♠ Kill the poor ♠

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 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 handle himself. Accounts had to be settled. And there wasn’t much time to settle them.

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.

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♠ A tout le monde ♠

“Look, we need to go. Now.” His eyes scanned the room. There it was, in a corner of the ceiling. A red light, flashing slowly but steadily. “Fuck. There’s a silent alarm. Come on.”

She laughed again, this time with genuine amusement. “I saw it earlier. One of us is still on top of her game.”

He stepped across the room, dragging her to her feet and towards the door. She held onto the ancient briefcase with her other hand. Noddy pressed his ear against the door. “Shit.” He reached for the chain and the sliding bolt next to it, slamming them both into position before looking around frantically. “Sounds like two of them, but I’m sure I saw three people outside. Not security guards. Mick’s people.”

She shrugged. “Mick doesn’t care. About anything.”

The door handle turned slowly. Noddy rushed across the room to the balcony, looking for a way down. There was a trellis attached to the wall on either side of the balcony, where ivy sprawled lazy in the afternoon sun, lush green and brown and red against the tired dark bricks.

“Except his coke. His business.”

Something slammed against the door from outside, crashing against the bolt and the chain. They held, but a screw bounced across the room.

Noddy waved his arm for Morag to join him. “Come on.” He climbed over the black wrought-iron railing, edging towards the trellis.

Morag took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She smiled.

“See you in Valhalla.”

Then she opened her eyes and with two quick steps she leapt onto and over the railing, past Noddy’s outstretched hand, arms wrapped tight around Mick’s battered leather briefcase.

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Read Dancing in Valhalla in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole book – 13 decadent twisted tales of mystery, music, magick & mayhem.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Including the new Burning Books sampler booklet (also available on Kindle Unlimited).

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♠ I don’t care about you ♠

“Is that why we’re here? Where’s the money?”

She leaned forward, sniffed, and again, before raising her head, eyes closed.

“No money. He must have taken it. But we’ve got a briefcase full of coke.”

“Shit. Janine won’t let us take a bag of drugs with us, all the way to the coast.”

He stepped closer. Whatever he was going to say next was lost when he saw a trickle of blood run from her nose. He watched it drop to the filthy brown carpet and melt away as if it had never been, except where it had brushed against the inside of her bare thigh on its way down.

He searched in his jacket pocket, found a serviette. “Here. Your nose is bleeding.”

She reached out blindly and took the serviette, opening her eyes slowly as he turned and walked back to the balcony. She dabbed at her nose. A couple of spots, nothing serious. Then she looked down. She licked her finger, used it to wipe the dried crusted blood off her thigh. She opened the serviette and saw the lipstick kiss on the other side.

Noddy stood with his back to her, scanning the street outside. “Look, we’ve been here too long. We need to leave.”

She laughed quietly. “Don’t be silly. We’re never getting out of here.” She smiled, folded the serviette carefully, tenderly, and slipped it into her pocket. “Did you ever love me? Even a little?”

He turned, eyes wide. “What?”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer that.”

He glanced back over the balcony. “Morag…”

“It’s better not to care, you know? About anything. Then they can’t hurt you.”

⛥⛥

Read Dancing in Valhalla in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole book – 13 decadent twisted tales of mystery, music, magick & mayhem.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Including the new Burning Books sampler booklet (also available on Kindle Unlimited).

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

Check out the free short story anthologies downloadable from Short Stories Now. One of mine found its way in there.

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Cheers.

♠ Cocaine blues ♠

Noddy sat on the edge of a green plastic chair, one of a pair that joined a tattered couch and a compact hi-fi as the only furniture in the room. Morag went back into the bedroom. Banging drawers and slamming cupboard doors kept her company.

“You thought he was still here.”

Bang. Slam. Thud.

“What’s that?” Morag came back into the lounge, a battered leather briefcase in her arms.

“Mick. You wanted to find him here, didn’t you?”

She sat down carefully and opened the briefcase. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I want to see him again?”

Noddy walked to the double doors leading to the balcony, turned the key already in the lock and opened them up. He needed some air.

This flat was on the opposite side from Dirk’s. Less of a view, despite being several floors higher. It looked out over dusty rooftops, two carparks, and the back of the Chelsea Underground, if you squinted in the right direction at the right time of day. Nothing but concrete and brick.

“I saw your psycho bird earlier. He wanted to teach me how to fly. Away from all of this. But I wouldn’t listen.”

Noddy turned back into the room. Morag was cutting white powder on a tiny mirror.

“I thought you’d quit?”

It was a long moment before she looked up at him, a sad smile on her face. Her voice came from a long way away, as if she was forcing herself back to the here and now to respond. Out of loyalty. Friendship. Perhaps something more.

“Let’s just say I’m having a bad day. Okay?”

⛥⛥

Read Dancing in Valhalla in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole book – 13 decadent twisted tales of mystery, music, magick & mayhem.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Including the new Burning Books sampler booklet (also available on Kindle Unlimited).

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

The 12th annual Smashwords Read an Ebook Week sale starts Sunday, March 7 and runs till Saturday, March 13. Go grab some cheap books, even FREE books, including some of mine. Smashwords

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Cheers.