obviously someone had gone to great lengths to tidy up the flat for the party, but the indicators were still there. On the windowsill in the kitchen were the trophy bottles, empties that used to hold spirits, wine, even beer, and now had memories associated. The cork board had flyers pinned to it, '£1.00 a pint all night', 'Free entry before 10.30', '£1 off with NUS card', that sort of thing. The washing up had been done, but it was all piled up on the drying board because no-one had been bothered to put it away.

But it was all so new and crisp. They'd plastered the walls, smoothly. I remembered the walls in my hall still had the texture of the brieze blocks beneath, smoothed slightly by a decade or more of paint. Another thing that was different from my day was that this was a mixed flat. I guess with everyone having their own bathroom the embarrassment/ titillation factor of shared showers had been done away with and boys could live, more or less, in harmony with girls. Wish they'd had that when I was at University. I was always complaining about not meeting enough women, a side effect of doing an engineering course.

I weaved my way through the youngsters in the kitchen and stored all but one of the Guinness in the fridge. There was a clean pint glass in the pile of washing up, so I hijacked it and emptied the can into it. It was whilst I was looking around to see if they had a recycling bin that I spotted Jana. She had walked into the kitchen with a couple of other girls, Alison and Kate from our night out drinking I think. Our eyes met. She faltered briefly, then nodded recognition and started over. There was no doubting it, she was definitely the girl from my dreams- the sacrifice who had morphed into a sexy archaeologist.

Jana took a bottle of lager from the fridge and looked around for an opener. I pulled out my key ring, which has two of them on it. "Thanks." She threw the cap, and my empty can, into the bin directly behind me. "Recycling." she pointed out.
I sipped my Guinness, she drew on her lager. Neither of us knew what to say at first.

"Charlie invited you?" she asked.

"Yeah. He said he needed to make up the numbers or something."

It was a weak joke, and it got a weak smile in response. She leaned toward me a little, her expression more serious. "Has any.... Any weird stuff happened to you since we last met?"

"Just a bit. You?"

Her expression said 'Well, duh. Why do you think I asked?' "Have I been in any of your dreams? In a temple of some sort?"

"Yes. Yes you have."

"My body's nothing like.... Well, you can see that my body is nothing like either of those characters." She glanced down, as if to check.

In the real world, away from dreams of barbarians and adventurer archaeologists, her body was far more to my tastes than either of my buxom REM companions. I would have liked to have said this, but it would probably have been taken the wrong way. I tried a sort of half-hearted shrug. "I'm no strapping barbarian, either." I managed to come out with eventually.

She leaned in even closer. "Have you been collecting things?"

"Trophies? Yeah. Though I threw one away the other day because I thought it was giving me those dreams."

"Come to my room," she said, "and I'll show you mine."

"I..... Okay."

We left the kitchen-cum-common room. There was a small splinter party going on in the hallway, with Charlie and a few of his postgrad friends. He looked up as we passed and we exchanged nods.

Jana's room was the last on the left. "This is a great way to start gossip." I commented as she opened the door.

"Whatever. I could do with a reputation. Come in."

I spotted it quickly. On the work surface under the window was a pile of stones. The arrangement was such that it appeared vaguely human. As I approached for a closer look, the top stone moved slightly. There were two indentations placed just right to give the impression of eyes. They studied me.

"That's interesting. He's never done that before. He's normally only animated when we're alone."

If a stone could have an expression, this one was intrigued. It was studying me as I studied it. I extended my hand and it held out a pebble. We shook. "He doesn't say much." Jana acknowledged.

"That's probably a good thing. All Twiggy does is bitch and moan and tell me to put my clothes back on." I could imagine the look that got me. "That's only happened the once."

"Sensstive." the stones said, though I couldn't tell where the voice came from. It pointed at me and the Jana. "Both sensstive."

"That's about as eloquent as he gets." Jana sat on the bed. I decided not to join her, taking the seat instead.

"Where did you find him?"

"After that night out we went on, after you left us, we went on to a club. You know, I can't even remember which one. There was something in the smoke or my drink or whatever. It didn't really hit me until we got back and I couldn't sleep. So I went for a walk at about half four in the morning. I was on the path they've made on the old railway tracks when I found him. I tripped over him and while I was there on the ground swearing he got up and said sorry."

The rock creature had been looking from one to the other of us as Jana spoke. There was a faint grinding sound as its head moved.

"Pebbles here is the most interesting of the things I've found. I'll show you the others some time. We ought to get back."

When we left the room Jana made a show of adjusting her top and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She grinned and leaned in to whisper, "I'd rather they thought I'd just given you a blow job than found out we were talking about an animated rock pile."

We grabbed more drink and found a corner of the kitchen. "I found my wood spirit thingy or whatever it is on one of those paths as well. Maybe even on the same bit. Can you remember where you found Pebbles?"

"Just about."

"How about we go and check it out tomorrow? We might find something we missed first time out because of the states our heads were in."

"Okay. When?"

"I don't know. Meet here about one?"

"Okay." She nursed her bottle for a while, then said, "You know that this is impossible?"

"What is?"

"This. This whole set of things we've found and that have happened to us. Little elemental creatures, the shared dreams, all that stuff.

"I mean. I'm a physicist. I'm studying the most basic rules of the universe, yet I have things in my room that seriously break those rules. Tell me how that happens."

"I don't know how it could have happened, but I think we can find out. I'm really good at seeing patterns, spotting connections between bits of information. It's my job. We can work together to find out why this stuff's happening to us." I drained my Guinness. "For the record, I don't believe in any of this shit either. More beer?"

"Okay."

I guess what happened at the end of the evening had a certain inevitability about it. After a while a group of revellers decided they were off to a club. Neither Jana nor I were interested, so we stayed behind. It also meant we got seats at the table. By now we'd returned to the whole landscape gardening Feng Shui thing and were practically putting together a business plan to keep from discussing our paranormal experiences.

Next to leave were Charlie and his postgrad pals. Now we were left in the common room with three couples in varying levels of snog. We grabbed the last of our bottles and cans and went to Jana's room.

This time we sat side by side on the bed. We stared at Pebbles for a while. He pretended to be asleep.

Jana finished a bottle and leaned across me to put it into the bin. She didn't go all the way back, shifting her position so we were face to face. "You know, we could go and investigate much earlier if you stayed here tonight."

"We could." I've never been much good at reading expressions, but I thought I had this one pegged. I laid a hand on her waist. She moved a little closer. She didn't move back when I moved forward. We kissed.

We shifted positions. Her hands came round and clasped my back. One of mine ran up the outside of her top to cup a breast, the other sneaked up under it. When we came up for air she had a far more readable expression. I helped her unbutton her top and pull it off. It seemed a bit too enthusiastic to go straight for the bra, so I ran my hands up and down her exposed skin- across her belly and along her arms. I moved to kiss her again, but she stopped me and jumped off the bed. "Sorry. I can't....."
Part of me was annoyed that she was having second thoughts, part of me relieved. "There's just something...." She sat on the seat by the window and talked to the pile of stones, "Umm..... Pebbles, can you look the other way?"

The stone figure pretended to wake up, turned its head to her and nodded. It pointed at the wall cupboard at the end of the desk. "Private."

"You're sure?"

Pebbles nodded. Jana opened the cupboard and Pebbles pulled itself up and walked slowly, like a determined old man, into it. When he had settled and looked comfortable, Jana closed the door.

"Sorry. I just felt a little....." She unclasped her bra and dropped it to the floor. I pulled off my T-shirt and stood to join her. As we kissed we each undid the other's khakis. She didn't have a belt, so I got hers unfastened first and started pushing them and her knickers down.

She still had shoes on. I turned her and navigated her backwards to the bed and sat her down. Crouching before her I slipped her shoes off and pulled her trousers and knickers off. I sat back for a moment to appreciate the view.

Jana sat up, a little confused by my inaction. I gave her a grin and shuffled forward to kiss a knee. I parted her legs and kissed my way up the inside of her thighs. "What are you....? Oh. I don't....." But she didn't stop me. She laid a hand on the top of my head as I started licking and lapping at her.

There was no sound but for contented sighs, slurps and a light rustling. I must have found the right place and rhythm, because she held still and pulled my head in closer. She stopped making noises. On an uplick I looked up. She had two fingers in her mouth, biting them to keep herself quiet. I wasn't going to stop and tell her there was no-one else in the flat.

When Jana came moans escaped her improvised gag. I could feel little shudders running down her legs. A strange, shrill shriek made a chill run through me. I stopped licking and looked up. Jana still had her fingers in her mouth and was too blissed out to have heard anything. She certainly hadn't been the source of the sound. I put it out of my mind by standing and undressing.

Stood in front of Jana I crossed my arms and waited for her to notice and appreciate my nakedness. She came down from the plateau gently, eventually opening her eyes and smiling at the sight before her. She pointed at the bedside cabinet, "Condoms."

It's been a while since I wore a sheath, but they're not the hardest thing to put on. Whilst I fumbled with it Jana moved round and stretched out on the bed. She reached out for me, but I intercepted her hand, found the fingers with red bite marks on them and kissed them better. Under her guidance I moved between her legs and let her place me on target. I slid right in, so well lubricated was she.

We held position for a while, kissing and nuzzling, then I pulled slowly out and thrust just as slowly back in. She liked that. On my fourth thrust there was a crashing sound above us, something falling through foliage. I stopped. Jana's expression looked as I imagined mine did. She had heard something too. "Jungle." she said.

I looked around. I could see the walls, the door, all of that stuff, but overlaid on it were tree trunks, roots and vines. We lay on a bed of trampled greenery. It was the forest around the ziggurat. Neither of us was the oil painted inflated Frazzeta figure we had been in our dream, but the setting was the same. There was a shriek again, somewhere off to one side. We both looked in that direction and saw greenery move as something leapt from tree to tree.

Alcohol and sex have long been an interesting combination for me. I've had out of body experiences on the combined effects. One time I woke up next to a pile of Barbie dolls arranged into the shape of a short, and small breasted, blonde. But I've never had a hallucination quite so vivid, or shared it with my partner. We fell into character. "Sir, you have a way with your tongue that any woman would appreciate." she told me.

"Aye, well you're so fair a lady you deserve the best. Now let me see if I can pleasure you again."

"If you can do so then I will later perform the finest fellatio on you." The phrase 'finest fellatio' didn't seem in character, but I was hardly going to complain about the offer.

I took up my thrusting again. I worried I might not last long enough to bring her to another peak, but she was already highly charged and her moans soon told me she would come quickly. She brought her hand up again to stifle any cries, but I intercepted it. "Who can hear us here but the beasts?" We both knew I was talking nonsense, but she smiled at the thought of being so wanton and let her hand go back to clasping my shoulder. I regretted the intervention as she got more excited and dug her nails into my back.

The pain spurred me on to thrust harder and faster. We were both close now. I just needed to hang on long enough for her to get there. From our perspective her cries were drowned out by the jungle sounds of creatures and wind in the trees, but anyone else in the flat, and probably the ones to either side, above and below, would be able to hear her.

I felt the spasms deep inside her, around me, as she came. For all her cries in the build up she was silent now, so blissed out she couldn't make a sound. I thrust a few more times before the jungle started to disappear in bursts of white as I filled the condom.

We were both flushed and breathing heavily. We were back in her room, safely returned from the jungle where we had made love. I carefully pulled out of her. "That was strange." she said.

"Intense." I offered.

"Yeah, yeah, intense" She looked around, groggily, "Where did the jungle go?"

"I don't think it was ever here."

"But we were there?"

"I don't know." I peeled the condom off and dumped it in the bin. "I need to pee. Back in a minute."

Whilst I was in there I washed myself as well, and splashed my face with water. I had the briefest of flashes, as I looked at myself in the mirror, of 'What the fuck did you just do?' guilt. It hadn't completely gone by the time I got back to her bed.

She had pulled the covers about herself and suddenly looked a lot younger. That did not do the guilt any good. "Some of this is scaring me. What if I'm going mad?"

"Then I am too." I sat on the bed. After a moment's hesitation she lifted the sheets to let me join her. "You can't be going mad if I'm experiencing the same strangeness. And maybe there are other people out there having similar weird shit happen to them." I coaxed her into uncurling and cuddled up close to her.

"Maybe." she conceded. She clasped the arm that was wrapped around her and relaxed a bit. "That was the first time I've had sex in a forest."

"Wasn't mine."

"Yeah, but you're a lot older than me."

Good to her word, she woke me a few hours later to give me some fine fellatio. Frankly, any blow job is a good blow job, so I don't usually rate them. But this one was definitely amongst the best.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Fantasy, Weird

Global Weirding - part four

2007-04-23T03:00:00.000-07:00

Global Weirding - part three

2007-04-23T02:47:00.000-07:00

This is my contribution to Pixel Stained Technopeasant Wretch day. I'm going to spread it over a few sections because it is over 20,000 words long. There'll be a version available through Lulu as soon as possible, and a donate button at the bottom of each section if you like it and would like to support my work.

This was written for National Novel Writing Month. I didn't finish the 50,000 words called for, but this stands up well as a novella and part one of a longer story.

Global Weirding - Part Three

The phone rang at 3am. I wanted to ignore it, but for some reason the answering machine didn't kick in. I wrapped the duvet around myself and shuffled through to the living room. "Hello?"

"Who's there?"

"Who's calling."

"This is Steven Wilson."

"I'm Steven Wilson."

"You are? So am I? Are we related?"

"I was named after my grandfather."

"Little Steven? Is that you?"

"Granddad?"

"I wanted to tell you something. Now, what was it?"

"Granddad, you've been dead for fifteen years."

"I have? That would explain why it's so dark. I thought the bulb had broken. Now what was it I had to tell you?"

"This has to be a dream. I'm talking to a ghost."

"Respect your elders young man. I have something important to tell you."

There was silence as the ghost tried to remember the message it needed to pass on. "It will come back to me, mark my words."

"Yes granddad, I'm sure it will. Is it a matter of life and death?"

"It could be. It could be. Tell me, my boy, how have you grown up? Are you married yet? Do I have great-grandchildren?"

"No and no, I'm afraid."

"Oh dear. That's such a disappointment to me. I was looking forward to great grandchildren. What about your sister?"

"No, she hasn't had any children either."

"Come now, it's up to you to carry the family line on and......"

"And?"

"Mice."

"What?"

"Listen to the mice. They have information for you. They don't really like cheese, you know, give them chocolate."

"Yes. Okay, is there anything else you need to tell me granddad? Can you predict the future?" There was no answer. The phone line was dead.

I woke on the sofa. Somehow the branch creature had found its way to the top of the television. I swear it was staring at me.

I decided to find out what the mice had to say. The ironmongers down the street sells humane mouse traps, so I bought one and stocked it with dark chocolate. I didn't know where the rodents were most likely to congregate, so I just left it on the floor in the middle of the living room.

There are thirty three messiahs, of various religions and denominations, at large in the world. I can't help thinking that something's going to happen when chosen ones reach forty two.

Some of the messiahs have documented miracles to their names. Of course, most of these were documented by their followers and are therefore dubious. Which is a shame in the case of the guy who can turn pils into proper beer.

Can you self proclaim as a messiah? Or does your holiness have to be verified by someone else? Is there a form you've got to fill in?

I guess it has potential as a way to make money and get laid. So long as you don't go all David Koresh and start to believe your own press.

All of these thoughts came to me after I found the messiah numbers whilst surfing at work. I also started pondering just how you go about finding a messiah for your sect. The obvious decision would be to name yourself world leader pretend, but perhaps OfGod, or whoever oversees these things might call foul on that. What do you do, put out some small ads saying your looking for someone who can bend spoons and reality? 'Well meaning spiritual group, not planning to poison our followers, seeks man with astounding beard or world view to lead us into the new millennium (which, by our calendar, hasn't actually started yet).'

I may have to look into this further.

The scary world of Islamic hate sites was brought down earlier today. it seems that, as a creation of the infidel West, the Internet is an unacceptable vessel to put the supposed words of Mohammed into. Thousands of websites went blank as writings and images purged themselves from servers across the world. Say what you like about the Christian fundamentalists, at least they embrace Satan's technology.

I'm not sure if this development makes the world a safer place, but it cheers me up no end.

There was a mouse in the trap when I got home from work. It was curled up against the back wall, looking to all intents and purposes like the cool kid with arms and legs crossed saying 'Yeah, what you got?'. I picked up the trap and stared in. There were faint brown lines on the side wall, I had to hold it up to the light to make out what they said "'Stop anthropomorphising us you bastard.' “That's it? That's your message to me? You'd have been better off taking it to the Disney corporation or someone."

Jerry just stared at me, those little black eyes scarily deep, then it uncurled and scampered over to the message. It licked the wall, removing most of the letters until only 'Stop this bastard' remained. "Thank you so very much. Would you like something to eat?" it gave me a look I swear I've seen on those rare occasions I've tried a chat up line.

I set the trap down on the table and went to get more chocolate. When I'd broken it down into manageable chunks I put it on a saucer, laid this in front of the trap and opened the door. Jerry sauntered out, I can't think of a better way to describe it, and sized up the offered chocolate. After nibbling one down to size it took the offering in its mouth, ran to the edge of the table, did a kamikaze leap to the carpet and bounded across the floor to a hole in the skirting board I'd never noticed before.

So much for granddad's advice. I guess being dead has made him go a little senile.
Somehow the stick thingy had got to the bookshelf. It hadn't gone any further because The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, one of the heaviest books I own, had fallen on it from the top shelf. The bark on its trunk had been squashed by the impact and now it looked surprised, annoyed and in great pain.

The phone rang at 3am again. "Hello."

"The mice did not tell you anything did they Steven?"

"Not unless 'stop this bastard' means anything, no."

"Enigmatic little buggers aren't they?"

"I'd use far stronger words."

"Yes. Well, you're young. That sort of language comes easier to the young."

"Granddad, you're going to have to stop calling me. You're dead. It's just not the sort of thing dead people do."

"You don't have the time for your old Grandda?"

"I'd have a lot of time for you, if you were alive. But this, this is just a dream. The sort of dream that messes with my sleep patterns and leaves me dog tired for the whole day."

"I'm a dream, am I?"

"Why else would you call me at this god forsaken hour of the morning? Why not call me at eight in the evening?"

"I guess I could do that. But you do realise I've only got a little bit of time before the car hits me."

"The car?"

"Yes, bloody great big German thing. Mercedes, that's the type. It's all black and the windows are tinted and it's going far too fast for a residential street."

"Can't you get out of the way?"

"I'm trying, boy, believe me. But everything is moving so slowly. I would say it's like running through treacle, except it's worse."

"Okay. well you keep trying to get out of the way and call me again at some civilised time and we can have a conversation where I'm coherent, okay?"

"Alright my boy, if you insist."

At least this time I managed to get back into bed at the end of my dreamt phone call.

I've always followed the news of the weird on teh Internets. That's part of what having web access at work is about. But I swear there's more of it every day, and more from mainstream sources as well. I can understand when the Mirror tells me about Elvis's face being seen in an Eccles cake, but I get worried when it makes the front page of the Times. There was even a full page spread on the history of faces in food. I'm thinking of framing it and hanging it in the kitchen.

When I got back from work the mice had left me a present. And it was not, as in some previous houses, in the form of droppings on a work surface. On the table, by the decommissioned humane trap, was a tiny dreamcatcher. I don't know where they got the feathers or the string, but I checked and the branches had definitely come off the twig thing. By now it was beginning to look a bit pissed off.

I hung the dreamcatcher in the window, tidied the twig thing up and superglued octoboar's tentacle back on and arranged them under it.

I emailed Mum to ask about granddad's death. I remember it was when I was fifteen or sixteen and everyone said how sudden and unexpected it was. I don't recall anyone ever telling me why it was unexpected, or if they did I've forgotten. It was the first funeral I ever attended and I was certainly mature enough to handle talk of the cause of death. I just think no-one else believed that.

Granddad called, as promised, at eight o'clock. "Hello my boy. How are you today?"
"Well, now i know this isn't a dream. I think that makes it worse."

"You do moan a bit, don't you. The car has come another inch or two closer you know."

"Do you know why this is happening? Why has time slowed down for you? Why do you keep calling and giving me cryptic messages about mice?"

"One question at a time boy. Don't be so impatient."

There was silence on the line. What do you say to an annoyed ghost?

"Actually, I don't know why any of this is happening. Do you know how they say that your life flashes before you before you die? Perhaps this is like that."

"So where are your messages coming from?"

"I do not know. They just sort of occur to me. As if they are so obvious I have always known them. And I know that I have to tell you about them."

"The mice gave me a dreamcatcher."

"What on earth is a dreamcatcher?"

"It's an indian, er native american, thing. I haven't googled what it's supposed to do yet."

"Googled?"

"Looked up."

"You speak a different language."

"And it's happy hour again."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I just keep getting the urge to quote lyrics. I can do a search to find out what a dreamcatcher will do, but I haven't got around to it yet. Hold on a moment." I wiki'd Dreamcatcher. "Ah, there we go. It is used to protect me from nightmares. It should catch the good dreams and store them whilst letting the bad ones dissipate."

"Sounds like a load of codswallop to me."

"Yes, it does. But I'm having a whole shoal of codswallop happen to me at the moment."

"Such as what?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm having a conversation on the phone with a dead man."

"I'm not dead yet. It's all about your frame of reference."

"In my frame of reference you've been dead since I was fifteen. In yours you're just waiting for the car to hit you."

"That is true."

"So. Do you have an insight for me today?"

"No. I don't. I just wanted to call you when you suggested. To show that I wasn't a dream."

"Oh. Okay. That's good. But I shouldn't keep you. I think. How does time pass for you?"

"I'm not sure. I just keep sort of waking up, with an insight and a need to talk to you. I think this telephone conversation thing is a metaphor. I can't move, really, so I'm not really holding a telephone up to my ear. But I think I am, and I'm sure I'm talking to you with it, even though I also know that I'm really not. Does that make sense."

"Sort of." I was talking to a ghost. There really was no call or reason for it to make sense.

"Well. I guess I should go. I may just be hanging around in limbo, but I know that you really are in the fourth dimension. No doubt you have things to do, stuff to be getting on with."

"Well, yes. I guess so. You'll call me again?"

"I shall try to make it a more convenient time for you next time."

"Thanks."

"Goodbye Steven."

"Goodbye Granddad."

You know the weirdest thing about all this? The thing that most worries me and freaks me out? It's not that all these bizarre things are going on, that I have miniature idols and animated sticks in my living room, or that I'm talking to my dead grandfather and getting gifts from mice. The weirdest thing is that it all seems so natural. It's obvious that this stuff shouldn't be happening, none of it is possible. Yet it is and I'm not in the slightest bit flustered about it.

Am I going insane? Is that it? They do say that it's a sure sign that you are sane if you begin to wonder whether you are. A truly insane person wouldn't stop to consider the status of their thought processes. And this is the first time I've wondered about my mental health since this started happening to me.

Does that mean I've been through my madness and I'm coming out the other side? Or is it just a respite?

I was pondering this late into the night. Even without a call from my grandfather I still can't get any sleep. In the end I got up and wandered around the flat. The dreamcatcher was where I'd left it, and the idol and stick thing were still real, if inanimate. So I had some physical evidence to back up my delusions. Perhaps I fused something on that first drinking session and I've been hallucinating ever since.

The dreamcatcher belonged above my bed if it was going to do its job. As I reached up to unhook it there was a cry from the window sill. "Great seasons! Would you put that away!"

"What?" The twig thing had folded its branches over the front of its trunk to hide its face.

"You're stamen laddie. Don't you go waving your reproductives at me. Do you fauna always have to be so damned blatant about it?"

This was the first time twiggy had spoken since the night I'd found it (I try hard to think of it as genderless) and this time I wasn't drunk.

"I'm sorry. Does my nudity offend you?"

"Too feckin' right it does. Put 'em away fer hawthorn's sake. Ye wouldn't catch a self respecting plant displaying its sexuals so blatantly."

"Really?" I had the dreamcatcher now and could stand back to give Twiggy my full attention, "Then what would you say flowers are all about?"
"Well that's.... I mean..... Will you just but the bloody thing away? It's obscene, okay."

"Hey, I'm sorry, but I sleep in the nude. You'll just have to accept it." I patted it on top of its twiggy afro and took the dreamcatcher back to the bedroom.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Fantasy, Weird

Global Weirding - part two

2007-04-23T02:37:00.000-07:00

This is my contribution to Pixel Stained Technopeasant Wretch day. I'm going to spread it over a few sections because it is over 20,000 words long. There'll be a version available through Lulu as soon as possible, and a donate button at the bottom of each section if you like it and would like to support my work.

This was written for National Novel Writing Month. I didn't finish the 50,000 words called for, but this stands up well as a novella and part one of a longer story.

Global Weirding - Part Two

My job is very boring, I'm an office clerk.

Worse. I'm a data analyst for a utility company. I'm the man who decides it's time we sent a salesman round to your area to pester you into changing suppliers.
Don't hate me. I need the money.

I can geek out about it really hard, and I think I can tell you which postal sector I'm in at any given moment. I've started mining the data for myself, seeing if I can spot any trends. Not ones that have anything to do with selling you electricity or gas, just, well, trends.

Customers are allowed, encouraged even, to write in and change the details as held on the system, to keep it up to date. There's been a trend toward slightly odd titles. Somewhere on the Altrincham border there are ever more Brothers (br.). Brothers of what, they don't say, and I can't find any mention of a monastery anywhere in the area. I know I'm not supposed to, but I've got the postcodes tagged on a Google map overlay, and every time a new brother appears on the system I check to see how they relate to the others geographically. There are twenty now, and they form a ragged circle around a small patch of woodland. I'm off there when the hangover eases.

The sign said 'Beware of the God'. It wasn't a mis-spelling. There was nothing that said the wood was private property, only this one threat of theist violence, so I went in. A short way into the trees the path became so rough with roots that I got off the bike and walked it along.

It may have been in the physical centre of all the trees, I couldn't tell, but the clearing was obviously the heart of the wood. At its centre was a strange structure. I'd seen these flat topped pyramids before, marking the tops of closed off mine shafts and the like, but none had ever looked so old. It had the dark stain of ages on it, and moss and vines climbed up it. As I got closer it became obvious that someone had chiselled details into it, individual stone blocks and grand steps leading up it. It looked more and more like a Mayan ziggurat, or the sort of thing Conan would plunder. As it was under three feet tall, Conan would have to be a toy soldier to get in and fight the serpent at its heart.

There was structure on the top, a pagoda of sorts, with an altar on the roof. Grimly, there was a dead mouse atop the altar, its innards splayed out as if it had been butchered with a modelling knife. All the blood had washed away in the most recent rain, but I could see the channels it was supposed to drain down. They led to holes at either end of the altar, which would drip through the ceiling of the pagoda onto its occupant.

Under the blood holes there was a small statue. Ensanguined as it was, the details of its carving were hard to make out, but it looked like an octopus swallowing a pig, with hands on the ends of some of its tentacles. I reached in, trying to ignore the stickiness that rubbed off on my hands, and grasped the statue. It was slippery, but when I finally got a good grip it moved. I slid it out of the pagoda. It took a few goes because I had to turn it around and over until it fit between the tiny pillars. I put it in a plastic bag, wrapped it up tight and stored it in my back pack. Sadly I didn't take my camera, because the whole set up deserved recording. For some reason I didn't think it would be there if I returned.

I must have disturbed something getting the idol out because as I walked away there was a cracking sound and when I looked around the pagoda had collapsed and the roof was sliding down the steps. If it hadn't been for the dead mouse I'd have felt guilty about my theft and vandalism of someone's handiwork. I wiped my hands clean on a handful of grass and headed home.

I got a bit Lady Macbeth at home. My right hand was itching where it had got ichor all over it. I washed it three times, using a different soap each time, then smeared a bit of E45 over it to see what that did. If I stopped thinking about it it became less irritating.

Then the whole process began again because I had to wash the idol. I put it in the sink, squirted washing up liquid (Ecover of course) over it and then covered it in warm water. An hour later the water in the sink was a scary inky red. I drained it and checked the idol. It wasn't perfectly clean, there were still grim little crevices that germs would love, but I could see more of the detail.

It had a wild boar's head protruding from the part of an octopuses body that I'd charitably call the forehead. Six of the octopuses tentacles kept the beast upright, whilst two reached out and had hands on the ends. I don't know what it was cast from, but the surface was soft and smooth and slightly pliable. It made me shiver to run a finger across it, and not in a good way. I decided to sacrifice a scrubbing brush to clean out the crevices and attacked the idol with yet more Ecover.

When I was done the idol glistened in sickly shades of green, yellow and brown. I dried it and took it to sit beside the twig with a face on the window sill. But the twig wasn't there. I found a suitable place for the idol and looked around. The twig was sat on the sofa, beside the remote control. I couldn't remember when I'd put it there, or leaving the television on standby when I went out. In fact, I couldn't remember turning the television on at all. I took the stick fellow back to his place on the window sill.

There's a community, somewhere in the hinterlands of the United States, where the women have started giving birth to chimps. Or something very close.

It seems some of the community decided to home school their children rather than have them subjected to the horror of being taught such perversions as science, particularly evolution. If their children could just hear the word of the Lord then they would grow up to understand the Truth.

It might be that in-breeding is inherent in that sort of community, or it might be that evolution abandoned them the after they abandoned it, but they've been giving birth to throwbacks ever since. I shouldn't laugh, it must be horrible for them. Though I guess they'll just accept that they have in some way sinned and pray for forgiveness whilst trying to coax their little ones down from the light fittings.

The octo-boar invaded my dreams last night. I was back in the wood, only this time I was a toy soldier sized Conan climbing the steps of the ziggurat. I hacked away at branches that blocked my way and clambered over lumps of moss.

When I reached the top of the stairs I found the interior of the pagoda enveloped in a pink mist. Shapes moved inside that I did not want to think about. There was a chanting, but it was coming from the pagoda roof. Ladders led up there and I went silently up the nearest one.

Atop the pagoda, arrayed around the altar, were six priests. Dressed in flowing robes with head dresses decorated in gold and precious stones they were chanting whilst staring at a seventh, far older man. He held a long knife in both hands, its blade curving like the snake etched into its surface. It was raised ready to strike the victim tied to the altar.

She was a Frazzeta perfect fantasy maiden, her skin the colour of lovingly applied oils, her body voluptuous and perfectly defined. She looked vaguely familiar, I think my subconscious was pasting the face of someone I knew onto the body. She stared at the blade and struggled against her bonds.

My muscles tautened and I leapt over the ledge like a tiger. My blade was out, it whirred through the air, separating the two nearest priests from their heads. I pushed between the falling bodies, leapt the altar and ran the old man through. Minna be damned, but his body wedged on the hilt and the sword would not pull out of his limp body. The remaining priests were coming out of their trance. I hadn't noticed before, but they each had a long sword at their side and now they drew the weapons.

I hefted my sword with the old man on it. He was not so heavy, but his bulk hindered my movements and I could not swing or thrust the sword because of it. There was a clatter behind me, the old man's sacrificial blade. With a roar I threw him and my sword at the nearest priest, pushing him over the edge of the roof. I grabbed the blade from the ground and brought it up just in time to block the first blow from the next priest.

The priests' swords had a longer reach than my sacrificial blade, but the old men were not as fast or strong as I. I dodged a second blow and swung the blade around back handed to drive it under his ribs and up to his heart. As he slumped I took up his sword. It was smaller and lighter than the blade I had brought with me, but the edge was sharp and the balance good. I left the sacrificial blade in the priest and turned now to the last two.

They charged together, swords above their heads, one slightly behind and to the side of the other. I whirled, matching their screams, parrying the first and bringing the sword around to sever the other's elbows. He staggered on, a confused expression across his face as his companion tried to stop and turn. I was around faster, driving my blade between his shoulder blades.

I pulled the blade from the priest's back and wiped blood off it on his robes. The armless one was screaming obscenities at me in a language I did not understand, his life squirting in rhythm out of his severed arms. I gave him a sharp shove and he flew off the pagoda roof and fell to the forest floor below. It was a mercy rather than dying by heartbeats.

The unwilling sacrifice was straining against her bonds, only now I believe she wanted free for a different reason. I cut the bonds that held her and she wrapped her lissom limbs around my blood and sweat soaked body. We would have kissed and she would have offered her body to me, but the structure began to shake.

I took up the sword again and looked around. Tentacles were rising from the interior of the pagoda and reaching over the ledge, searching for us. The creature below had received plenty of blood, but the life liquid of the priests was not good enough for it. It required its luscious offering and it required it immediately. I could not allow that. I hacked a tentacle, severing it with two blows, took up the wench and ran for the edge nearest the steps.

We leapt between two flailing tentacles, sailed a long way out over the stairs and finally landed safely in a tangle of moss and branches. I led the way to the path I had cut on the way up.

There was a crash from above. The pagoda had collapsed. Tentacles still waved around its edges and it began to move. Now we ran down the steps, jumping down several at a time. A grinding noise indicated the creature had pushed the roof aside. It did not stop. I chanced a look behind and saw the great stone roof sliding down the steps toward us.

We were near the bottom of the structure now, but the stone was gaining on us. I grabbed the girl's hand and pulled her to the side, leaping over the edge of the ziggurat away from the danger of being crushed. Soft foliage cushioned our fall.

There was rumbling behind us. The creature was at the top of the steps, tentacles flailing, dragging itself toward us. I was too battered to put up much of a fight when it reached us, so we should move if we could. I tried to rouse the girl, but it wasn't working.

There was a scream from the ziggurat, the sound of stones sliding over each other as the structure began to collapse in on itself. The creature disappeared into the cloud of dust that replaced the building.

And then there was silence. The dust slowly settled. The girl came round. "Are we safe?" she asked.

"Aye, we are. That beast has returned to whichever hell birthed it."

"I owe you my life, kind sir." She smiled seductively.

"Tell me girl, what is your name?"

"Jan, kind sir. How can I reward you?" She was wearing nothing, I remembered, and I had but a loin cloth to slip out of.

"I shall think of a way." We moved together to kiss, her hands went to my loin cloth.

And then I woke up.

I hate it when the dream ends at the good bit. I woke with a raging hard on but too apathetic to do anything about it. Rolling over onto my stomach trapped it, and thinking about soap operas made it go away.

Of course, I couldn't get back to sleep after that, so I just lay there and listened to the sounds of the building. I'm pretty sure there are mice in the walls, I can sometimes hear scampering and scraping. Tonight they seemed more active than normal, like the Jerry collective had decreed that they should congregate above my bed and have a rave. I buried my head in the sheets and tried to think of something soothing to lull me to sleep.

In the morning I found the idol on the floor. It had lost an arm when it fell off the windowsill, and I was sure the shape had changed. I tracked the arm down and left both pieces on the table for future supergluing.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Fantasy, Weird

Global Weirding - part one

2007-04-23T02:12:00.000-07:00

A Sort of Homecoming

2007-01-03T10:06:00.000-08:00

Home (Page) at last

Home again, home again. Or not.
I've moved into my new house, which is nice. And empty. And I've finally got internet access, albeit dial-up, back so the world is no longer safe from my inane wittering and sarcastic opinions.
Oh, and I managed to turn commenting on. Say something.
Please.
Posted by Jim at 9:16:48pm

Something.
Comment by Steve at 10:02:28pm
You so funny.
Comment by Jim at 11:32:22pm

- - - - -

Unfurnished. I hadn't really thought about just how empty the house would be. Right now the only furniture I possess is the TV stand and bean bag in the living room and the computer desk and chair upstairs. It's all very minimalist. IKEA- the Swedish god of flat pack- calls to me.

I've heard that sleeping on a hard surface can be good for the back. I hope it's true, because the only thing between me and the floor is the spare duvet. With it as a ground sheet I feel like there should be a tent above me. My two suitcases are on one side of the bed, storage with handles, and all the boxes I packed my life into are clustered by the door or trailing off to the other rooms. Maybe I could build a fort, barricade the door and feel safe from all those unfamiliar creaking and popping noises the house makes as it recuperates before the 'morrow.

- - - - -

Lost and Found

Lost-
toothbrush, toothpaste etc.
Found-
Carter USM- 101 Damnations cd, which I thought I'd lost but turned out to be in a CD-R case amongst a pile of Verbatim disks I 'requisitioned' from my last job.
No. I can't sleep.
Posted by Jim at 2:19:32am

- - - - -

Ah, the joy of the lie in. I haven't found the radio alarm yet, so this morning I was woken by the shrill sound of my mobile. I turned it off, rolled over and went back to sleep. Finally rose at eleven. I was half showered before I wondered where I'd packed the towels. So now there's a trail of wet footprints all around the house.

I have a month's pay due. Extra time to find a new job, one benefit of the 'agreement' I came to when they sacked me. So I spent the afternoon printing out CVs and figuring out where to send them. I should just relax and take the money for a couple of weeks. All in all a very, as in not at all, productive day.

- - - - -

Cabin Fever

Okay, so I didn't leave the house at all today. Which is sad, I know. So tomorrow, honest, I'm checking out the neighbourhood. I've been away for a while, so who knows what I'll find.
Posted by Jim at 11:36:41pm

They tore down paradise, put up a parking lot.
Comment by Steve at 12:08:03am
I'm going to be in town tomorrow (this) afternoon. Give me a call.
Comment by steve at 12:47:16am

- - - - -

New buildings going up, old buildings coming down. I was like a tourist on the bus, sat on the top deck looking left and right all the time to see what had happened to all the places I remembered. After a while I took to running 'Dirty Old Town' through my head, not quite humming it but doing the rhythm by clicking my teeth together. It must have looked like I was worrying at a particularly small piece of chewing gum, the funny little tack tack movements my jaw was making.

It was certainly grey enough for a melancholy song. The big ugly concrete wall is still standing at Piccadilly Gardens. The least they could do is commission some art for it. I can't believe they turn the fountains on on such an overcast day.

I'd decided on any coffee shop that wasn't Starbucks, which narrowed it down to about three. Even then I could see an outlet of the coffee colonialists from my window seat. I settled down with a copy of the Guardian and a fairtrade latte and savoured being early.

Steve wandered in quarter of an hour later. He nodded in my direction and pointed at my cup. "Latte." I mouthed. He nodded again and headed for the baristas.

I made space for the tray. My empty mug went on the table behind, the Guardian curled up faithfully at my feet. Steve landed the tray and tried to move his cup onto the space that was left. "You don't call, you don't write....." he tutted as he sat down.

"Well, you know. It was only going to be two months. And then I hadn't been in touch for two months and then....." I made the shrug that said 'And then everything went to shit and they decided to blame me for it.' Everyone foolish enough to ask had received an e-mail ranting about the stupidity of middle, upper and line management and didn't need a recap. "You using up holiday again?"

"One day I'll be organised and plan a proper one. They only let me carry five days over."

"Brazil. You want to go to Brazil." That's a lie, I want to go to Brazil. I must stop projecting.

"I'd settle for Bournemouth.

"Actually, no. I wouldn't."

We sipped coffees and watched the wet shoppers go by.

"You should have sent me a message. I could have helped you move."

"Everything I own fit in the back of a small van with room to spare. It wasn't a big job." This struck me. There was something wrong about it. "I'm sure I used to own more. I mean, I can remember when I could get everything I owned into the back of an Escort. Last time I moved I swear I needed a tranny van.

"I must have left so much shit at my parents' house."

"You don't know?"

"I guess I got too wrapped up in all that corporate bullshit. I...." Another shrug. I'm getting better at stopping myself. Plus, I'd had another realisation. "Oh shit. I left all my porn with my parents."

"What?"

"Well. It wasn't porn porn, you know. More sort of...... erotica."

"Erotica?"

"Erotica. Stuff like books on oriental erotic carvings. And stuff." Vague hand waving gestures that could mean anything.

"Can we stop talking about your porn?"

"Yeah. Sure." Back to drinking our coffees and looking out of the window.

"What's the gossip?"

"What do you know?"

"I don't know."

"Well." Steve began ticking things off on his fingers. "Mike and Rachel are engaged."

"Again?"

"Again?"

"They were engaged for the Millennium. At least, I think they were."

Steve shrugged. A 'nobody ever tells me anything' shrug. "Tom and Graeme have split up."

"No surprise there."

"Neil has a new girlfriend. I swear she's only ten."

"He's breaking the album rule?"

"I think she was born after he bought his last album, let alone his first."

"Vinyl?"

"Oh definitely his last album on vinyl. She's much younger than that.

"What else? Oh yes. Bob and Louise have split up as well."

"Shit. Now that is a surprise."

"Not to some of us."

I figured I'd leave that one alone. "Anyway, I was thinking of going record shopping."

"That sounds like a plan."

- - - - -

3(?) feet tall and rising

Damn those record sales! I just bought five new CDs.
It's true- I can resist anything but temptation.
Posted by Jim at 6:38:27pm

- - - - -

Notes This is from the original incarnation of Post & Publish, written a while ago. As with Boyfriend Season, it's going to be expanded upon. I'm seeing the story coming together as four "seasons", starting in Spring, with Jim's emotional progress mirroring them in some way. The Album Rule (a phrase first coined by Brian, and which I asked permission to use ages ago) is going to be yanked out of the Spring section and form a major part of the Summer part. Autumn is Boyfriend Season and Winter allows me to wrap stuff up. I'll be publishing bits and pieces here then putting together a full manuscript. If you'd like to be in my test group for that manuscript get in touch.

Other fiction- check out So Much to Answer For, the crime tale I wrote last October, Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I wrapped up last year, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Comedy, Manchester

Boyfriend Season

2006-12-11T14:16:00.000-08:00

"Autumn is boyfriend season. With the nights drawing in and the weather getting worse it's the right time to have a man to keep you warm and stuff."

I was with Lauren and Vanessa, a few pints into the night somewhere in Didsbury, when Lauren had dropped this concept into the conversation.

"And in Spring you can dump them because there's so much else to do." Vanessa added.

I think I did a guppy impersonation for a while. It was only later that I thought that men are at their horniest in Spring. It's all sunny and the serotonin levels are rising again. I'd probably have been told that that's just the way it goes.

Tis the season to be hunted
Important message for the Brotherhood of Single Men!
It's Boyfriend Season.
They're after you, be afraid. Be very afraid.
Or let yourself get caught. Whatever.
Posted by Jim at 00:52:34am

I really ought to have asked what a boy does to attract attention during the season. Preferably early on. It could be useful information.

I'm not looking for a relationship, but, then again, I'm not not looking. You know how it is. And the sort of relationship I'm not looking for is a long term one. I don't think I'm wired for one night stands, flings or seasonal affairs.

Unless the right woman suggests it.

So I'm meeting new people, trying to give a good impression to as many women as possible and having conversations about dating to suit the weather. There's a whole world apart from the geeks I know and love and it's quite interesting.

Just so long as they don't ask me to do tech support.

Sue kills mice for a living.

Not, you know, herself, physically. She does have little hands, probably small enough to wring a rodent's neck if the need arose. There'll be a fetish site for that sort of thing.

No. Sue formulates the poison that goes into those mouse hotels, or whatever they're called, the black or brown plastic boxes with little circular doors you see on the exterior walls of cinemas and the like. Her aim is, perversely, to make the tablets less toxic. If she can kill the mouse quickly and have the poison break down there's less chance of it getting into the food chain.

God help me, but I found this fascinating. So much so that I sought her out after the speed dating session and we talked some more. It helped that she's cute. Short, slim, very dark hair, pale. Perhaps a little too pale, she does look like someone who spends her days around poisons. In a room full of topped up tans, Rimmell and hair gel her unpainted pretty face drew me.

I didn't ask for her number. I don't know what the etiquette is about that, and she didn't ask me. I ticked her name on the list, however, and hopefully she did the same for me.

The boyfriend season thing's becoming a meme. I've had a couple of comments and a few people have mentioned it in emails. I'm waiting to see how long it takes for someone to tell me it as if they think I don't already know about it.

In the meantime, the local chapter of the Brotherhood of Single Men is trying to imagine what sorts of lures we could be using.

"Shouldn't the hunters be the ones using the lures? We are the prey, after all." Steve observed.

"Ah, they have their feminine wiles to use as lures." I can't believe I said that. This is what happens when you drink strange spirits people bring back from holiday.

"T-shirts with big targets on them." Bert suggested, "Or that say 'This space available to rent' and point at the crotch."

"Mount me." I offered.

"What?"
"T-shirts that say 'Mount me'."

"Oh. Right."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a duck call kind of thing."

"What would it sound like?"

"Wa-Hey!" Bert offered.

"Nah."

"Get yer tits oot for the lads." Me.

"Not going to work."

"I have chocolate." Bert again.

"That.... Now that might work."

I really, really hate Neil.

Oh, okay, that's a lie. I love him to bits, in a totally heterosexual way. But he's getting laid, so I'm very jealous.

She's a Phd student, "Companion Animal Learned Behaviour."

"What?"

"Pet psychology."

"You're joking right? They do postgrads in pet psychology? How?"

"Have you ever tried to out-think a cat?"

"Fair point. So what are you doing in the pub with your sad single friend when you've got a hot doggy shrink to go home to?"

"She's got some sort of open session on. 'Bring in your gerbil and we'll deal with its Oedipal problems.' That sort of thing. It won't be done for a while."

"I was hoping it was because you still loved me."

"Nah, sorry. You're last moth's thing. I'm just slumming with you 'cause she lives across the road. Bar billiards?"

Two games, and another pint, later, his phone rang. "Hey honey." he glanced out of the window at the flats across the road. "Really? How come? Oh, well, that's cool. Just take all your clothes off and I'll be right over. Bye bye."

My shot had gone so horribly wrong that I'd knocked over all three pins. Mental images.

"I've got to go. Finish this if you want." Neil waggled his half drunk pint.

"She isn't going to be waiting there naked you know."

"She might be. And would you pass up the chance?"

"No, I guess not. No doggy style, though. Might remind her of work."

Maybe Neil's girlfriend can introduce me to a few of her friends.

Or maybe not. The last time we went to a student party Steve and I got drunk and started reminiscing about the early nineties.

There are only so many times you can hear, "I was only four!" before you start to feel old.

Larger offices tend to have a demarcation along employment status lines. The perms look down on us temps because we don't have their security. We look down on them because that security so often leads to lack of imagination and risk avoidance. Morlocks and Eloi, where it's always the other bunch who are the knuckle dragging devolveds.

Karen was another of the temps at work. We'd developed a nil carborundum kind of camaraderie against the management stupidity. It was her last day on Friday, so we went for a few drinks.

She's quite buff, goes to the gym twice a week, to maintain the flat stomach and muscle definition. I refused the offer of an arm wrestle. Cycling does wonders for the definition of my arse and legs, but my top half is flabby and weak.

One by one our band of Eloi disappeared, off home to S.O.s and cats. In the end it was just Karen and me. Somehow we'd made it to the Kro on Oxford Road opposite the University. It was that flux period, between the after work drinkers going home and the party animals getting dressed and heading out.

Karen cycles as well. I shouldn't have been surprised. Perhaps I should have suggested a ride, but there's an inner ten year old that just can't accept the possibility of being beaten by a girl.

At some point before closing time we went our separate ways. I don't strictly remember the bus ride home. Not that I blacked out. It's just that I've made it so many times it all passes me by unless something particularly interesting happens.
I can't believe I didn't get her number or email. I think she knows about my blog.

Sue chose me!

Hungover and befuddled I checked my email. I nearly blocked the message from the speed dating site. It proclaimed 'Susan wants to see more of you!' and I was about to mark it as spam when I recognised the site name in the email address.

Sue put a tick next to me on the website. As I ticked against her on my page we get each other's emails to do with as we please. I was far too hungover to do anything and decided to leave it for a while.

Steve owed me a fry up, so I headed over. Somehow he convinced me to pick up the bacon and sausages on the way. There's something not quite right about that.

Bert had been photoshopping and now his desktop is a picture of Alyson Hannigan as Vampire Willow, saying "Be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting boyfriends."

We like the idea of being hunted. We don't believe it really happens, though. Any woman caught making it easy for a bloke would be kicked out of the girly club.

Sue emailed me whilst I was out. Is it a bad sign that she's capable of being that coherent on a Saturday morning?

She wants to get together some time, tonight even, if I'm free. I guess if I take some paracetamol and drink enough water I'll be able to pass for sentient by the evening.

Food and drinks in Metropolitan on Burton Road. We met early evening, before the pre-club crowd filled it. It was as awkward as you'd expect at first. I bought her a drink (Directors, good call) and we found a table.

"So...." I began, but couldn't think of what to say next. 'Why did you wait nearly a fortnight to tick my box?' would probably sound too judgemental and/or desperate. I sort of waved my hands and smiled.

"Sorry I took so long to complete the feedback. It's been hellishly busy the last few weeks. I just got back from three days in Germany yesterday."

"Sounds interesting."

"Not really. I didn't get to see anything of the area. It was all meetings, trips around chem labs and late meals at the hotel. I got some reading done."

"What sort of stuff?"

"I'm re-reading all my Pratchett."

"Oh. I started doing that last year."

We discussed the Discworld for a while, and somehow it segued into hobbies. Thankfully, nothing Sue does in her spare time involves cruelty to small furry animals. We ate, and drank a bit more, then it became a bit too crowded.

Her place was only a couple of street away. It seemed logical that we should end up there. It was a single bedroom flat on the first floor. I sat on the sofa and checked out the living room whilst she broke open some wine. It was good to know I'm not the only one who's so untidy. It wasn't messy, it was just that paperwork, books and magazines were filed in piles on available surfaces.

She brought a bottle of white and two tumblers and sat right beside me. One glass later she was draped across my lap and I was pushing and tugging her top off.

She's got tiny tits with responsive nipples that seem, relatively, large. I couldn't keep my hands, lips, tongue and, occasionally, teeth off them. She squirmed a bit, made a lot of appreciative noises and finally went tense and then limp with a little "Wow". The flush on her pale skin was very sexy.

Having made her come just by concentrating on her breasts I had sealed the deal. We took things to the bedroom.

Coffee in bed. Sweet.

The bedroom's tidier than the living room. Two bookshelves completely filled, a dressing table and two cupboards. The only signs of disarray were the suitcase and our discarded clothes from the night before.

It was good coffee, too. "I buy the beans from the health food shop. They're FairTrade." Sue explained.

She was wearing a big baggy top, looking tiny. Her hair framed her face and she looked worryingly young. "I nearly didn't tick anyone from the speed dating night. I kept telling myself no-one would be interested."

"So what made you change your mind?"

"You seemed a nice guy, and interesting. And I was a bit horny. And, well, it is boyfriend season."

Notes I did think of posting this in parts, but then decided to present it in one piece. "Boyfriend Season" was written in October whilst working on an IT helpdesk. It was inspired by a conversation very like the one that opens the story (see my own version of the Boyfriend Season post). Sadly I haven't seen the women who introduced me to the concept since that evening.

I'd like to expand upon this story. I was experimenting with minimalism when I wrote it and on re-reading it I think I may have stripped away a little too much. I've stated my aim to incorporate this into a novel about a blogger to be called Post & Publish. I see it being the second, of three or four, distinct parts of the novel. Parts 3 and 4 will concentrate on Jim and Sue's relationship developing and the lives of their friends. I've only got this lightly sketched out at the moment, it's my New Year writing project.

Other fiction-

So Much To Answer For, a crime story also written whilst I was on the helpdesk.

Heavensent is the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up.

Download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Romance, Comedy, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 24

2006-12-07T14:40:00.000-08:00

"You should just put my number in your phone and call me directly." Wood told Joe. She had taken his and Rachel's statements on a digital recorder to save them a trip to the Police station. The scally had been carted off to hospital under armed guard, the gun was bagged and about to be sent for finger printing and the scene of crime officers were discussing removing the bullet from the tree it had hit. Rachel was sat on a wall coming down from her adrenaline high.

"That's the way rumours get started. Do you know who he is?"

"We have a tentative ID. He was arrested and did time because of Hill's last deal, the one with..."

"My money, I know."

"He had a knife with blood on it that might link him to Hill's killing. And he had a picture of you and your address. We don't know where he got that from. How do you make so many enemies?"

"Clean living."

"My...... What I think is he killed Hill."

"With a knife? Not the gun?"

"He got the gun from Hill, before Sarah got back to him. This is just a theory, mind. He got the gun from Hill after killing him with the knife. And then he came looking for you. Just like so many others he thought you were involved in the deal that went wrong and put him in jail. He could have found the picture of you on your website, I guess."

"How many more of these guys are there? Just waiting to get out and get even?"

Rachel came over and draped herself over Joe. "I'm starving."

"Are we done here?"

"I guess so. I'm getting tired of saying it, and it obviously has no effect, but take care. Both of you."

"We will. Let's go order Chinese."

"Curry."

"Okay, curry. But it's a small room and not very well ventilated."

Part 23
Part 1

Notes And that wraps it up. A bit of an odd final line, but it might make it into the next draft. This bit clashes a little with Sarah's description of what happened a few parts back, but we'll put that down to her being emotional and not keeping track of time so well.

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 23

2006-12-06T11:35:00.000-08:00

Rachel parked nose on to the curb, just for silliness. The Smart was shorter than the next car along was wide, so it wasn't a problem.

"We should probably get some food." Joe pointed in the direction of the shops. Rachel did a skip and shuffle move so she was on his left. He'd noticed she liked walking on this side of him, but hadn't figured out why.

Ahead of them someone jogged across the road. Joe only registered it as movement until they reached the pavement. The figure was wearing the scally uniform- baggy track suit bottoms and hoodie, both black with embroidered swoosh, trainers and baseball cap- but somehow didn't look pale and unhealthy enough.

The faux scally stared at Joe, took a few steps and, mere feet away, drew a gun.
Joe froze. The gun swung up and levelled, pointing at his face. The scally's finger was on the trigger, squeezing it.

Rachel didn't freeze. Acting on an instinct she never could explain, she had moved away from and slightly ahead of Joe when she had seen the scally's expression. Now she leapt. She caught the gunman's wrist and pushed it aside just before he pulled the trigger.

One shot from this small revolver was so much louder than the whole fusillade from the Kalashnikovs. Joe was certain he felt the bullet pass his ear.

The scally's upper body twisted. His knees began to bend as he moved to correct his balance. Rachel kicked the side of his knee, hard enough to feel something give. He began to collapse, a scream marking his fall.

Joe finally reacted. He moved away from the pinned gun hand and helped Rachel hold down the scally, now bawling non-stop. "Let go of the gun." The scally stopped screaming and gave him a defiant look. "Let go of the gun or she'll break your fingers one by one until you do." Rachel gave him a look that said 'I will?'.

There was a clatter as the gun hit the pavement. Rachel carefully pushed it out of reach.

"You saved my life."

"Yeah, well, I owed you. We're going to have to talk to the Police again aren't we?"

"Yeah." Joe got his phone out and started dialling.

"Damn. All this adrenaline is making me horny."

"Police please. And an ambulance, I guess. Self defence classes?"

"I keep starting to learn martial arts and never finishing. Judo, Tae Kwon Do, Karate......"

"Yes. Someone just shot at me. No, no, I'm fine. We disarmed him and we're holding him now. Yes, you probably should....."

Part 24
Part 22
Part 1

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 22

2006-12-05T14:14:00.000-08:00

All thoughts of salvage and sculpture from the remnants of the garage had been abandoned. Pete had ordered a skip and Joe had shovelled his studio into it. Then he'd trimmed the hedge and pruned some of the trees and thrown the branches on top. The skip was still only half full. Joe was looking for new things to throw into it.
Rachel arrived before he found any new junk. She gave the skip a wide berth, and stepped back from Joe when she saw his soot stained hands.

"You're looking at On The Wall's new Manchester shop manager."

"Cool." Rachel's smile seemed a bit forced. "Not cool?"

"I was talking to Hugh. I think he wants to come up here and castrate you."

"Oh I can deal with your brother."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I know loads of places to hide." That got a genuine smile. "Should I talk to him? Tell him my intentions toward you are entirely honourable. Or, at least, only as dishonourable as you'll allow."

"I'm worried I've upset him. I don't want to upset him. He's the most important man in my life. Yes, more important than you. More important than my father, or my step-dad. He's the only one who's been there all my life."

"Okay. I won't make jokes."

"Don't be silly. Make jokes. Be yourself. Remember that you were his friend long before you started sleeping with his sister."

"I can do that."

"Did your friend take the money?"

"Sarah? Yeah. She didn't want to. I sat there and let her tell me all the reasons she wouldn't. I learnt some stuff I'd rather not have, and will never repeat. Then I just slid it across the table. She looked at it for a while then picked it up. God knows what she'll tell her fiancee."

"Nothing. I wouldn't."

"I'll remember that."

"Can we stay at your place tonight?"

"I only have a single bed."

"So we'll have to snuggle."

"Okay. You've convinced me."

Part 23
Part 21
Part 1

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 21

2006-12-04T10:25:00.000-08:00

It had been a long weekend. They had christened almost every surface in the flat, joined the Boon Army in South on the Saturday and dined out on expenses on the Sunday.

Now it was Monday and they both had to work. Rachel was looking all businesslike again. For some reason she fussed over Joe's T shirt, pulling it straight and evening it out. "We haven't recruited a manager for the Manchester shop yet." she told him.

"You're thinking of someone in particular for the job?" Joe didn't think of himself as shop manager material.

"Me."

He hadn't considered this before. When her buying and talent scouting were over she would have moved on to another city.

"I know it's a bit sudden. I..... When I found you I was just thinking of a quick therapy fuck. Something a bit naughty because of our, you know, our history."

"You said."

"I really thought we could just hook up as old friends and have some fun. I guess that's just not my style.

"Plus, it has been quite intense.

"I'm scaring you aren't I?"

"No. Not at all. Not really. No.

"Well, maybe a little bit." Joe leaned in and kissed her nose. "And getting me all happy and excited. And other stuff too."

Rachel smiled. "My Rabbit's going to hate you."

Joe had blurted out "Why would your pet....?" before he realised, "Oh, right. I see."

They kissed. For a moment it looked like Rachel would be dodging work for another day. The intercom buzzed.

The grainy little video screen showed Kay Wood looking uncomfortable. "Can I talk to Mister Wilkinson?"

"Yeah. Come up, it's on the top floor." Rachel pressed the button to unlock the door.

Wood still looked uncomfortable when she reached the apartment. "There are just a few formalities." Joe directed her to the settee and took the seat opposite. "We managed to get one of the buyers, and most of the weapons, thanks to information from the Albanian. And that they used a traceable vehicle for the pick up. The others are still at large, but we know who they are.

"The buyer's statement, and various other factors, prove you weren't involved. At least, to our satisfaction, anyway."

"Irwin?"

"Try to avoid the Police from now on. He's got you marked. He's a good officer in most ways. It's just that Wilson was a mentor to him. He picked up a few prejudices, I guess."

"No disrespect, but I hope to never see any of you again. Professionally anyway."

"None taken.

"There is one thing remaining. We recovered the money from your house. One million Euros."

"Exactly."

"So the Albanian keeps telling us. And there was a bundle that comes to one million exactly. And this." Wood produced an envelope and placed it on the table. Tentatively, Joe took it. He slid the flap open and looked inside.

"What is this?"

"Thirty thousand Euros. There's a note in there."

The note turned out to be a withdrawal receipt. On the back was a message, 'Joe. All legit. Half to Sarah.'

"We've followed it up. It is legitimate, as far as we can see."

"He.... He was going to set me up again. But he had this money for me. Why didn't he just give it to me?"

"Mind games. Would you have held the million if he'd just given you the money?"

"Hell, no. But I wouldn't have held it for anything."

"He probably judged you by his standards. He was appealing to your greed, the promise of a pay out. We could get a psychologist to figure it all out. If we really wanted."

"Fuck him. It's all finished now. Let's call this closure cash. I'll see she gets hers."

"Good. We'll return your other property as soon as possible.” Wood rose, “Stay out of trouble Joe."

Rachel showed Wood out. Joe sat, turning the envelope over and over.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Bank it, I guess. I've got to go see Sarah later." He folded the envelope and put it in a trouser pocket. Rachel stood beside his chair and he pulled her onto his lap. "So what was this about you moving to Manchester?"

Part 22
Part 20
Part 1

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 20

2006-11-30T10:16:00.000-08:00

The office buildings in the Science Park were identikit. It was only because he knew the company name that Joe could find the right one. "I'd like to see Sarah James." he told the man on reception.

"Is she expecting you?"

"No. But if you can tell her Joe's here to see her." The message was passed on and Sarah arrived within minutes.

"Hello stranger."

"Hi. You want to go for a walk?"

The professional reply died on her lips. She nodded. "Okay."

They stepped out into the car park It wasn't very scenic, but they could walk. Joe set off around the perimeter.

"Did Tommy visit you?"

Sarah was silent. They stopped walking. The silence stretched out. "I didn't kill him."

"I hoped that was the answer. What happened?"

"He was waiting for me. Like he knew when lunch was. Waiting almost exactly where you are now." Joe looked down, then scanned the car park and its surroundings.

"I didn't know what to do. For a moment I just stood there. Then he came toward me and I ran. I don't know what I was thinking. I just ran.

"There's a gap in the fence, just over there." Joe looked where she indicated. He couldn't see anything, but he believed her. "I'm shorter. And I know it's there. I ducked under it."

"It?"

"There's this bit, sticking out. There was a noise. I went back and there was blood all over the ground. His throat was cut open, he must have run into it."

Joe hugged Sarah. She was crying.

"I didn't do anything. I made my way back to my car and went home. I called in sick for the rest of the day. I didn't call for an ambulance or the Police. I should have called for an ambulance or the Police."

"It wouldn't have made a difference." Joe lied. He didn't know how much of a difference it would have made. "The Police are here." Sarah tensed up. "Just tell them what you told me. It'll be okay." He really hoped he was right. Across the car park Stevenson, Wood and Rachel got out of the car.

Part 21
Part 19
Part 1

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 19

2006-11-29T15:02:00.000-08:00

A third visit to the MRI, this time flanked by armed Police. "This place is beginning to look familiar." Joe said to no-one in particular. He looked around and everyone was looking back.

Tattoos was rolled into an operating theatre for immediate attention. Joe and Rachel were hustled into a cubicle, with one armed guard outside. They sat side by side on the bed. "I'm sorry for getting you into this." Joe said after a while.

"I let myself get into this. I could have bailed at any point after you told me about identifying the body. But, you know, it was all a bit thrilling." She added in a little voice, "Even the nearly getting killed. Is that wrong?"

"This isn't a normal week. Normally they're quite boring."

"Well, we'll just have to base our relationship on the sex then." She laid her head on his shoulder and held his arm.

They swung their legs for a while, listening to the activity beyond the curtain. "Did you just quote Speed?"

"Yeah. What can I say, I like Keanu."

"Don't know if I'm talking to you any more."

"What? You didn't like the Matrix?"

"Well, yes. But the sequels were shit."

"I guess."

"Who's Kevin?"

Silence. And a horrible cold feeling that he'd said something wrong. Rachel cuddled in closer.

"How do you know about Kevin?"

"You mentioned him this morning. You said that Hugh hated him. I assumed ex-boyfriend."

"Fiancée. Ex-fiancée." That seemed to be all the information he was getting. Then, "We were together for three and a half. Nearly three and a half years. He left me, four months before the wedding."

Joe stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head. "I guess in the end I loved him more than he loved me." She shrugged, "I kept trying to tell myself it was for the best. But... You know how it is."

"Yeah. Been there. It's hard to move on. Even when. Especially when they have."

"The romantic walking wounded. That's us. That was a year and a half ago. I kept trying to get over him. I tried speed dating, friends of friends, all sorts of things. It might just be the group I mix with, but they all seemed to be versions of him. It felt like, anyway. So I just sort of gave up, started concentrating on work.

"It got so bad even Hugh was telling me I needed to get laid. My brother, the big over-protective would be guardian of my honour. Holly suggested a fling with one of our artists. Not very professional, but she's the boss and I think she's done it a few times. Then the Manchester shop came up and Hugh told me about you and, well, you know the rest."

"I'm just a fling?"

Rachel bit his shoulder, which seemed an odd response. "I wasn't supposed to.... to like you so much."

The curtain was swept aside. Irwin and his sergeant entered. The inspector glared down at Joe whilst the sergeant drew the curtain closed. "You are in deep shit."

"Deeper shit than being shot at?"

"You got away with it last time. This time we have you at the scene of the crime."

"They were shooting at us!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Don't try to cover for him, or you'll go down for aiding. You're under arrest. We found the bag with the money."

"The bag with the money?"

"Sergeant." The sergeant moved the curtain aside and picked up something from outside. The back pack looked a lot like Joe's. "Is this your bag?"

Joe started to reach for the bag, then thought better of it. "That's not my bag."

"Take a closer look."

"My back pack was stolen two days ago. There's a Police report and everything. That bag's the same type, but it's newer, it's not split along the zip seam. And it won't have my fingerprints on it. Not yet and not if I don't touch it. Isn't that true Inspector?"

"We found it in your house."

That revelation did bring Joe up short. He could think of no good reason for it to have been there. "So?"

The curtain swept aside again. Kay Wood and a short, balding man stepped in. "Detective Inspector Irwin. I believe you removed vital evidence before SOCO arrived to log it. That rucksack, in fact."

"It's his."

"Really? You see, the evidence is contaminated now. We don't even know if the bag was handled by Mister Wilkinson before you gave it to him."

"I haven't touched it."

Irwin and the newcomer exchanged a look. "Sergeant, please take the rucksack away, bag it and present it as evidence. With a log of where it has been since being found in Mister Wilkinson's house, if you don't mind." The sergeant left. "Evidence tampering is a serious offence."

"Bollocks. He's knee deep in this, and this time he's not getting away with it."

"I reviewed the case files. Mister Wilkinson was exonerated."

"He ruined a good officer's career and him and his slut are going to...."

Irwin was knocked over by the punch, stumbled out of the cubicle and hit the next table over. He slid down the frame to the floor and clasped at his burst nose. Rachel flexed her hand, checked she hadn't broken the skin on her knuckles. Everyone was looking at her. "I don't like being called a slut." She hopped back onto the bed. "Plus he'd just admitted to framing my boyfriend.

"I guess I'm in trouble."

"You're unner a'est." Irwin muttered.

"Whatever for? We all saw you trip and fall." the bald man replied. Wood gave him a questioning look.

"Wha?"

"You could let this go, or we would have to make statements about the reason miss.... This young lady whose name I do not know yet, hit you. She will not be the one going to prison under those circumstances."

Irwin glared. He was proving to be quite good at glaring. "You should get that injury seen to." the bald man told him. Irwin stomped off.

"Mister Wilkinson. I am Chief Inspector Stevenson. I run the Guns Task force. DC Wood is my most recent recruit." They shook hands. "Miss?"

"Evans. Rachel Evans." They too shook.

"We found your rucksack, the one that is really yours, in a car abandoned by the gunmen who turned the Albanians' car into modern art. You can have it back when we close this investigation. Which I hope will be soon."

"There was a Transit van as well. The shooters had a Tranny."

"Can you describe it?"

"It was a Transit van. White." Joe shrugged. "The other bag? The one Irwin found?"

"We believe it was left in your house by Hill. The tattooed man has been talking, explaining what should have happened. It is amazing what pain medication will do.

"It seems Hill was the go between for the deal. He would hold the money until the customers confirmed they had the merchandise then facilitate the exchange. Somehow he convinced the Albanians that you were to be trusted holding the cash whilst he waited for the goods. We believe he planned to double cross them and leave you to deal with it."

"That sounds like him. You don't know that I wasn't in on this though, do you? You did find the bag at my house. Bastard must have left it there when they let him in."

"No, we do not know that you aren't involved. I could say that you have an honest face, but mostly I believe you because Constable Wood does. I have a lot of faith in her judgement." Joe looked at Wood. Her expression was unreadable.

"So the Albanians really did kill him?"

"We don't believe so, no. It may have been the buyers, in some sort of triple cross, but we don't know for sure."

"They said something about that. About attacking me to get the money."

"Do you know what he might have been doing in the Science Park?" Wood asked.

"The one behind the University?"

"Yes."

"That's where he was killed?"

"Yes."

Joe wanted to lie. He really did. He stared at the floor, aware that everyone was watching him. Rachel took his hand. "Yes. I do."

Part 20
Part 18
Part 1

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 18

2006-11-27T14:38:00.000-08:00

"Mister Hill was good business for us. Good business, but a little, how to say it, small time. We have guns, Albanian army and police guns, out of the country during the troubles a few years ago. He has customers. First in the ones and twos, then larger. Then a biggest order." Tattoos was feeling talkative. Big Bastard was concentrating on driving the BMW X5. They were on Princess Parkway heading into the centre.

"Paid for with money he stole from me."

"Really? He was telling us you gave it willingly. It was good for us and for him. His customers were not so lucky. They give the money, fifty percent mark up, but the Police attack before we have even shipped a quarter of the merchandise. They go to jail."

"I nearly went to jail."

"But you have a good lawyer?"

"I had my innocence." Joe took Rachel's hand. They were being allowed to see where they were going, which seemed ominous. "Where are we going?"

"To the delivery point. Container arrived this morning. Customers have keys for it, will be unloading it now. We see if they have our money or if you lie to us."

"I've got nothing to do with your money disappearing! Rachel has even less! If you're going to do this at least let her go." Rachel squeezed his hand.

"Hostage is good. Useful."

They had slowed to a crawl in the traffic. Joe tried the door handle. It was kiddy-locked.

The X5 made its way around the centre and ended up off Cheetham Hill, navigating the post industrial warren of repurposed warehouses and factories. Joe had spent weeks the previous year photographing these buildings but still he was lost. They turned into the car park before a small self storage unit. There was a shipping container in one corner and four men were unloading its contents into a Transit and 5 Series BMW. "Ah good. They are still here." Tattoos announced.

Why did the bad guys always drive German cars, Joe wondered briefly. Big Bastard opened the door from the outside and Joe and Rachel got out. He paid them little attention after that. Joe motioned toward the gates with a nod of his head. Rachel pointed. Tattoos had produced an AK47 and Big Bastard was holding a tiny machine pistol.

The X5 was between them and the four men unloading the container. Big Bastard stood near the rear and Tattoos walked around the front of the soft roader. "You double cross us."

One of the men continued loading the van with small, tightly wrapped bricks. One stepped forward to reply. The other two moved toward the 5 Series. "Hill double crossed you. He told you he," the speaker pointed at Joe, "was holding the cash. Then we were to rob him, take the million and split it. But Hill double crossed us too. He" indicating Joe again, "never had the cash. Never even knew about it, most likely." Joe remembered waking up on the pavement, his bag stolen. "We've all been had."

"Return the product to us."

"No fucking chance." He turned and walked back to the BMW. The two who had been standing by the 5 Series were now sat on the back seat. Joe could see that the nearest one had something on his lap. He didn't need to know much about body language to see that things would likely get very dangerous very soon. He gripped Rachel's wrist tightly, glanced at her. She was pale. All her attention was on Big Bastard.

Tattoos raised his AK47. "You give back merchandise."

The two men in the back of the 5 Series stepped out, raising Kalashnikovs of their own. Joe pulled Rachel to him and dived for cover.

Contrary to what the films tell you, car bodies don't stop bullets. The X5 was going to quickly turn into a sieve. Joe pulled Rachel down and dragged her to the front wheels. Here he held her tight and huddled behind the engine block, hoping it would provide some protection.

The guns weren't as loud as he'd have expected. They were firecrackers almost lost in the sound of smashing glass and thuds of impact. There were shouts and screams. Some of them might have been Rachel and Joe's.

After a while the noise stopped. There was one last squeal of tyres under acceleration then silence.

Joe looked down at Rachel. Had he got her out of the way in time? She was holding him incredibly tightly and he her. There didn't appear to be any blood on either of them and she was breathing. "Are you okay?"

"I think so." said a little voice.

"You can let go of me now."

"I don't want to." She did loosen her grip, however, and looked up at him. "You saved my life."

"You can owe me."

There were sirens approaching. Joe looked around. Big Bastard was face down on the pavement, a mess of holes in his back and blood pooling around him. Rachel looked at the body, tutted, then looked away. In the other direction lay Tattoos. He wasn't as shot up and, as Joe stared, he moved. Joe jumped.

"What? What is it?"

"The one with the tattoos is still alive."

Part 17
Part 1

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 17

2006-11-24T10:46:00.000-08:00

They were waiting at Joe's house. The Big Bastard and the man with tattoos- his head shaved to show off the scales that wrapped around the skull. "Oh fuck." Joe muttered.

"Who are they?" Rachel asked as she rounded the car.

"Probably the people who torched my studio."

"I'll call the Police."

The tattooed man's jacket flapped open. There was a gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Joe stopped Rachel's hand as she went for her phone. "Not just yet."

They stood their ground by the Smart car. After a moment's hesitation Big Bastard and Tattoos walked over.

"You have our money." Tattoos, with a heavy accent, possibly Eastern European.

"I what?"

"You have our money." Tattoos.

"One million Euros." Big Bastard.

"Exactly." Tattoos.

"Exactly?"

"You are holding for Hill." Tattoos.

"He says you are tight." Bastard.

"He asked. I refused. I'm holding nothing for Hill." Tattoos and big bastard exchanged glances. "Hill is dead. But you know that, don't you?" Their expressions said they didn't.

"You have our money." Bastard.

"The outhouse was a warning." Tattoos.

Joe enunciated his answer slowly, as he was just thinking it through himself. "You think I have a million of your Euros. So you burnt down one of the places I might keep it?"

Tattoos and Big Bastard exchanged one of those looks. If they had been that stupid they were going to suffer. "You were not holding for Hill?" Tattoos asked eventually.

"No. I'd bet whoever killed him has the money."

They thought about this for a while, conversed in a language Joe couldn't hope to place. He thought of sliding his mobile out and dialling 999 whilst they were preoccupied, but they kept casting glances his way. After a minute or so they seemed to have reached an agreement. "Makes sense, what you say. You know who killed Hill?"

"Of course I don't."

"We think it was customers. The goods arrive today. If they get money and drugs they win both ways." Tattoos.

"You should go and see them then." Joe was beginning to hope he'd talked his way out of a dangerous situation.

"Yes. You come with us. Not good for you to be phoning Police tell them about us." Big Bastard.

"We are honourable. We let you go when we know the truth." Tattoos.

"How do we know that?"

"I suppose you do not. But we are the ones with the guns. You come with us because we say so." Tattoos answered.

Part 18
Part 16
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 16

2006-11-23T10:17:00.000-08:00

"How do you feel?"

Joe was spread-eagled on the bed, appreciating the firm mattress and the view as Rachel dried her hair. "Pretty good, I have to say."

She sat beside him and ran a finger through his chest hair. "You don't feel a little guilty? You did just sleep with your friend's little sister."

"Ah. Should I feel guilty?"

Rachel pondered this for a moment. "Nah. It's his own fault, he told me you were finally doing the art thing." She leant forward and kissed his collar bone. "And I'm a big girl now." She kissed a nipple. "And he can't possibly hate you as much as Kevin."

"Kevin?" Rachel didn't answer, and, as she was working her way lower, Joe didn't ask again.

Rachel kissed and teased and worked her way down until at last, "Bleh! Condom taste!" She looked like she'd sucked a bar of soap and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I need orange juice."

Joe could just keep himself from laughing. "I'll go and have a shower. Then maybe we can carry on."

"Then you can take me around Manchester's art shops, like you should have done yesterday. Then we'll trawl the supply shops and restock you. Maybe we can look for studio space for you."

"You don't have to...."

"You need a new studio, and you need it soon. What else are you going to do today?"

"Well...."

She poked him with a sharp nail, "Maybe if you're good and useful, we can do that tonight. Now go, shower. And we'll go to your place and get you some clean clothes."

Part 17
Part 15
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 15

2006-11-22T11:25:00.000-08:00

Rachel's flat, leased whilst she was in Manchester, was a split level apartment on the top floor of a block behind the railway station. As he could appreciate the beauty in old industrial buildings and canals, Joe liked the view. He was under orders to stare out of the window whilst Rachel changed into something less formal.

"Why would someone burn down your studio?"

"Don't know. The guy from City Life said some bad things about a show I had stuff in. And he's probably got a lot of spare time nowadays." Joe had a good idea what it might have been about, but none about who could have done it.

"Could it have anything to do with your dead friend?" Rachel read his mind.

"He wasn't my friend."

"Sorry. Your dead acquaintance."

"Sorry. Just a bit touchy about it."

Rachel had thrown a dark hoodie on over jeans an a T shirt. It said UMIST across the front, her brother and Joe's alma mater. "I want to blend in." she said.

"UMIST doesn't exist any more."

"Oh, well in that case I want to stand out." They stood together at the open window. "You smell of smoke." Rachel observed.

"I hadn't noticed."

"Let's go get you beer. The pubs should be open by now. I'll even buy you lunch."

They skirted Piccadilly and went to Bar Fringe on Swan Street for food and Belgian beer. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" Rachel asked two hours later when she noted the ABV on her third bottle of Kwak.

"No more drunk than I'm trying to get myself."

"That rat's looking at me funny." Rachel indicated a cartoon rodent embedded in the wall.

"I think that's our cue to leave."

They drank up and headed out into drizzle that became a downpour before they had crossed the road. "Could have done with this earlier." Joe dead panned as they huddled in a doorway. The rain refused to let up, so they scooted from doorway to doorway and under awnings along Oldham Street. Joe named each establishment as they passed them, giving history lessons if they stayed outside them long enough.

The gaps they crossed became larger and they spent more time in the rain between each stop, until they ran out of cover and sprinted the last few hundred yards to the apartment block. Joe was first to the door. He turned under the glass awning just in time to see Rachel closing on him. She slowed, but not quite enough. He caught her and helped her come to a halt.

They leaned against the door, breathless and laughing, and made no move to part. "You're soaking." Rachel announced eventually, red faced, "Let's get you upstairs and out of those wet clothes."

"Does that line ever work?"

"We'll see."

Under instruction, Joe stripped off in the bathroom. He even discarded his boxers, and they were merely damp. There was a bathrobe behind the door. He tried it on and it came to just below his knees. It would do.

Rachel was wearing climbing trousers and a short loose T shirt. She took Joe's clothes and started going through the pockets. Wallet, keys, phone and various bits of paper found their way onto the settee. "I'll dry these." She pulled the belt from his trousers and draped it over the back of the seat.

Joe sat and watched the rain wash down the windows. A big bastard and a guy with tattoos? They had to be involved with Hill somehow. His killers or his associates? Or both? It wasn't beyond Hill to have come up with some mad scheme to swindle the people he was working with. And now, for whatever reason, they had a vendetta against Joe. What had Hill got him into this time?

All worries were set aside as a warm body pressed against his back and a glass of white wine appeared before him. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"No more drunk than I'm trying to get myself." Rachel tried to climb over the back of the settee. She slipped as she settled down and spilt wine over her climbing trousers.

"I'll have to get you out of those wet clothes."

"We seem to be going in circles." Rachel put her wine down, stood and stepped out of the trousers. She was now naked from the waist down. "I think that's enough flirting." She took Joe's glass and put it beside hers on the table. He could only nod agreement and grin. Strangely enough he was concentrating on her face. She straddled him and they kissed.

Part 16
Part 14
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 14

2006-11-21T09:33:00.000-08:00

The alarm went off at 7:00am. Joe flailed around and found the snooze button.

The alarm went off at 7:09am. Joe flailed around and found the snooze button.

The alarm went off at 7:18am. Joe flailed around and found the snooze button.

This repeated every nine minutes until it was half past eight. Joe decided he should get up, despite the hangover.

One look in the mirror reminded him that it wasn't the beer that had caused his bad head. His right eye and cheek were bruised, and the cut above his eye was red and prominent. He checked the rest of his body. There were small bruises on his arms, chest and legs. He'd looked worse after a tumble from his bike, but not much. He put a water proof plaster over the cut and had a shower.

He dawdled over breakfast, savouring a second cup of tea, and left the house with just enough time to get to the studio by ten. He hurt too much to get excited about a day with Rachel, no matter what he had been thinking the night before. The overcast sky meant there was no sun to warm his aching joints and soothe him.

A street away from the garage Joe smelt smoke. It was too late in the year, and too early in the day, for someone to be burning hedge trimmings. And there was an odd chemical undertone to it. He searched for a plume. Finding it he did a quick triangulation, estimated where it was, and panicked.

He ran the rest of the way to the garage. No matter how obvious it was, he held out hope that he was wrong. And he couldn't see the source of the smoke until the last moment. But he knew what he was going to find, and when he reached the drive of Pete's house the garage, his studio, was burning.

Now that his worst fears were confirmed, Joe felt strangely calm. In fact, he wasn't worried as much as he was sure he should be. He pulled his phone out and took a photo of the flames, then called the fire brigade. When they were on their way he contacted Pete. And then there was nothing he could do.

The hedge that ran down one side of the garage was lost, and it was too hot to get close enough to move the stuff stacked against the other side. At least there was a large gap between the house and the garage.

Joe took more photos. He was envisioning a print- the soup tin but with a collapsing structure. There was board and canvas in the garage, two completed paintings, one spec work in progress and a few sketch books and photos. Finished paintings were distributed around bars, clubs, friends and family. He had lost two weeks' work at most. Painful, but not fatal.

But his friend's garage was burning down and it could be his fault. He took some more photos.

"I saw 'em do it."

Joe looked around and down. The kid was about eight and cute as anything. "A big bastard and a man with tattoos." Where did she learn language like that?

"What did they do?"

"They threw something and it set on burning."

Joe heard sirens for the first time and noticed the fire engine turning into the road. He guided the little girl out of the drive way and to a safe spot on the pavement. "Will you tell the policeman what you saw?"

"Guess."

The fire engine pulled up and the crew deployed quickly and started pouring water onto the fire. Joe took more photos.

A fireman walked over. "Is there anything in there that may explode?"

"There are no compressed gasses. There is some turps. About a litre."

"Do you know how it started?"

"I saw them do it." the kid piped up. "He isn't a policeman."

"But you should tell him."

The girl recounted what she had seen. This time there were more details, though some sounded like fabrications. It seemed the big bastard and the tattooed man had walked up to the garage, ignoring the house, smashed the small window on the door and held something up to it. Then they had walked away and the tattooed man had thrown something at the door and it had caught fire. The fireman gave Joe a questioning look. Joe just shrugged.

By now there was a crowd. The girl's mother – or elder sister or cousin, it was hard to tell- came up and dragged her away. "What 'ave I fucken told you about leaving the fucken garden?" Which explained where the language came from.

"Don't you want to....?" Joe asked the fireman.

"I'll write it up. The Police will question her later. It's the house across the road, I don't even need to ask for an address.

"The fire's out. Do you want to check it out?"

"I guess."

"You're lucky it didn't spread to your house."

"Not my house, but yeah."

Pete arrived whilst they were picking through the wreckage. "Fuck."

"Yeah. Err, sorry."

"Fuck."

"At least it didn't spread to your house."

"Yeah, but, your stuff. What the fuck happened to your face."

"It's not as bad as it looks. Some of it could make a sculpture or something. But your garage." Joe gestured at the roof and walls that were no longer there.

"It'll be insured."

"For arson?" the fireman asked.

"Fuck. I don't know."

DC Wood turned up, and a round of statement taking began. A WPC was sent to talk to the child. She didn't arrest the mother, despite the colour of language aimed at her. "Nice neighbourhood you live in." Joe commented. Pete shrugged. He hadn't had time to check his insurance policy and still didn't know if the garage was covered.

The fire engine must have driven off, because when Joe next looked around it had changed into a yellow Smart. Rachel stared at the devastation. "Oh my god." she whispered, "All your work." Then, "What happened to your face?"

"Oh you should see the other guy."

"Really?"

"Not a mark on him. There's not that much lost."

Wood was giving Rachel a suspicious look, almost unprofessional. Pete turned to Joe and raised his eyebrows. Joe nodded. "You must be Rachel."

"I am. I'm really sorry. I recognise you, but I can't remember your name."

"Pete."

"This is your house isn't it?"

"Yes."

"At least it isn't damaged."

"That's what everyone keeps saying. I was more worried about Joe's work."

"Now that's a sign of a good friend."

"This is Detective Constable Wood. It's arson and she's investigating."

"Hello."

The smile wasn't reciprocated. "Hello. I'm done here. I'll be back in touch." She picked her way through the debris.

"You two need beers."

"I need to phone my insurers." Pete shook his head. "You two go. Besides, there's only room in that thing for the two of you."

They left Pete staring at the carnage and shaking his head. "Will he be alright?"

"Probably. He's done more expensive damage himself."

"Really?"

"Maybe. Where are we going?"

"You're supposed to be my guide."

"Where are you staying? Somewhere near Piccadilly? Leave your car there and we'll find somewhere."

"Okay."

Part 15
Part 13
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Notes Lots of cross talk today, and much use of the word Fuck.
Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 13

2006-11-20T10:53:00.000-08:00

There was a dark shape hovering over Joe. It seemed to be talking to him.

A couple more dark shapes moved around behind the one that was talking. There were blue lights flashing. Joe's right side was cold and uncomfortable.

".....your name?"

"Joe." He was lying on his side on a hard, cold surface, he realised. He tried to sit up, but a gentle hand on his shoulder discouraged him. "The streetlight is my home."

"What?"

"Sorry. Lyrics. I don't know where the came from. Joe Wilkinson. My name's Joe Wilkinson."

"Okay."

"Why am I on the ground?"

"You were attacked. Your neighbour scared them off and called the Police. Do you want to try and sit up?"

"Okay." With help, Joe struggled up. The other shapes resolved into a policeman and one of his neighbours whose name he couldn't remember. The policeman came over.

"Hallo sir. Can you remember what happened?"

"No. I was texting. Then. No, can't remember."

"Is this your phone?"

"Yes." Joe checked his pockets. "I've got my wallet and keys." He pulled the wallet out. "Don't think anything's missing."

"So you're not missing anything?"

Joe looked around. "My back pack. I'm sure I had it with me."

"What was in your backpack?"

"My camera. Some sketchbooks and note pads. A water proof. Puncture repair kit...." The policeman was looking less and less interested as the items became less expensive. Joe felt like adding 'cuddly toy' but restrained himself.

The paramedics decided to take Joe back to the MRI, to close a cut above his right eye and check for concussion. He wasn't concussed enough to argue. The policeman took his details and issued a report ticket.

Sitting in the waiting room at the MRI Joe read the ticket half a dozen times. Hopefully on this visit he wouldn't have to look at a dead body or be treated as a suspect.

A nurse sealed the wound over his eye with glue, a junior doctor tested his responsiveness and decided he didn't need a scan, and then they sent him home with nothing more than a prescription for pain killers. He got on another 43 Magic Bus, the same one for all he knew, got off in Withington and paid careful attention to every single shadow. Safe, but stressed, he made it home, collapsed and finally got to sleep at four in the morning.

Part 14
Part 12
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 12

2006-11-17T02:58:00.000-08:00

Joe had finished his second beer when he remembered his meeting with Rachel. "Shit!" He checked his watch. "Okay, not so bad."

"What's up."

"I've got to get to Piccadilly by seven."

"You can do that. Just about. Meeting Rachel?"

"Yes."

"Well go then. I'll just sit here and drink the beer by myself."

He was only five minutes late. The Kro bar on Piccadilly wrapped most of the way around the ground floor of its building. Rachel was in the dining area, all the way around from the main door. She was sat at the window, watching traffic go by.

"Sorry I'm late."

"Not that much"

Joe slumped into his chair, but quickly straightened up and leaned forward. "So, do you have a brother called Hugh?"

Rachel smiled. "I thought you didn't recognise me."

"I did. But I had to consult external memory before I got your brother's name."

"External memory?"

"My mate Pete. He's always been better with names. What's Hugh doing these days?"

"Working in Surrey."

"Poor bastard."

"Hey. I work in Surrey too."

Joe shrugged. "Guess it could be worse. Could be Essex."

"My step-dad's from Essex."

"I'll just shut up, shall I?"

Rachel hid her smirk behind a beer. A waitress came over and Joe ordered a pint of Theakstons XB for himself. "When were you last in Manchester?"

"Hugh's graduation, I think."

"Long time ago."

"Yes. It's changed. Didn't this used to be some sort of sunken garden?"

Joe nodded. "Full of drunks and children bunking off school."

"And there's been a lot of regeneration since the bomb."

"True."

"Can you help me with something?"

"I can try."

"You'll know where all the little galleries are. I want to check them all out. We try to have good relations with them because they nurture so many of our future artists."

"Yeah. I can do that. When?"

"Tomorrow. I've seen all the people I was scheduled to. The next few weeks are all about finding new talent and liaising with shop fitters and leasing agents.

"As you're going to help I guess I can buy you dinner and put it on expenses." She slid a menu to Joe.

When they had ordered they seemed to have nothing to talk about. "I hope you had a productive day." Rachel said eventually.

"No. Afraid I didn't."

"Oh. Why not?"

"Stuff. And..... I had to identify a body." Rachel's glass stopped on the way to her mouth. The beer didn't, and sloshed onto the table. "Spillage." Joe pointed at the puddle.

"A dead body?" Joe nodded. "Who?"

"Someone I used to know. Police figured I was the only person in town who could confirm his identity."

"That must have been horrible."

"Not nice. I only knew the guy because he stole some money from me."

"That's terrible. How...? I mean.... No, no. Forget I was going to ask anything. How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess. Hadn't seen him in years and, like I said, he stole my money. So I wasn't close to the guy."

They were silent again for a while. The starters arrived and they tucked in. Rachel decided to change subjects. "I took up climbing. After all those times you threw me at trees I kind of got hooked."

"I didn't throw you at trees."

"Up them then." And the floodgates were opened. They filled in, in broad strokes, the last decade and a half of their lives. Mostly they marked it out in terms of places visited, where they had been on momentous days. "I was so hungover on the day Diana died. The day it was reported, anyway." Joe remembered, "I came downstairs feeling rough as..... rough as fuck and turned on the TV. They were telling me that something terrible had happened. But I didn't care, so I changed the channel. And they were telling me something terrible had happened. And so were the other three channels. But none of them were telling me what it was. I swear it was half an hour at least before they told me what had happened."

"I was really quite sad, but I was going through a goth phase and had to pretend not to care."

"You were never a goth!"

"What? Why not?"

"Well, you're too.... blonde."

"Hair dye, my dear, hair dye."

They left the pub a few pints later. "You know where you're going?"

"Yeah. Up there," Rachel waved her hand vaguely, "and turn left before the railway station." She moved in close, kissed him quickly on the lips and stepped away. "See you tomorrow. About ten? At the garage?"

"Okay." He watched her sway slightly as she walked away, then headed for the bus.
Hunched up by the window of a number 43 Magic Bus, shifting occasionally because it was so hard to get comfortable on the centimetre of foam left in it, conflicting thoughts fought for attention.

Hill was dead. But even as a stiff he could still get the Police sniffing around and causing problems. Plus, he had probably told his partners in whatever deal he was into that Joe was involved. Hill being Hill, he had likely promised Joe's participation before even meeting him the first time. The sort of low quality gangster Hill had hung out with previously would be too stupid to not believe the bullshit.

But he couldn't find the energy to worry about it too much, because there was a chance he was going to get laid.

The bus crawled its way through Rusholme, and Platt Fields came up on the right. For a while they'd called Rachel the Squirrel because of the way she'd go up trees finding foot and finger holds in the wrinkled bark. It was astonishing she'd never fallen out of one and and done herself an injury. A cold feeling came over him. He was having very bad thoughts about a kid.

Except she wasn't a kid any more. She was well over the age of consent, able to make her own decisions and very attractive. He grinned. It was possible he was misinterpreting all of this and she was just flirting with him to help get her job done. But he preferred to think otherwise.

He got off in Withington and started winding his way home. He was only one turn away from his house when his phone beeped. A text from Pete, "Are you in yet?"

"Cheeky bastard." Joe started to reply, turned the corner, and walked into something solid.

Recoiling from the blow, Joe began to fall backwards. Until something grabbed him and stood him up again. Only to punch him in the gut and again in the face.

At this point everything went black.

Part 13
Part 11
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 11

2006-11-16T00:55:00.000-08:00

Joe hadn't known what to expect. He was taken to the Manchester Royal Infirmary, where another, more senior, detective and a nurse greeted them. He didn't recognise Detective Inspector Irwin either. But Irwin seemed to know him. "When did you last see Hill?" he opened with.

"This morning." No point in lying when they others had seen him.

"Why?"

"He's planning something. Wanted me involved. Look, we haven't even established this body is him. I'm here to identify a body, not undergo interrogation."

"They told me about you."

Joe just looked up at the ceiling, didn't say anything. The nurse was giving him an 'I know your type' look.

"This way." Irwin led the group off.

The body was on a bed in the A&E. The curtain had been drawn to hide it from prying eyes. "An ambulance brought him in an hour ago. He was pronounced dead on arrival. One of the officers who came to investigate recognised him and called for you."

Joe had been expecting more wires and tubes connected to the body. But if he had been dead already there wouldn't have been any need.

Hill's face was pale. There was a gouge across the left side of his throat, flaps of skin either side of a jagged cut.

They had been friends, once. But it had ended so badly that none of that mattered. Looking at the body, all Joe could feel was anger. That Hill would now never repay his debts, that he had embroiled Joe in another Police investigation and that they'd ever met in the first place. "That's Hill. Can I go now?"

"We have questions."

"I won't have answers."

"When did you last see him?"

"I told you. This morning. I threw him out of my house."

"What was he planning?"

"Don't know. Don't care."

"Don't bullshit me."

"Don't bullshit me. If you really do know all about me you'll know I was his victim last time. He wasn't caught because Wilson was too dumb to see that. You lot came within a few signatures of a major harassment case." Irwin's expression had changed briefly at the mention of Wilson. "How is the Chief Inspector?"

"He was transferred." Irwin was simmering, knowing he couldn't say the things he wanted to. Joe had more he wanted to say, but kept his counsel as well. "Sergeant, take mister Irwin home."

Part 12
Part 10
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Notes I'm dropping behind with my NaNoWriMo project, but I've reached a section with lots of sex scenes in it, so that might lead to me speeding up.

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 10

2006-11-15T01:44:00.000-08:00

Inspiration didn't get a chance to express itself. Pete was putting his bike back in its box behind the house and Joe was selecting brushes when the police arrived. Joe didn't recognise the plain clothes officer, but he had the bearing of the ones who had tried to send him down the last time. The policeman reached into his jacket and produced a warrant card. "Mister Wilkinson. If you can come with me."

"Why."

The detective considered this, wondering if he could get away with giving out no information. "We need you to identify someone."

"A line up?"

"No."

"A body."

The lack of an answer was answer enough. Pete had returned and caught the end of this exchange. "Hill?" he asked. The detective gave him another wordless glance that spoke volumes. "I didn't catch your name and rank."

"Detective Sergeant Warren."

"Okay, Detective Sergeant. You want me to identify someone."

"Yes."

"A dead someone?"

Pause. "Yes."

"Who you think is Tommy Hill?"

Another pause. "Yes."

"Okay. Can I expect transport back here when I'm done."

The detective looked conflicted. Joe had him off balance. "I guess."

"Okay."

Part 11
Part 9
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 9

2006-11-14T03:52:00.000-08:00

"What are you doing here?"

"Toil."

"That doesn't look like toil to me, more like messing around."

"Time off in lieu for some work last month. I thought I'd break the week in two." Pete was giving his bike a pre-winter service, cleaning and oiling the chain, greasing various bits and fitting new brake blocks. This being Manchester the mudguards had never come off. "You're looking fired up."

"Horny and creative." Joe admitted, unlocking the garage doors.

"You keep away from me." Pete waved his bike pump defensively.

"I'm sure you're very attractive, in your own way, but I'm not that way inclined. I talked to Rachel, we're going to discuss deals later over a beer."

"And then you'll seal the deal, eh? Eh?"

Joe knew he'd gone red. "I doubt it. But you never know."

"Very professional."

Part 10
Part 8
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Notes I took a bite out of the NaNoWriMo deficit over the weekend, but not as large a one as I'd have liked. Oh well.

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 8

2006-11-10T05:37:00.000-08:00

"Hello."

"Hello. Is that Rachel?"

"That's me."

"It's Joe Wilkinson. We talked yesterday. About you buying some of my art?"

"Hey! How are you?"

"I'm good. I'm good." Joe lied. He was too frustrated to work and had wandered for a few hours. Now he was in Chorlton Water Park, confusing the geese by throwing stones as if they were bread. "You said to call you today. To arrange a meeting."

"Of course. Look, I'm booked up for the rest of the day. How about we meet this evening?"

"Okay. Where and when?"

"Seven o'clock in Kro on Piccadilly. I know how to find that."

"Okay."

"I'll see you there then. Bye."

"Bye."

Now Joe was horny rather than frustrated. Just the right state of mind to paint. He stopped messing with the waterfowl and headed for the studio.

Part 9
Part 7
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Notes No update on Monday, because I'll be far too busy all day. Normal service will resume on Tuesday.

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 7

2006-11-09T03:53:00.000-08:00

Joe had been in his house for three years. It was the longest he had stayed with anything. The other tenants had turned over a few times. Previous combinations had only functioned as a household, but the current grouping would consider each other friends.

The household still didn't know much about Joe's life before he had taken up residence. This was exactly how he would have it. However, that meant they didn't know how Tommy Hill had stolen all his money and implicated him in gun running.

Hill was sitting on the sofa, drinking tea from a Scooby Doo mug.

"Get out of my house." Joe didn't sound as angry as he felt.

"Dude, that's harsh. Your housemate let me in, she seems like a nice girl."

"Yes, well, I'll have words with her and she won't be making the same mistake again."

"All I need is for you to hold something for a while. There's a cut in it for you."

"I don't want a cut of any deal of yours. Get out or I'll call the Police."

"Really? You didn't yesterday. Not really."

"Yet somehow they know you're in town. How you've stayed ahead of them I don't know."

"I'm good."

"You're lucky. Get out." Joe gestured out the door.

Hill stood, but didn't move any further. "If you won't do this for me will you at least, well, do something for me?"

"No."

"I want to get in touch with Sarah. Set things right. I shouldn't have taken off like that."

"You can't set right what you did."

"I can apologise."

"That's not going to be enough."

There was a silence. Hill considered the door, then went for another try. "I could...."

"She was pregnant. She had an abortion. Nothing you say or do will sort things out, so don't even try." It was more than he should have said, and he felt sick for letting it slip. But he was angry. Now he was angry at himself as well as Hill, and that just made things worse.

Hill, to his credit, recognised he wasn't winning. Joe followed him to the door and watched as he walked away.

Part 8
Part 6
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 6

2006-11-08T02:40:00.000-08:00

Joey Joey Joey Says
Tommy is back in town

Sarah B Says
Fuck.
When?

Joey Joey Joey Says
Since this morning at least

Sarah B Says
He doesn't know where I live

Joey Joey Joey Says
He shouldn't have known where I live, but he found me.

Sarah B Says
Fuck

Joey Joey Joey Says
Police know he's here. Talked to Kay Wood

Sarah B Says
Fuck fuck fuck

Sarah B Says
She's the one you fancied

Joey Joey Joey Says
It was the uniform. Honest

Sarah B Says
:-P
Bollocks

Joey Joey Joey Says
She kept me out of prison. That can be quite a turn on for a boy.

Sarah B Says
Will they catch him?

Joey Joey Joey Says
Hope so. I'd like my money back.

Sarah B Says
Not gonna happen

Joey Joey Joey Says
I know. I can dream

Sarah B Says
It's been six months. Maybe more.
Why haven't you been ion touch?

Joey Joey Joey Says
Not a lot to say

Sarah B Says
Rubbish. I read your blog. You've got lots to say.

Joey Joey Joey Says
:#

Joey Joey Joey Says
How's things?

Sarah B Says
Steve wants me to marry him.

Joey Joey Joey Says
Cool
Have I met Steve?

Sarah B Says
Probably

Joey Joey Joey Says
What's he l;oike?

Sarah B Says
Nothing like Tommy. If thats what you mean. He's good. Reliable. I can trust him

Joey Joey Joey Says
Does he know about what happened?

Sarah B Says
No

Sarah B Says
I'm not going to tell him.

Joey Joey Joey Says
Should you tell him?

Sarah B Says
I'm not going to tell him.,

Joey Joey Joey Says
Okay

Sarah B Says
I've got to go. Steve will be here soon.

Joey Joey Joey Says
Okay. Do you still work in the same place?

Sarah B Says
Yes

Joey Joey Joey Says
That's where he'll try to find you. If he comes.

Sarah B Says
I'll keep a lookout
Bye

Joey Joey Joey Says
Bye
Be careful

This message could not be delivered as the user Sarah is offline.

Part 7
Part 5
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

NaNoWriMo progress stalled yesterday, as I kept finding other stuff to do :(. I'm going to try to catch up some today and do a load of writing over the weekend.

Notes Yes, this is an attempt to mimic an IM conversation. All typing errors etcetera are intended (well, they happened because I tried to type as fast as the characters and left any mistakes in).

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 5

2006-11-07T10:33:00.000-08:00

Joe was deep in dirty thoughts about blondes he might know, so he completely missed the unmarked car.

"Mister Wilkinson."

He stopped, stared upwards for a moment, pleading for this day of reunions to end, then turned around. "Constable Wood."

"Detective Constable now, actually."

"Congratulations." With practice he could have made the good wishes sound flatter.

"Your friend is back in Manchester."

"My friend?"

"Tommy Hill. We've been hearing all sorts of rumours."

"Oh, that friend. I really don't want to know."

"We're contacting everyone who knew him. Call us if you see him."

"He stole a lot of money from me. He's not going to be getting in touch." Why he lied he didn't know. Some stupidly optimistic part of him thought he might get his money back if Hill stayed out of jail long enough. "Have you been waiting for me to turn up just to tell me that?"

"You update your website every day when you get back from your workshop. It's consistently around six o'clock."

"You read my blog?" Joe thought he spotted some red in the police officer's cheeks.

"You're a bit later than normal."

"I may have a new client. Got a bit wrapped up in that."

"Good for you. I'm glad you're back on your feet after all the trouble Hill put you through. It would be a shame if he brought you down again."

"No. I wouldn't want that."

"I'm serious Joe. You know how bad things were last time." Some years earlier Kay Wood, then still a constable in uniform, had taken Joe's side against detectives who would have Gitmo'd a confession out of him if they'd been allowed. Given his innocence she had probably saved their jobs, if not their careers, though it was unlikely they saw it that way. "Two of the guns he bought with your money have been used in shootings."

"You always have to go and spoil things don't you.

"He was here this morning, saying he could get my money back if I'd just hold something for him while a deal went down."

"You didn't believe him?"

"I didn't believe him last time. That's why he had to steal the money from me."

"He didn't say what he had planned?"

"No. But I'm sure that now you're a detective you'll catch him this time."

"Was that sarcasm or an attempt at a chat up line."

"I think it was a chat up line."

They both looked at their shoes, up and down the street, slightly to one side of the other. "Do you want to get a drink some time?" Joe asked eventually, "I mean, if you're not....."

"I'm not seeing anyone, no. But no, I can't go for a drink with you, not whilst you're part of an investigation."

"After?" Joe tried his best cheeky grin.

"No. I don't think so."

"Oh well. Had to ask."

"If he gets in touch, call me." Wood produced a card from an inside pocket. "Get a gallery show. I'll come and see it."

Joe examined the card as she walked away.

This had been a very interesting day.

Part 6
Part 4
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 4

2006-11-06T03:10:00.000-08:00

"Do you know a Rachel Evans?"

"Can't say as I.... Why?"

"Wants to buy my stuff for On The Wall."

"Who?"

"Art shop. Mind if I google them?"

"Go ahead. Laptop's in the living room."

"Ooh, you got the wireless sorted."

Pete entered the living room with a Bodum of green tea and two mugs. "You know you haven't mentioned Tommy Hill yet. I was expecting full on ranting from you. How hot is this woman?"

"It's not about the hotness. It's that I'm sure I should recognise her." Joe scrolled down search results and clicked one almost at random. "She's very hot. And very little of it's painted on."

"You going to shop him?"

"Don't know. Considering how the Police treated me last time I don't think they deserve any help."

"You might get your money back."

"Doubt it. They're a bunch of arseholes. Well, most of them are."

"I noticed you asked for Woods."

"It was the uniform. And the keeping me out of prison. Otherwise, just a bit too uptight for me."

"And you have your art bimbo to fantasise about now."

"Just because she's blonde doesn't mean she's...."

"Hugh Evans."

"What?"

"Hugh Evans. Didn't you share a house with him back in the second year?"

"You know I'm crap with names." Joe was deep in thought. "Yeah, I think I remember him. Whatever happened to him?"

"Haven't a clue. Didn't he have a kid sister?"

"Of course he did. Cute kid, bit of a tomboy. We used to take her climbing trees in Platt Fields and try to sneak her into the students' union. She visited a lot, I think their parents were divorcing."

"You think it could be her?"

"Could be. But she'd only be...." Joe stared at the ceiling as he did the mental arithmetic. "God, that was fifteen? Fourteen, fifteen years ago. She was twelve, thirteen. That makes her.... Yeah, that makes her about the age of this Rachel I met today."

"But is it the same person?"

Joe shivered. "Gah! I hope not. I used to boost that kid up trees. It has to be wrong to have dirty thoughts about someone you used to treat as a kid."

"Tell you what. You get me a picture of her and I'll have the dirty thoughts for you."

"Fuck off."

Part 5
Part 3
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 3

2006-11-03T03:02:00.000-08:00

Pete had a garage that he didn't use, so Joe had adopted it as a workshop. The rent was one piece of art a year, on the off chance. Some years earlier Pete had spent three months on Joe's floor, paying only for food and beer. He liked to refer to the returned favour as the Tao of Property.

Joe's physical paintings were much simpler than his digital ones. Away from the safety net of layers and the Step Backward command he found himself considering where every bit of colour should be laid down. He was using acrylics because he didn't yet have the patience for oils.

The latest piece was a simple street scene, but the perspective lines twisted slightly, just enough to make the viewer uncomfortable. At street level the business names matched those from his neighbourhood, a little cheat to enhance saleability. He was tidying up the lettering on the newsagent when he realised he was being watched.

Both doors were open, for light and ventilation, and the afternoon sun was so low it lit up the back wall. Joe glanced up and spotted the shadow, but it was a moment before he made the connection.

She was tall, blonde, turned out all neat and business like. Not, historically, his type, but that didn't stop her being gorgeous. "Joe Wilkinson?"

"That's me." He struggled to remember where the brush went, eventually finding the water jar and making busy cleaning it. The silence stretched out a little too long. "I... Would you like some tea or coffee?"

"No thanks. That's okay." She walked over, hands behind her back, checking out the work in progress and a few unfinished masterpieces. And Joe. The brush was as clean as it would get, but he dunked it in the water again and stropped the liquid off with an old T-shirt. "I'm Rachel Evans. I'm a buyer for On The Wall. Perhaps you've heard of us?"

"Extraordinary art at ordinary prices? I'd heard you were opening a shop in Manchester."

"It opens on King Street in a couple of months."

"I don't think footballers like ordinary prices. They feel ripped off if they don't pay at least twice what something is worth."

"We'll mark things up for them. Including your work, if you'd like."

"Well, I...." Joe tried to remember things he'd read about On The Wall. Whether they had a good reputation with clients, just how ordinary their prices were, that kind of thing. But the buyer was standing a little closer than required and still had her hands clasped, pulling her shoulders back and pushing her chest forward. He enjoyed the view a little too long, wondering how much of the shape was engineered, how much natural attributes. "Well. Yes. Of course I'd be interested."

Rachel smiled, "That's great. We don't expect exclusivity, but we would like an original every month or so and first refusal on anything else. And a few prints for our online store. I saw your website."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. I saw one of your pieces in Norton's deli. They've got WiFi."

"Really? I don't have the technology, so I don't really pay attention."

"They told me where to find you."

"I'll never buy hummus from anywhere else again."

Rachel was swinging her shoulders back and forth, twisting her upper body. The coquettish gesture was completely at odds with the professional appearance. "That's great. We have a deal."

"Okay. So, er, what do we do now? I'd shake on it, but...." Joe held up a paint smeared hand.

The buyer produced a business card and pen, wrote a number on the back of the card. "Call me tomorrow, after two. We can arrange a meeting to sort out the paperwork." Her hands went straight back to being clasped behind her back.

"That's great." Joe checked out the card and then the number and very carefully put it into his wallet.

"I'll see you tomorrow then." With a smile Rachel turned and walked away. When she crossed the threshold of the garage her hands relaxed from their clasped position and she started swinging them a little exaggeratedly. It was only when she got into her Smart car and drove off that Joe began to think she'd looked familiar.

Part 4
Part 2
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Notes This is a first draft, open to expansion and editing, so please point out any spelling or continuity errors or bits that don't make sense.

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 2

2006-11-02T01:19:00.000-08:00

Tommy Hill walked back into Manchester on the back of a thunderstorm.

Joe had been stretching his tail- compositing another image for sale as prints and mousemats- but had stepped out to get some textures. After the downpour, with the clouds still overhead, everything was desaturated and grainy. He was snatching images of wet tarmac and brickwork with phonecam and digital camera, not knowing or caring when he'd use them.

Cropping an image of his reflection in a puddle, ready to Flickr it, Joe turned into his street. He looked up, stopped and stepped back around the corner. Even facing away the figure at his front door was obviously Hill. Something about the body language.

Joe looked around for a weapon. The justifiable desire to beat his former friend subsided rapidly, but the chill of anger remained. He glanced around the corner, got a profile view that confirmed his suspicions.

Rain began to fall again. There was a big black cloud heading their way. Joe headed off to get some lunch.

The cafe had been a butchers when Joe had last lived in the area. As his income had slowly risen he had become something of a regular. The girl who made the sandwiches, whose name he still hadn't learnt, bantered with him as she customised his sandwich. By now he was certain it was all show, but he flirted back dutifully. He sat under one of his own pictures and watched the rain.

It wasn't as heavy as the thunderstorm, but would soak Hill if there was any justice. There was no-one else in the house, so he couldn't play the poor bedraggled long lost friend for anyone. When the clouds cleared and his sandwich was finished, Joe headed back.

Disappointingly, Hill wasn't soaked through. But he was damp enough to be uncomfortable, and that was a good start. Joe got to within two houses before being spotted. "What are you doing here?" He had decided to keep Hill on the defensive.

"Dude. I am so glad to see you. I've got a way to get you your money back."

Just for the briefest of moments Joe was optimistic that this might be true. Then he remembered all the other such promises, both before and after Hills flight from the law, and how little had come of them. "You've got it with you?"

"Well..... No, not on me. But I'm into something big. A guaranteed payout."

"And what do you need from me?"

"It's a sure thing. Because of what I owe you I wanted to give you the chance to be in on it."

"So I'd need some front money, because the guy you're dealing with, he trusts you but he's not so sure about me. Is that it?"

"No, man. You'd just need to hold some collateral while the deal goes down. Be a guarantor, like."

"Really. At least this time it's not me you're trying to steal money from. What are you planning, they come to get the shit from me and you've switched bags and done a bunk? Is that it?"

"No. No way dude. This is legit."

"As legit as crime ever gets. The only reason I'm not in prison is because I didn't trust you last time. And then you still managed to steal all my money. Now, walk away, because I have phone numbers for a couple of Police who'd love to have words with you." Joe walked past Hill to the front door and turned his back on his former friend. It didn't work. Hill stood there, confusion sliding into anger.

"Don't you want your fucking money?"

"I don't want any part of one of your schemes." Joe fished his mobile out and worked his way through the contacts list. "The money you stole from me. You return it, you don't try to scam me out of any more or make me a patsy. Hello. Is Constable Wood there? No, that's okay, I can wait."

Hill couldn't hide the fear of being caught. After consideration he walked away.

"Constable Wood definitely isn't here." Pete announced. "What the hell was that about?"

"You'll never guess who's back in town." Joe had watched Hill until he'd left the street. Now he closed the door and brought Pete up to speed.

Part 3
Part 1

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much to Answer For- Part 1

2006-11-01T10:41:00.000-08:00

"I need a beer."

Pete reached back and hooked the fridge door open without looking around. "I thought you might." What had been bare earlier tinkled now. "Or I have spirits."

"Whisky makes me maudlin. Vodka makes me vomit. I can't stand Southern Comfort. And brandy...." Joe selected a bottle of Snecklifter. "Actually, I've never drunk enough brandy to form an opinion."

"Was it him?" Pete laid the knife down and looked around from the messily filleted chicken this time.

Joe was paying undue attention to the bottle cap. Happy it was clean he drew out his keys and levered it off with the bottle opener that nestled amongst them. "It was him."

"Good riddance."

Pete didn't see the expression that flashed across Joe's face, like someone had whacked him in the ribs. He took a drink of the beer. "He had his throat slashed. Not a way to go, even for a prick like him."

The fillets went into bags for freezing. The carcass went into a pan for stock. Joe took his beer through to the living room.

Joe was two thirds of the way through the bottle when a thought struck him. "They must have his fingerprints on file. Maybe even DNA. They didn't need me to ID him."

"But they dragged you in anyway." Pete bore more beer. "And they knew where to find you."

"Some bastard on the force really hates me. Thanks.

"They probably checked my place than came hunting. How does it feel to be an accomplice?"

"Peachy."

Part 2

Notes

National Novel Writing Month starts today. This is not my NaNoWriMo entry, rather something I scribbled down whilst working on the helpdesk a few weeks ago. It's being serialised in honour of the event. After this I'm going to put up some of Post & Publish, including new chapters written recently, and then whatever I get done this month. Hopefully I'll have enough material for daily updates for the rest of the year and maybe beyond.

Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

Donate Now I've started writing again I'm unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

First Drafts

2006-10-27T03:29:00.000-07:00

This blogspot blog exists to host only fiction. I'll also be posting the snippets on Spinneyhead, but they'll be sat amongst other items. Here you can concentrate on the story.