Dancing in Valhalla – 5th story preview

Six bullets should be enough. Hell’s bells, if he couldn’t take out a couple of civilians with a fully loaded revolver, he shouldn’t be carrying one.

There they were up ahead, changing lanes. No indicators. Bloody cage drivers. He wasn’t close enough to see whether they’d even checked behind them before moving across. Probably not.

Dirk accelerated. The Harley surged forward, cutting through what little traffic there was on a Monday morning.

Bloody Mick. Typical bloody Mick. Lying on his back in a hospital bed, barking out orders. Do this. Do that. Bring my ex-girlfriend to see me. Take a few potshots at the bastards who did this to me. Fetch me some whiskey. Make sure it has an e in it.

Still, Dirk grinned under his helmet, it was good to have him back. Things weren’t the same without the obnoxious bogtrotter.

The black Mercedes was slowing down now, turning left into Westpark Cemetery. Well, that was fitting. Maybe they’d be kind enough to stand next to an open grave. Make things easy for him.

Dirk pulled into the first parking area he saw, keeping an eye on the car as it crawled along the quiet internal roads. Nobody else seemed to be around. No security, certainly. He shrugged. The people here had nothing left to steal. Not even their dignity.

Ah. The Merc had stopped in one of the newer sections. At least, this part had fresh mounds of dirt where new forever homes had been prepared recently. Dirk revved his bike as quietly as he could and moved slowly in that direction.

Dancing in Valhalla – 13 twisted tales of music, magick, mayhem & murder – some set in sunny South Africa where, for many, these are a part of everyday life – will be released at all your normal online retailers on 21 April. Only a few retailers currently list the pre-order edition. They can be found at Books2Read.

Read the full first story in the collection at Barnes & Noble. Or download it here in ePub or Kindle format, along with some other free downloads. No sign in, no email tracking, no forms to complete, just click, download, and read.

If you enjoy these stories, feel free to check out my other published work on Amazon or other retailers.

Follow work in progress and upcoming releases on FaceBook or on my blog.

To simplify matters – check out my new Tree of Links for all of the above links and many more, showing where to find interviews I’ve endured, events I hope to survive, FREE STUFF, eBooks, Kindle books, paperbacks in various formats, poetry, short story narrated videos, and even some Dutch folk music. Hey, who am I to judge?

Thanks for your support. Extra thanks to those who came out to see us yesterday, especially if you bought a paperback. I hope you enjoy the experience. This coming weekend, we’ll be at the Ink & Iron convention in Primrose on Saturday the 2nd of March, then at Horwoods Farm on Sunday the 3rd. You can follow all upcoming events via FaceBook.

Cheers.

Dancing in Valhalla – 4th story preview

With just 2 months to go before the release of Dancing in Valhalla, I’ve decided to include an old story in the collection as a bonus, because of its relevance to what’s happening in South Africa right now.

I was going to change some of the tags on this post, from “psycho”, “serial killer” and “horror story”, to “politics.” Until I realized that there’s no difference, really, and that the old tags still apply. Perhaps now more than ever.

If that cryptic introduction leaves anyone outside of the country in the dark – welcome to South Africa…

Simple Simon and the Firepool

Once upon a time, in a beautiful land far far away, Simple Simon met a pieman going to the parliamentary buildings.

Said Simple Simon to the pieman, “I’ll need seven hundred and sixty nine, eight hundred and seven hundred – listen properly – seven hundred and sixty nine thousand, eight hundred and twenty, and seventy, pies to feed my wives and extended family.”

“But aren’t we supposed to be cutting back on government spending?” asked the jolly pieman, who had cut his road trip short to attend to Simple Simon’s needs.

“You’re fired,” said Simple Simon.

He felt no sympathy for the pieman, or his family. Simple Simon had accumulated a huge pile of gold by stealing the hopes and dreams of millions. Whenever he walked past a group of hungry homeless children in the streets, he smiled. Because he knew that he had destroyed their future. It made him happy.

The buses were on strike again, and the trains he had bought were too big for the tracks. His wives had taken possession of more cars than the land could afford. All his over-priced submarines were in dry dock for repairs. And he was not allowed to buy himself another jet (at least not openly). So Simple Simon didn’t mind walking. It was a short trip from his fairytale homestead, and the path was paved with the bones of dead miners and farmers and mental patients. This also made him happy.

He would normally have taken his goats with him on such an outing. But he had recently traded them for some magic beans. These beans had sprouted overnight, growing into a huge firepool in his yard. From the land beyond the firepool had come a family of ogres who demanded that Simple Simon hand over his land to them in return for lordship over all the sheep in the land. And more gold.

Some of the sheep who lived in the beautiful land had been less than happy with this arrangement, but the vast majority of them had just gone along quietly. Simple Simon found that sheep were much easier to control than goats. They did whatever Simple Simon said.

Especially when he generously provided them with the illusion of freedom. He allowed the sheep to believe that they had some say over what happened in the beautiful land. He waved documents at them, documents that had been drafted by wise men a long time ago, before the ogres and the big bad wolf had darkened the land. These documents assured the sheep that they had rights, and that they were indeed free. Unfortunately, the wise men had written the documents in an ancient tongue which was no longer generally spoken in the beautiful land. So the old documents were often misinterpreted and misunderstood. Simple Simon considered himself exempt from these ancient rules. They only applied to the sheep.

He found that it helped to dance with the sheep at every opportunity, and sing songs with them. This made them believe that he was one of them, and that he wasn’t just dressed in sheep’s clothing. It also distracted them from the annoying public meetings and question sessions they held from time to time. These meetings always made Simple Simon laugh. He laughed so much that his glasses kept falling off his nose. He liked to use his middle finger to push them back up. He felt that this sent an appropriate message to the sheep.

One of his old friends had been caught stealing from the sheep. He had been sentenced to an endless session of playing golf and fighting with news reporters. The message had been clear – steal from the sheep, and your skills would be recognized and rewarded. There would be a lot of bleating, but nothing bad would actually happen. Nobody would ever have to repay their ill-gotten gains.

So Simple Simon had done his best. He hadn’t stopped at theft. He had his way with every young sheep that caught his eye. But he always showered afterwards. So he didn’t understand how anyone could possibly take offence.

And yet, he did hear distant mutterings of unhappiness. Luckily, there were enough dancing sheep around him at all times to keep these problems at bay. To be safe, he always kept his famous spear with him wherever he went. This weapon was so famous, it had even been immortalized in works of art. But Simple Simon and his favourite sheep were not happy about this. He preferred to keep his spear hidden, a secret weapon to be shared with those who were closest to him.

Besides, those who muttered against him had stolen everything themselves originally. Simple Simon wasn’t sure how he knew this, how it worked or exactly what it meant. But he knew it to be an indisputable fact. Whenever they raised their voices in protest, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men were denounced as foreign invaders, and every attempt they made to put the beautiful land’s economy back together again was blocked.

This made Simple Simon happiest of all. He laughed as he trampled his land’s currency into the dust, dancing a jig and raising his voice in song. It was a good day for spending the money that should have been allocated to education and housing and basic services and social grants.

He decided to buy himself a shiny new jet after all.

Dancing in Valhalla – 13 twisted tales of music, magick, mayhem & murder – some set in sunny South Africa where, for many, these are a part of everyday life – will be released at all your normal online retailers on 21 April. Only a few retailers currently list the pre-order edition. They can be found at Books2Read.

Read the full first story in the collection at Barnes & Noble. Or download it here in ePub or Kindle format – no sign in, no email tracking, no forms to complete, just click, download, and read.

If you enjoy these stories, feel free to check out my other published work on Amazon or other retailers.

Follow work in progress and upcoming releases on FaceBook or on my blog.

To simplify matters – check out my new Tree of Links for all of the above links and many more, showing where to find interviews I’ve endured, events I hope to survive, FREE STUFF, eBooks, Kindle books, paperbacks in various formats, poetry, short story narrated videos, and even some Dutch folk music. Hey, who am I to judge?

Thanks for your support.

Cheers.

Dancing in Valhalla – 3rd story preview

Blood and guts everywhere. Who would have thought one old woman could make so much mess?

Mick tippy toed through the gore, planning each step to avoid getting any on his Docs. Christ, he’d just polished them a couple of hours ago.

What if he slipped and ended up back in hospital? Some people had no consideration for others, sure enough.

*

Half an hour earlier.

Irish Mick needed a distraction.

His target was right there in front of him. He could do this in the open. He wasn’t scared. But there would be consequences. And he didn’t need those right now.

No, what he needed was a distraction. Sleight of hand. Misdirection.

He reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and adjusted the weight of the snub-nosed 38 Special he liked to use when it was going to be up close and personal. He’d been looking forward to this. Only two things had kept him going in the hospital. Love and hate. An unholy alliance that drove his anger, his need.

He loved Dirk like a brother, so he did, but some things he had to do himself.

He adjusted his shades. They were pulling up on one side, unable to find a grip on the bandages. He needed them, though. Not for the sun. It wasn’t that bright today. They provided anonymity. So they stayed.

The blonde waitress bounced over with a menu and a smile. He accepted the one. Had no use for the other. So he grinned at her with his blackened teeth until she left with her own smile only slightly dimmed.

Or had she been laughing at him? The sudden thought made him jerk his head in her direction. Sparks exploded behind the shades. Jaysus, that hurt. Take it easy, Mick. Get a grip. You’ll do yourself an injury, son.

Aye, even worse than the bandaged head and the Elastoplasts on the cheek.

The waitress stopped for a quick word with the manager. Big guy, impressive in his suit and with his hair tied back in a ponytail. They both laughed.

Mick reached for the triple espresso. He needed a whiskey. By Christ, how he needed a whiskey. But this would have to do. He waited for his hand to steady itself before raising it to his lips. Not that anyone would notice if he spilled coffee on his shirt. It would blend right in with those god-awful palm trees and coconuts.

Sweet mother of god, was this the only kind of clothes that bloody wop owned? His own T-shirts wouldn’t fit over his bandaged head, and he didn’t have time to go shopping. So he settled for borrowed rags. On the positive side – even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.

Now why was he thinking about that old witch? He hadn’t seen her in years. Not since she’d enforced the restraining order and had him sent away.

He took a deep breath. Focus, Mick, focus. Let’s keep that particular can of worms locked away in its padded cell, shall we?

The old woman a few tables away must have stirred up those memories. In her threadbare coat, with her smart new hairdo, smiling at every shape that passed her table. She probably couldn’t even see their faces without her glasses.

There they sat on the table in front of her, next to the two handbags she wasn’t letting out of her sight. One gnarled fist held both handles in a death grip.

The manager approached her table, hand on her shoulder, leaning down to share a friendly word. She smiled and nodded.

Mick wondered if she was waiting for someone. That could throw a monkey wrench in his plans. She’d been alone when he’d come in. But something must have happened before that. Those eyes weren’t just red from wearing glasses. Her jutting chin and the handkerchief stuffed up her sleeve told him more than he wanted to know.

“What can I get you, sir?”

“Eh?”

The waitress was back, smile as dazzling as ever. He hadn’t seen her sneak up on him. That wasn’t good. He was losing his edge.

Focus. Dammit, Mick, focus, man.

He reached a thumb and forefinger under his shades to rub his own tired eyes. He needed to crash. But not yet. He had business to take care of first.

“Sir?”

She was still there. He’d forgotten about her. He could see her name badge out of the corner of his eye. Tana. Unusual. He liked it.

“I’m fine, love. Maybe a glass of water, if ye can, yeah? That’ll be great.”

He popped two pills from the small plastic bottle he’d brought from the hospital. Swallowed them dry. Then two different coloured pills from his own stash, reaching into the plastic bank bag he kept inside his pocket.

That should help. He had to keep it together, just a little while longer. He’d been away too long. People were talking. He had to show them that he was back. That he was still in control. By reminding them that he was completely out of control.

Dancing in Valhalla – 13 twisted tales of music, magick & mayhem – will be released at all your normal online retailers on 21 April – and in paperback – but only a few retailers currently list the pre-order edition. They can be found at Books2Read.

Read the full first story in the collection at Barnes & Noble.

If you enjoy these stories, feel free to check out my other published work on Amazon or other retailers.

Follow work in progress and upcoming releases on FaceBook or on my blog.

Check out the latest (but not yet final) cover art, a work in progress by an incredible newcomer who is destined for greatness. Believe it or not, she tells me that this is her first ever book cover. This is only her second rough draft for Dancing in Valhalla. And no, you can’t have her details. Not until she’s finished working for me, on this cover at least. Maybe the next one too. But watch this space, and I might reveal the secret identity of the fairy goddess when I’m ready.

Thanks for your support.

Cheers.

Dancing in Valhalla – 2nd story preview

Real car crashes don’t look anything like the movies.

Fireballs are rare. Explosions only happen by design. Airbags prevent most drivers from kissing their hood ornaments.

Real people die alone in the dark.

Like the girl in the crumpled blue Ford. All the car’s safety features had done what they were designed to do. But flipping through the air and slamming against a tree was beyond their capabilities.

She was young and blonde. Couldn’t have been a day past 21. Now she never would be. Happy clothes, bright yellow shorts and a Mickey Mouse vest, soaking up the blood that fell like burgundy tears from a head hung in sorrow and regret.

I couldn’t smell the blood. Gasoline pooled under the car from a ruptured fuel tank. A bottle of champagne had exploded against the dashboard, cork still tightly wrapped. She was on her way to a celebration. This was supposed to have been a good day.

The photo tucked into the sun visor showed her smiling, waving, wrapped in the arms of an older man. He wasn’t smiling. He didn’t look happy at all.

There was no pulse. I nodded in acknowledgment of small mercies. The side of her face was shattered, from her cheekbone to behind the ear. I could almost see inside. Nobody should be found that way. Death is a private affair, one on one. Let her family remember her the way she was in the photo.

The night stopped holding its breath as I used the broken door to push myself upright. Crickets resumed their mating calls, defiant after the respectful moment of silence. The rest of the world moved on.

All except him. The suit in the red Porsche.

Dancing in Valhalla – 13 twisted tales of music, magick & mayhem – will be released at all your normal online retailers on 21 April – and in paperback – but only a few retailers currently list the pre-order edition. They can be found at Books2Read.

Read the full first story in the collection at Barnes & Noble.

If you enjoy these stories, feel free to check out my other published work on Amazon or other retailers.

Follow work in progress and upcoming releases on FaceBook or on my blog.

Thanks for your support. If anyone actually reads these things, you can buy Hard Money – how to build wealth without winning the lottery – at a discounted price of $2.99 until the end of February, at any of the online retailers listed above. If you haven’t read this, well, then you can’t.

Cheers.