Sunday, 31 March 2019

Dancing in Valhalla – 10th story preview

“I need to hit the bank,” said Morag. She turned into an alley between two blocks of flats. Her companion staggered along, arm in arm with his new date. Noddy brought up the rear. They made a cute couple – Hawaiian shirt and black leather. Italian shoes and Doc Martens. Long wavy hair and spiked green mohawk. Noddy almost felt sorry for the guy, imagining his expression when he woke up next to her tomorrow morning. Morag was a good-looking girl, but this was an acquired taste.

His commiserations were premature. Halfway along the alley, Morag swung her date against a wall. Hard. Noddy could practically feel the back of his head bounce against the bricks. The ridiculous hat fell to the ground. Morag grabbed a handful of the Hawaiian shirt, and a knife appeared in her free hand.

“Your wallet – now.”

His glazed eyes struggled to grasp this new concept in dating. In slow motion, he reached for the knife.

Morag slashed his palm, smacked him in the face with her elbow and backhanded him so that his head bounced off the bricks again, all in one smooth movement. Noddy was impressed.

“Money – now. Don’t try that again, or my boyfriend here will stab you in the face.”

This was pure exaggeration. Noddy might have had a relationship with her once, but he’d screwed that up a long time ago. The man looked slowly in Noddy’s direction, tears starting to cloud his vision, and all Noddy could do was shrug and smile encouragingly. What choice did he have? Walk away, and leave him to the tender mercies of the queen of the night? Try to get him out of the jam, and risk his own disembowelment? At least if Noddy played along, they might all live to tell the tale.

The victim reached in his back pocket and handed over his wallet with trembling hands. The typical bulging macho wallet. Morag dropped it somewhere inside her leather jacket, then grabbed the chain from around his neck.

“Your watch. And the chains.”

Noddy saw that he was starting to catch on at last, as these were removed more quickly. They disappeared into the depths of the jacket, then Morag slammed another elbow into his face. His head cracked one last time against the wall before he slid into the urine-stained gutter.

Morag took off down the alley like a winged mammal escaping from the netherworld, looking back over her shoulder.

“Come on!”

Noddy decided to tag along.

♠

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 shortly thereafter). Only a few retailers currently list the pre-order edition. They can be found at Books2Read.

Read some of these stories for free here in ePub or Kindle format. No sign in, no email tracking, no forms to complete. Just select your free stories, download, and read.

I will also be giving away free preview booklets, containing excerpts from the new book, at Rusty Hook’s Alternative Market next weekend – Sunday the 7th of April. Come grab one.

If you enjoy them, 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.

Or check out my 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, paperback sales & signings, and FREE STUFF.

Thanks for your support.

Cheers.

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Sunday, 24 March 2019

Dancing in Valhalla – 9th story preview

“It was a standard job. Same kind of thing I’ve done a million times before. More, probably. You lose track, you know? Well, you guys don’t, obviously. But I do.

A shabby little apartment in a tenement block on the lower East side of Chicago. That’s where this one had gone to ground. He was trying to hide from one of the local gangs. After a lifetime of crime, decades of dealing and thieving and bribing with the worst of them, he thought he could make amends by turning them in. He was going to testify against them.

But he was old. And sick. He knew he didn’t have long. So he didn’t bother with protective custody. The police posted a couple of guards outside his flat, but they didn’t even see me.

He did, obviously. When someone appears next to your bed in the middle of the night, especially when you’re a marked man… Let’s just say I didn’t have to do much. He nearly died of fright.”

“Gerald.”

“Yes, Your Honour?”

“Get to the point.”

“Sorry, Your Honour. Of course.

So the old man’s gone. Mission accomplished. And that’s where my part of the story normally ends.

Except this time, I turn from the bed and I see them, just standing there, looking at me. The old man’s daughter and granddaughter.”

“Sloppy work.”

“No, Your Honour. They weren’t supposed to be there.”

His Honour drew himself up in his chair. The accuser smirked to himself, winking at Gerald as he hunched his shoulders protectively.

“Are you saying there was a flaw in my plan?” His Honour’s voice thundered through the room, making the scant furniture vibrate for some time afterwards.

Gerald shook his head. He wasn’t responding to the question, just trying to stop the ringing in his ears. He coughed to clear his head. Once. Twice.

The accuser leaned casually against His Honour’s marble desk, indicating with an open hand that Gerald still had the floor.

“No, Your Honour. No. Of course not. That would be… unthinkable.”

The imperious eyebrow twitched ominously.

“But I have to say, it threw me, seeing them both there. And especially when they both saw me there. That’s not supposed to happen. Ever.”

Gerald looked to the accuser for support, but drew a blank.

“I mean, the local thugs were supposed to have taken care of her the night before, trying to scare the old man into changing his mind.”

The accuser stepped forward, enjoying Gerald’s confusion. “That’s right, Gerald. That was the plan. So now here’s the question we’re all waiting to have answered.” He glanced up at His Honour before carrying on. “Gerald, why did you deviate from the plan and kill the child?”

♠

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 shortly thereafter). Only a few retailers currently list the pre-order edition. They can be found at Books2Read.

Read some of these stories for free here in ePub or Kindle format. No sign in, no email tracking, no forms to complete. Just select your free stories, download, and read.

If you enjoy them, 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.

Or check out my 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, paperbacks, and even some Dutch folk music. Hey, who am I to judge?

Thanks for your support.

Cheers.

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Sunday, 17 March 2019

Dancing in Valhalla – 8th story preview

“What did you say it sounded like?”

“The cries of the damned.”

“No, mate. That wouldn’t be covered by your insurance. It’s probably rusted pipes.”

John sighed. It might have been mistaken for relief. But only by those who didn’t know him.

He adjusted his tie. It was hot in the small passageway that separated the bathroom from the kitchen in his council flat. No windows, that was the problem. Shut the doors that lined the passage, and it was as dark as the grave in there.

He removed his glasses, took a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, and wiped the sweat from his bald head.

“Will it take long to fix?”

The plumber looked up from the bathroom floor. Long dark hair hung in front of his eyes. All John could see was his hawkish nose, bent slightly at the end. “Got to find the problem first, guv. But I hope not. I’m supposed to be done for the day. I’d already have my feet up if you hadn’t walked past while I was loading the van up the road.”

John stepped into the kitchen and crossed to the window that was permanently open, even in winter. He placed his glasses carefully next to the kettle. He could tolerate most of the problems that had developed recently in his little flat. The smells. The voices. But not those sounds from the toilet every time he flushed.

“Thanks for agreeing to pop up on the spur of the moment.”

“No problem. I could use the extra cash. Mondays are slow.”

“Right. I don’t like Mondays.”

John opened one of the cardboard boxes lining the kitchen counter. He poked around inside until he found two wine glasses. Then he slipped a small glass bottle from his waistcoat pocket. “Would you like some chianti?”

“You what?”

“Red wine. From Tuscany. This one’s rather nice. I thought I’d fry some liver for supper. Would you like some?”

A series of grunting bangs preceded the response.

“With onions?”

John shook his head. He reminded himself that this was Notting Hill, after all. He couldn’t expect the tradesmen to share his tastes.

“Onions don’t agree with me, I’m afraid. I prefer fava beans. You’re sure I can’t tempt you?”

♠

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 shortly thereafter). Only a few retailers currently list the pre-order edition. They can be found at Books2Read.

Read some of these stories for free here in ePub or Kindle format. No sign in, no email tracking, no forms to complete. Just select your free stories, download, and read.

If you enjoy them, 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.

Or check out my 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, paperbacks, and even some Dutch folk music. Hey, who am I to judge?

Thanks for your support.

Cheers.

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Sunday, 10 March 2019

Dancing in Valhalla – 7th story preview

Ma Smit always told us not to stick our spoons in someone else’s cooking pot.

Ma Smit was full of good advice. She shared it with everyone, whether or not they wanted to hear it. Often the other villagers would answer back with their own family wisdom, and a lively debate would follow. We drank in every word. In Africa, it takes a village to raise a child. And for those of us who the ancestors blessed with even a small measure of success, it takes hard work to repay that privilege. Long hours. Sacrifices.

That’s why I put up with Oom Paul’s repeated callouts. I hadn’t built his house. As far as I knew, he’d built it himself. He was that kind of guy. Always taking charge. Confident in his own abilities. Certainly in his younger days, when he had run a successful construction company and built most of the permanent structures in the area. Not much had changed. Except that he had sold the company a few years before, retiring to live quietly with his wife on the largest stand in town. In a multi-story monster where the electrical cables had been strung together like Xmas lights in an asylum.

“Two days,” he told me again.

He wasn’t that old. His long beard had turned white, earning him automatic respect as an elder of the community. But he hadn’t yet lost any muscle, or the ability to walk. In fact, apart from the beard, he was probably still bigger and stronger than most young men.

“Two days I’ve been waiting for this to be fixed, Thulani,” he went on. “Two days without a hot shower, in this damn freezing weather. It’s been hell.”

I looked away from the fuse box and met his gaze. I was seconds away from resolving the issue that had seen me crawling from one end of his dusty attic to the other in a futile attempt to find a break in the wiring that ran his geyser. He could wait a few seconds longer.

I let my dust stained clothing speak for me. The white golf shirt that had been fresh last week. Damp patches creating concentric circles under the arms. My best pair of jeans, now ripped at the knee but still salvageable with a borrowed needle and thread. And the sweat lines that cut through a thick layer of grime despite the single-digit temperatures outside.

“Two days?” I asked. “Eish. That’s a tragedy, boss.”

♠

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 shortly thereafter). Only a few retailers currently list the pre-order edition. They can be found at Books2Read.

Read some of these stories for free here in ePub or Kindle format. No sign in, no email tracking, no forms to complete. Just select your free stories, download, and read.

If you enjoy them, 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.

Or check out my 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, paperbacks, and even some Dutch folk music. Hey, who am I to judge?

Thanks for your support.

Cheers.

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Sunday, 3 March 2019

Dancing in Valhalla – 6th story preview

“It’s time, soldier boy.”

Mark tore his gaze from the pram that had just turned a corner. Sid was growling, front legs stretched in attack mode. Mark felt exactly the same way.

“Spider. I’m busy, alright?”

This brought a smile to Spider’s lips. Not to his eyes. “Oh yeah? Off to spend my money, were you?”

There were 3 of them, all roughly the same size as Mark. He didn’t know the other 2. He’d seen them around, but hadn’t spoken to them or heard their names. His only interaction with them had been the night he’d arrived in Camden, when they’d jumped him over by the train station, all 3 of them hitting him from behind, knocking him down, laying into him as he lay curled on the ground. They’d taken his food that night, but had thankfully left his boots and his jacket. Small mercies.

Mark kept his back straight. “I thought we’d come to an arrangement, Spider. You stay the hell away from me, and I don’t come looking for you. What’s changed?”

Spider rubbed a hand over his bald head, briefly obscuring the 8 legged tattoo that gave him his nickname. The other 2 also had shaved heads, with smaller prison tattoos smudged across them. Nothing that stood out and suggested snappy street names, though.

“Nothing’s changed, bruv. This is still my street. Still my neighbourhood. And you ain’t paid rent in a while. You’re about to be evicted.”

Mark’s eyes didn’t move, but his heart beat faster. He still hurt from their first encounter. Cardboard and concrete hadn’t given him a chance to heal. He might stand a better chance now, face to face, but he couldn’t take another beating.

“Tell you what. Keep the money. You could use a decent meal. She’s got a case of wine stashed away in there,” Spider nodded across the road. “Saw her carry it in yesterday. Make yourself useful, and I might let you stick around for another few days.”

“Sod off.”

Spider stepped back, raising his hands. He looked up and down the street. Then he spat at Mark’s feet.

“I want that wine tonight, soldier boy. Or we’re coming for you. Then we’ll go over there ourselves. There’s worse things than robbery, you know.” He winked. “And there’s worse things than me on the streets. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. But you will, bruv. You will.”

♠

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. 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, paperbacks, and even some Dutch folk music. Hey, who am I to judge?

Thanks for your support.

Cheers.