Global Weirding - part two

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

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 One

I shouldn't go out drinking with students any more. It's not the blank bits of memory, or the drinking bruises. It's not even the day long hangovers. It's the hallucinations and the things I bring back with me.

Alison or Kate or Jane (I think her name was) would have been good to bring home. But it never works out that way, and I ended up with a scally ent propped up in a corner of the living room. Except now I'm sober it looks more like a few branches and a load of mud. This is what happens when you mix your lagers. I wouldn't normally touch pilsner, but after a certain point in the evening the sort of place that sells real beer in a condition fit to drink have all closed.

I had been on the way home after a long day with a promise that I could take an early weekend. So when I bumped into Charlie and his entourage of barely legal lovelies I had no problem tagging along. Charlie's doing a Phd in something or other and has sweet talked himself a place as a Hall tutor. This gets him free accommodation and early access to a lot of fresh meat. He's not quite unprofessional enough to abuse his position of responsibility, but he has no problem playing pimp for the likes of me.

"Ladies. This is Steven. He's not a dirty old man. Well, he's not dirty anyway. Steve, come and join us. What are you doing out on a school night?"

"Drinking, of course."

"Sounds good. Mine's a Guinness."

Even my paltry Data Analyst wages are more than the funding Charlie's got, so I figured a pint was small change for the chance to hang out with nubile and impressionable women. Alison was short and blonde and voluptuous. Kate was taller, also blonde, with smaller everything. Jane (or Janet, I may have to find out) was my height, slim and brunette. I wouldn't kick any of them out of bed, but it's the one who's name I can't remember I wanted most. Obviously nothing was going to come of it.

In the second pub I remembered to take off my tie. In the third I remembered that my job really isn't very interesting and started telling everyone that I was a Feng Shui consultant for municipal parks. It's vitally important that the chi flows properly in and out of the gates with visitors and around the paths in a clockwise direction. And of course there are loads of water features and the like. It can be hell getting them all aligned correctly.

By closing time I could have pitched my services to the council, I'd honed the spiel so well. The girls, however, did not own any park land or know anyone who did. They decided to go on to a club, Charlie and I went off for more beers.

More beers became more and more beers. There's a blank spot in my memory where we changed pubs and I walked into something that's left a nasty bruise across my shin. I remember the last beer, more or less, and wandering off at two in the morning thinking it wasn't that far home, no point trying to catch a bus or get a taxi. There's a path laid out on one of the old stretches of railway line and it's an ideal short cut so I wound my way down to that.

It's about the darkest you're going to get in the middle of the city. The trees on the embankments block out street lights and noise. It would be an easy place to get mugged I guess, but the thought didn't occur to me at the time. I zigged and zagged my way along the tarmac ribbon, and occasionally up into the tree line when directional control completely abandoned me, until my bladder started to complain. I could have held it in, maybe, but why should I when there were trees in need of watering.

I found a likely looking bush and steered toward it, an elegant parabola where a sober straight line would have done. I unzipped and aimed straight at the heart of the shrub. "Ah, that's better."

"No it fucken isn. What you doin pissin on me, eh?"

I have no immediate fear of becoming incontinent. The stream of piss was cut off the instant I heard a voice. I stepped back, looking for the tramp I was soaking. There was nothing there, though. No suddenly moving lump on the ground or rising figure, just the skeleton of the bush I'd been drenching. "Sorry."

The hose got shaken a few times before being put away, I wasn't so drunk that I wasn't going to try and get the last drop out. Looking for a human figure to explain the noise, it took me a while to notice the branches moving. Climbing out of the heart of the bush was, for lack of a better description, a stick figure. It was only vaguely human until I realised it had four legs (roots?) and three arms (branches?). It pushed its way out of the shrub, dropped to the ground and shook itself. "Fuck. I know that stuffs good for plants and shit, but it's just wrong to go and piss on a feller when he's getting' it on with his cousin."

"Cousin?"

"That there's a Grey Willow. Me an the willows is like third cousins two or three times removed. I was just trying to cross pollinate."

"Isn't it the wrong time to pollinate? Isn't that a Spring thing?"

"Oh hark at the human. He pisses on me and suddenly he's the master gardener. We tree spirits is horny all the fucken time. Part of being imbued with human characteristics and the like. So it's all your fault. But ain't everything."

"I'm trying to pin down your accent."

"Don't have no accent me, like. I get around."

The branches on top of the twig thing formed a green afro. I leaned forward and grabbed it, bringing it up to head height. Lo and behold, the bark on the trunk did make up a passable face. It scowled at me. "Put me down, ye bastard."

"You're cute. I think I'm going to take you home and put you on my windowsill."

"Ye'll regret it."

"I know that already. I'm so drunk I'm having a conversation with a stick. It's a good job no-one can see me."

"Put me down ye flea! I'm older'n your granddad! Yeh can't treat me this way!"

"Careful with that mouth, you don't want me to take cuttings do you?" It shut up at that. I carried it home and put it on the windowsill of the living room, as promised.

It's still there, but now I'm sober it's nowhere near as animate. I'd throw it out but, well, the bark on the trunk does look like a face, if you squint a bit.

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

A Sort of Homecoming

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

"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

"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

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

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

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

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

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