Rain and Bullets

So Much To Answer For- Part 18

This entry was posted in Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 27, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

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

“Paid for with money he stole from me.”

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

“I nearly went to jail.”

“But you have a good lawyer?”

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

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

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

“Hostage is good. Useful.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Return the product to us.”

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

Tattoos raised his AK47. “You give back merchandise.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so.” said a little voice.

“You can let go of me now.”

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

“You can owe me.”

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

“What? What is it?”

“The one with the tattoos is still alive.”

Part 17
Part 1

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

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Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 17

This entry was posted in Drugs Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 24, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

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

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

“Probably the people who torched my studio.”

“I’ll call the Police.”

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

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

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

“I what?”

“You have our money.” Tattoos.

“One million Euros.” Big Bastard.

“Exactly.” Tattoos.

“Exactly?”

“You are holding for Hill.” Tattoos.

“He says you are tight.” Bastard.

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

“You have our money.” Bastard.

“The outhouse was a warning.” Tattoos.

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

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

“No. I’d bet whoever killed him has the money.”

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

“Of course I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

“How do we know that?”

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

Part 18
Part 16
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 16

This entry was posted in Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 23, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

“How do you feel?”

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

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

“Ah. Should I feel guilty?”

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

“Kevin?” Rachel didn’t answer, and, as she was working her way lower, Joe didn’t ask again.

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

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

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

“You don’t have to….”

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

“Well….”

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

Part 17
Part 15
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

So Much To Answer For- Part 15

This entry was posted in Canal Fiction Manchester naked So Much to Answer For on November 22, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

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

“Why would someone burn down your studio?”

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

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

“He wasn’t my friend.”

“Sorry. Your dead acquaintance.”

“Sorry. Just a bit touchy about it.”

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

“UMIST doesn’t exist any more.”

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

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Let’s go get you beer. The pubs should be open by now. I’ll even buy you lunch.”

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

“No more drunk than I’m trying to get myself.”

“That rat’s looking at me funny.” Rachel indicated a cartoon rodent embedded in the wall.

“I think that’s our cue to leave.”

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

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

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

“Does that line ever work?”

“We’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll have to get you out of those wet clothes.”

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

Part 16
Part 14
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 14

This entry was posted in Fiction God Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 21, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I saw ’em do it.”

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

“What did they do?”

“They threw something and it set on burning.”

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

“Guess.”

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

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

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

“Do you know how it started?”

“I saw them do it.” the kid piped up. “He isn’t a policeman.”

“But you should tell him.”

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

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

“Don’t you want to….?” Joe asked the fireman.

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

“The fire’s out. Do you want to check it out?”

“I guess.”

“You’re lucky it didn’t spread to your house.”

“Not my house, but yeah.”

Pete arrived whilst they were picking through the wreckage. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. Err, sorry.”

“Fuck.”

“At least it didn’t spread to your house.”

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

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

“It’ll be insured.”

“For arson?” the fireman asked.

“Fuck. I don’t know.”

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

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

“Oh you should see the other guy.”

“Really?”

“Not a mark on him. There’s not that much lost.”

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

“I am. I’m really sorry. I recognise you, but I can’t remember your name.”

“Pete.”

“This is your house isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“At least it isn’t damaged.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying. I was more worried about Joe’s work.”

“Now that’s a sign of a good friend.”

“This is Detective Constable Wood. It’s arson and she’s investigating.”

“Hello.”

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

“You two need beers.”

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

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

“Probably. He’s done more expensive damage himself.”

“Really?”

“Maybe. Where are we going?”

“You’re supposed to be my guide.”

“Where are you staying? Somewhere near Piccadilly? Leave your car there and we’ll find somewhere.”

“Okay.”

Part 15
Part 13
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 13

This entry was posted in Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 20, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

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

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

“…..your name?”

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

“What?”

“Sorry. Lyrics. I don’t know where the came from. Joe Wilkinson. My name’s Joe Wilkinson.”

“Okay.”

“Why am I on the ground?”

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

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

“Hallo sir. Can you remember what happened?”

“No. I was texting. Then. No, can’t remember.”

“Is this your phone?”

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

“So you’re not missing anything?”

Joe looked around. “My back pack. I’m sure I had it with me.”

“What was in your backpack?”

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

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

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

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

Part 14
Part 12
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

So Much To Answer For- Part 12

This entry was posted in blowjob Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 17, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

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

“What’s up.”

“I’ve got to get to Piccadilly by seven.”

“You can do that. Just about. Meeting Rachel?”

“Yes.”

“Well go then. I’ll just sit here and drink the beer by myself.”

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

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Not that much”

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

Rachel smiled. “I thought you didn’t recognise me.”

“I did. But I had to consult external memory before I got your brother’s name.”

“External memory?”

“My mate Pete. He’s always been better with names. What’s Hugh doing these days?”

“Working in Surrey.”

“Poor bastard.”

“Hey. I work in Surrey too.”

Joe shrugged. “Guess it could be worse. Could be Essex.”

“My step-dad’s from Essex.”

“I’ll just shut up, shall I?”

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

“Hugh’s graduation, I think.”

“Long time ago.”

“Yes. It’s changed. Didn’t this used to be some sort of sunken garden?”

Joe nodded. “Full of drunks and children bunking off school.”

“And there’s been a lot of regeneration since the bomb.”

“True.”

“Can you help me with something?”

“I can try.”

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

“Yeah. I can do that. When?”

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

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

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

“No. Afraid I didn’t.”

“Oh. Why not?”

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

“A dead body?” Joe nodded. “Who?”

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

“That must have been horrible.”

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

“That’s terrible. How…? I mean…. No, no. Forget I was going to ask anything. How are you feeling?”

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

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

“I didn’t throw you at trees.”

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

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

“You were never a goth!”

“What? Why not?”

“Well, you’re too…. blonde.”

“Hair dye, my dear, hair dye.”

They left the pub a few pints later. “You know where you’re going?”

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

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

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

But he couldn’t find the energy to worry about it too much, because there was a chance he was going to get laid.

The bus crawled its way through Rusholme, and Platt Fields came up on the right. For a while they’d called Rachel the Squirrel because of the way she’d go up trees finding foot and finger holds in the wrinkled bark. It was astonishing she’d never fallen out of one and and done herself an injury. A cold feeling came over him. He was having very bad thoughts about a kid.

Except she wasn’t a kid any more. She was well over the age of consent, able to make her own decisions and very attractive. He grinned. It was possible he was misinterpreting all of this and she was just flirting with him to help get her job done. But he preferred to think otherwise.

He got off in Withington and started winding his way home. He was only one turn away from his house when his phone beeped. A text from Pete, “Are you in yet?”

“Cheeky bastard.” Joe started to reply, turned the corner, and walked into something solid.

Recoiling from the blow, Joe began to fall backwards. Until something grabbed him and stood him up again. Only to punch him in the gut and again in the face.

At this point everything went black.

Part 13
Part 11
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 11

This entry was posted in Fiction Manchester sex So Much to Answer For on November 16, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

Joe hadn’t known what to expect. He was taken to the Manchester Royal Infirmary, where another, more senior, detective and a nurse greeted them. He didn’t recognise Detective Inspector Irwin either. But Irwin seemed to know him. “When did you last see Hill?” he opened with.

“This morning.” No point in lying when they others had seen him.

“Why?”

“He’s planning something. Wanted me involved. Look, we haven’t even established this body is him. I’m here to identify a body, not undergo interrogation.”

“They told me about you.”

Joe just looked up at the ceiling, didn’t say anything. The nurse was giving him an ‘I know your type’ look.

“This way.” Irwin led the group off.

The body was on a bed in the A&E. The curtain had been drawn to hide it from prying eyes. “An ambulance brought him in an hour ago. He was pronounced dead on arrival. One of the officers who came to investigate recognised him and called for you.”

Joe had been expecting more wires and tubes connected to the body. But if he had been dead already there wouldn’t have been any need.

Hill’s face was pale. There was a gouge across the left side of his throat, flaps of skin either side of a jagged cut.

They had been friends, once. But it had ended so badly that none of that mattered. Looking at the body, all Joe could feel was anger. That Hill would now never repay his debts, that he had embroiled Joe in another Police investigation and that they’d ever met in the first place. “That’s Hill. Can I go now?”

“We have questions.”

“I won’t have answers.”

“When did you last see him?”

“I told you. This morning. I threw him out of my house.”

“What was he planning?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“Don’t bullshit me. If you really do know all about me you’ll know I was his victim last time. He wasn’t caught because Wilson was too dumb to see that. You lot came within a few signatures of a major harassment case.” Irwin’s expression had changed briefly at the mention of Wilson. “How is the Chief Inspector?”

“He was transferred.” Irwin was simmering, knowing he couldn’t say the things he wanted to. Joe had more he wanted to say, but kept his counsel as well. “Sergeant, take mister Irwin home.”

Part 10
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Notes I’m dropping behind with my NaNoWriMo project, but I’ve reached a section with lots of sex scenes in it, so that might lead to me speeding up.

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

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 10

This entry was posted in Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 15, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

Inspiration didn’t get a chance to express itself. Pete was putting his bike back in its box behind the house and Joe was selecting brushes when the police arrived. Joe didn’t recognise the plain clothes officer, but he had the bearing of the ones who had tried to send him down the last time. The policeman reached into his jacket and produced a warrant card. “Mister Wilkinson. If you can come with me.”

“Why.”

The detective considered this, wondering if he could get away with giving out no information. “We need you to identify someone.”

“A line up?”

“No.”

“A body.”

The lack of an answer was answer enough. Pete had returned and caught the end of this exchange. “Hill?” he asked. The detective gave him another wordless glance that spoke volumes. “I didn’t catch your name and rank.”

“Detective Sergeant Warren.”

“Okay, Detective Sergeant. You want me to identify someone.”

“Yes.”

“A dead someone?”

Pause. “Yes.”

“Who you think is Tommy Hill?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

“Okay. Can I expect transport back here when I’m done.”

The detective looked conflicted. Joe had him off balance. “I guess.”

“Okay.”

Part 11
Part 9
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 9

This entry was posted in Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 14, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

“What are you doing here?”

“Toil.”

“That doesn’t look like toil to me, more like messing around.”

“Time off in lieu for some work last month. I thought I’d break the week in two.” Pete was giving his bike a pre-winter service, cleaning and oiling the chain, greasing various bits and fitting new brake blocks. This being Manchester the mudguards had never come off. “You’re looking fired up.”

“Horny and creative.” Joe admitted, unlocking the garage doors.

“You keep away from me.” Pete waved his bike pump defensively.

“I’m sure you’re very attractive, in your own way, but I’m not that way inclined. I talked to Rachel, we’re going to discuss deals later over a beer.”

“And then you’ll seal the deal, eh? Eh?”

Joe knew he’d gone red. “I doubt it. But you never know.”

“Very professional.”

Part 10
Part 8
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Notes I took a bite out of the NaNoWriMo deficit over the weekend, but not as large a one as I’d have liked. Oh well.

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

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 8

This entry was posted in Chorlton Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 10, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

“Hello.”

“Hello. Is that Rachel?”

“That’s me.”

“It’s Joe Wilkinson. We talked yesterday. About you buying some of my art?”

“Hey! How are you?”

“I’m good. I’m good.” Joe lied. He was too frustrated to work and had wandered for a few hours. Now he was in Chorlton Water Park, confusing the geese by throwing stones as if they were bread. “You said to call you today. To arrange a meeting.”

“Of course. Look, I’m booked up for the rest of the day. How about we meet this evening?”

“Okay. Where and when?”

“Seven o’clock in Kro on Piccadilly. I know how to find that.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you there then. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Now Joe was horny rather than frustrated. Just the right state of mind to paint. He stopped messing with the waterfowl and headed for the studio.

Part 9
Part 7
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Notes No update on Monday, because I’ll be far too busy all day. Normal service will resume on Tuesday.

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

So Much To Answer For- Part 7

This entry was posted in abortion Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 9, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

Joe had been in his house for three years. It was the longest he had stayed with anything. The other tenants had turned over a few times. Previous combinations had only functioned as a household, but the current grouping would consider each other friends.

The household still didn’t know much about Joe’s life before he had taken up residence. This was exactly how he would have it. However, that meant they didn’t know how Tommy Hill had stolen all his money and implicated him in gun running.

Hill was sitting on the sofa, drinking tea from a Scooby Doo mug.

“Get out of my house.” Joe didn’t sound as angry as he felt.

“Dude, that’s harsh. Your housemate let me in, she seems like a nice girl.”

“Yes, well, I’ll have words with her and she won’t be making the same mistake again.”

“All I need is for you to hold something for a while. There’s a cut in it for you.”

“I don’t want a cut of any deal of yours. Get out or I’ll call the Police.”

“Really? You didn’t yesterday. Not really.”

“Yet somehow they know you’re in town. How you’ve stayed ahead of them I don’t know.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re lucky. Get out.” Joe gestured out the door.

Hill stood, but didn’t move any further. “If you won’t do this for me will you at least, well, do something for me?”

“No.”

“I want to get in touch with Sarah. Set things right. I shouldn’t have taken off like that.”

“You can’t set right what you did.”

“I can apologise.”

“That’s not going to be enough.”

There was a silence. Hill considered the door, then went for another try. “I could….”

“She was pregnant. She had an abortion. Nothing you say or do will sort things out, so don’t even try.” It was more than he should have said, and he felt sick for letting it slip. But he was angry. Now he was angry at himself as well as Hill, and that just made things worse.

Hill, to his credit, recognised he wasn’t winning. Joe followed him to the door and watched as he walked away.

Part 8
Part 6
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 6

This entry was posted in Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 8, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

Joey Joey Joey Says
Tommy is back in town

Sarah B Says
Fuck.
When?

Joey Joey Joey Says
Since this morning at least

Sarah B Says
He doesn’t know where I live

Joey Joey Joey Says
He shouldn’t have known where I live, but he found me.

Sarah B Says
Fuck

Joey Joey Joey Says
Police know he’s here. Talked to Kay Wood

Sarah B Says
Fuck fuck fuck

Sarah B Says
She’s the one you fancied

Joey Joey Joey Says
It was the uniform. Honest

Sarah B Says
😛
Bollocks

Joey Joey Joey Says
She kept me out of prison. That can be quite a turn on for a boy.

Sarah B Says
Will they catch him?

Joey Joey Joey Says
Hope so. I’d like my money back.

Sarah B Says
Not gonna happen

Joey Joey Joey Says
I know. I can dream

Sarah B Says
It’s been six months. Maybe more.
Why haven’t you been ion touch?

Joey Joey Joey Says
Not a lot to say

Sarah B Says
Rubbish. I read your blog. You’ve got lots to say.

Joey Joey Joey Says
:#

Joey Joey Joey Says
How’s things?

Sarah B Says
Steve wants me to marry him.

Joey Joey Joey Says
Cool
Have I met Steve?

Sarah B Says
Probably

Joey Joey Joey Says
What’s he l;oike?

Sarah B Says
Nothing like Tommy. If thats what you mean. He’s good. Reliable. I can trust him

Joey Joey Joey Says
Does he know about what happened?

Sarah B Says
No

Sarah B Says
I’m not going to tell him.

Joey Joey Joey Says
Should you tell him?

Sarah B Says
I’m not going to tell him.,

Joey Joey Joey Says
Okay

Sarah B Says
I’ve got to go. Steve will be here soon.

Joey Joey Joey Says
Okay. Do you still work in the same place?

Sarah B Says
Yes

Joey Joey Joey Says
That’s where he’ll try to find you. If he comes.

Sarah B Says
I’ll keep a lookout
Bye

Joey Joey Joey Says
Bye
Be careful

This message could not be delivered as the user Sarah is offline.

Part 7
Part 5
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

NaNoWriMo progress stalled yesterday, as I kept finding other stuff to do :(. I’m going to try to catch up some today and do a load of writing over the weekend.

Notes Yes, this is an attempt to mimic an IM conversation. All typing errors etcetera are intended (well, they happened because I tried to type as fast as the characters and left any mistakes in).

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

Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 5

This entry was posted in Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 7, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

Joe was deep in dirty thoughts about blondes he might know, so he completely missed the unmarked car.

“Mister Wilkinson.”

He stopped, stared upwards for a moment, pleading for this day of reunions to end, then turned around. “Constable Wood.”

“Detective Constable now, actually.”

“Congratulations.” With practice he could have made the good wishes sound flatter.

“Your friend is back in Manchester.”

“My friend?”

“Tommy Hill. We’ve been hearing all sorts of rumours.”

“Oh, that friend. I really don’t want to know.”

“We’re contacting everyone who knew him. Call us if you see him.”

“He stole a lot of money from me. He’s not going to be getting in touch.” Why he lied he didn’t know. Some stupidly optimistic part of him thought he might get his money back if Hill stayed out of jail long enough. “Have you been waiting for me to turn up just to tell me that?”

“You update your website every day when you get back from your workshop. It’s consistently around six o’clock.”

“You read my blog?” Joe thought he spotted some red in the police officer’s cheeks.

“You’re a bit later than normal.”

“I may have a new client. Got a bit wrapped up in that.”

“Good for you. I’m glad you’re back on your feet after all the trouble Hill put you through. It would be a shame if he brought you down again.”

“No. I wouldn’t want that.”

“I’m serious Joe. You know how bad things were last time.” Some years earlier Kay Wood, then still a constable in uniform, had taken Joe’s side against detectives who would have Gitmo’d a confession out of him if they’d been allowed. Given his innocence she had probably saved their jobs, if not their careers, though it was unlikely they saw it that way. “Two of the guns he bought with your money have been used in shootings.”

“You always have to go and spoil things don’t you.

“He was here this morning, saying he could get my money back if I’d just hold something for him while a deal went down.”

“You didn’t believe him?”

“I didn’t believe him last time. That’s why he had to steal the money from me.”

“He didn’t say what he had planned?”

“No. But I’m sure that now you’re a detective you’ll catch him this time.”

“Was that sarcasm or an attempt at a chat up line.”

“I think it was a chat up line.”

They both looked at their shoes, up and down the street, slightly to one side of the other. “Do you want to get a drink some time?” Joe asked eventually, “I mean, if you’re not…..”

“I’m not seeing anyone, no. But no, I can’t go for a drink with you, not whilst you’re part of an investigation.”

“After?” Joe tried his best cheeky grin.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Oh well. Had to ask.”

“If he gets in touch, call me.” Wood produced a card from an inside pocket. “Get a gallery show. I’ll come and see it.”

Joe examined the card as she walked away.

This had been a very interesting day.

Part 6
Part 4
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 4

This entry was posted in Fiction God Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 6, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

“Do you know a Rachel Evans?”

“Can’t say as I…. Why?”

“Wants to buy my stuff for On The Wall.”

“Who?”

“Art shop. Mind if I google them?”

“Go ahead. Laptop’s in the living room.”

“Ooh, you got the wireless sorted.”

Pete entered the living room with a Bodum of green tea and two mugs. “You know you haven’t mentioned Tommy Hill yet. I was expecting full on ranting from you. How hot is this woman?”

“It’s not about the hotness. It’s that I’m sure I should recognise her.” Joe scrolled down search results and clicked one almost at random. “She’s very hot. And very little of it’s painted on.”

“You going to shop him?”

“Don’t know. Considering how the Police treated me last time I don’t think they deserve any help.”

“You might get your money back.”

“Doubt it. They’re a bunch of arseholes. Well, most of them are.”

“I noticed you asked for Woods.”

“It was the uniform. And the keeping me out of prison. Otherwise, just a bit too uptight for me.”

“And you have your art bimbo to fantasise about now.”

“Just because she’s blonde doesn’t mean she’s….”

“Hugh Evans.”

“What?”

“Hugh Evans. Didn’t you share a house with him back in the second year?”

“You know I’m crap with names.” Joe was deep in thought. “Yeah, I think I remember him. Whatever happened to him?”

“Haven’t a clue. Didn’t he have a kid sister?”

“Of course he did. Cute kid, bit of a tomboy. We used to take her climbing trees in Platt Fields and try to sneak her into the students’ union. She visited a lot, I think their parents were divorcing.”

“You think it could be her?”

“Could be. But she’d only be….” Joe stared at the ceiling as he did the mental arithmetic. “God, that was fifteen? Fourteen, fifteen years ago. She was twelve, thirteen. That makes her…. Yeah, that makes her about the age of this Rachel I met today.”

“But is it the same person?”

Joe shivered. “Gah! I hope not. I used to boost that kid up trees. It has to be wrong to have dirty thoughts about someone you used to treat as a kid.”

“Tell you what. You get me a picture of her and I’ll have the dirty thoughts for you.”

“Fuck off.”

Part 5
Part 3
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 3

This entry was posted in Fiction football Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 3, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

Pete had a garage that he didn’t use, so Joe had adopted it as a workshop. The rent was one piece of art a year, on the off chance. Some years earlier Pete had spent three months on Joe’s floor, paying only for food and beer. He liked to refer to the returned favour as the Tao of Property.

Joe’s physical paintings were much simpler than his digital ones. Away from the safety net of layers and the Step Backward command he found himself considering where every bit of colour should be laid down. He was using acrylics because he didn’t yet have the patience for oils.

The latest piece was a simple street scene, but the perspective lines twisted slightly, just enough to make the viewer uncomfortable. At street level the business names matched those from his neighbourhood, a little cheat to enhance saleability. He was tidying up the lettering on the newsagent when he realised he was being watched.

Both doors were open, for light and ventilation, and the afternoon sun was so low it lit up the back wall. Joe glanced up and spotted the shadow, but it was a moment before he made the connection.

She was tall, blonde, turned out all neat and business like. Not, historically, his type, but that didn’t stop her being gorgeous. “Joe Wilkinson?”

“That’s me.” He struggled to remember where the brush went, eventually finding the water jar and making busy cleaning it. The silence stretched out a little too long. “I… Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“No thanks. That’s okay.” She walked over, hands behind her back, checking out the work in progress and a few unfinished masterpieces. And Joe. The brush was as clean as it would get, but he dunked it in the water again and stropped the liquid off with an old T-shirt. “I’m Rachel Evans. I’m a buyer for On The Wall. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”

“Extraordinary art at ordinary prices? I’d heard you were opening a shop in Manchester.”

“It opens on King Street in a couple of months.”

“I don’t think footballers like ordinary prices. They feel ripped off if they don’t pay at least twice what something is worth.”

“We’ll mark things up for them. Including your work, if you’d like.”

“Well, I….” Joe tried to remember things he’d read about On The Wall. Whether they had a good reputation with clients, just how ordinary their prices were, that kind of thing. But the buyer was standing a little closer than required and still had her hands clasped, pulling her shoulders back and pushing her chest forward. He enjoyed the view a little too long, wondering how much of the shape was engineered, how much natural attributes. “Well. Yes. Of course I’d be interested.”

Rachel smiled, “That’s great. We don’t expect exclusivity, but we would like an original every month or so and first refusal on anything else. And a few prints for our online store. I saw your website.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. I saw one of your pieces in Norton’s deli. They’ve got WiFi.”

“Really? I don’t have the technology, so I don’t really pay attention.”

“They told me where to find you.”

“I’ll never buy hummus from anywhere else again.”

Rachel was swinging her shoulders back and forth, twisting her upper body. The coquettish gesture was completely at odds with the professional appearance. “That’s great. We have a deal.”

“Okay. So, er, what do we do now? I’d shake on it, but….” Joe held up a paint smeared hand.

The buyer produced a business card and pen, wrote a number on the back of the card. “Call me tomorrow, after two. We can arrange a meeting to sort out the paperwork.” Her hands went straight back to being clasped behind her back.

“That’s great.” Joe checked out the card and then the number and very carefully put it into his wallet.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” With a smile Rachel turned and walked away. When she crossed the threshold of the garage her hands relaxed from their clasped position and she started swinging them a little exaggeratedly. It was only when she got into her Smart car and drove off that Joe began to think she’d looked familiar.

Part 4
Part 2
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

Notes This is a first draft, open to expansion and editing, so please point out any spelling or continuity errors or bits that don’t make sense.

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

Technorati tag: Fiction, Crime, Manchester

So Much To Answer For- Part 2

This entry was posted in Fiction flickr Manchester photo So Much to Answer For on November 2, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

Tommy Hill walked back into Manchester on the back of a thunderstorm.

Joe had been stretching his tail- compositing another image for sale as prints and mousemats- but had stepped out to get some textures. After the downpour, with the clouds still overhead, everything was desaturated and grainy. He was snatching images of wet tarmac and brickwork with phonecam and digital camera, not knowing or caring when he’d use them.

Cropping an image of his reflection in a puddle, ready to Flickr it, Joe turned into his street. He looked up, stopped and stepped back around the corner. Even facing away the figure at his front door was obviously Hill. Something about the body language.

Joe looked around for a weapon. The justifiable desire to beat his former friend subsided rapidly, but the chill of anger remained. He glanced around the corner, got a profile view that confirmed his suspicions.

Rain began to fall again. There was a big black cloud heading their way. Joe headed off to get some lunch.

The cafe had been a butchers when Joe had last lived in the area. As his income had slowly risen he had become something of a regular. The girl who made the sandwiches, whose name he still hadn’t learnt, bantered with him as she customised his sandwich. By now he was certain it was all show, but he flirted back dutifully. He sat under one of his own pictures and watched the rain.

It wasn’t as heavy as the thunderstorm, but would soak Hill if there was any justice. There was no-one else in the house, so he couldn’t play the poor bedraggled long lost friend for anyone. When the clouds cleared and his sandwich was finished, Joe headed back.

Disappointingly, Hill wasn’t soaked through. But he was damp enough to be uncomfortable, and that was a good start. Joe got to within two houses before being spotted. “What are you doing here?” He had decided to keep Hill on the defensive.

“Dude. I am so glad to see you. I’ve got a way to get you your money back.”

Just for the briefest of moments Joe was optimistic that this might be true. Then he remembered all the other such promises, both before and after Hills flight from the law, and how little had come of them. “You’ve got it with you?”

“Well….. No, not on me. But I’m into something big. A guaranteed payout.”

“And what do you need from me?”

“It’s a sure thing. Because of what I owe you I wanted to give you the chance to be in on it.”

“So I’d need some front money, because the guy you’re dealing with, he trusts you but he’s not so sure about me. Is that it?”

“No, man. You’d just need to hold some collateral while the deal goes down. Be a guarantor, like.”

“Really. At least this time it’s not me you’re trying to steal money from. What are you planning, they come to get the shit from me and you’ve switched bags and done a bunk? Is that it?”

“No. No way dude. This is legit.”

“As legit as crime ever gets. The only reason I’m not in prison is because I didn’t trust you last time. And then you still managed to steal all my money. Now, walk away, because I have phone numbers for a couple of Police who’d love to have words with you.” Joe walked past Hill to the front door and turned his back on his former friend. It didn’t work. Hill stood there, confusion sliding into anger.

“Don’t you want your fucking money?”

“I don’t want any part of one of your schemes.” Joe fished his mobile out and worked his way through the contacts list. “The money you stole from me. You return it, you don’t try to scam me out of any more or make me a patsy. Hello. Is Constable Wood there? No, that’s okay, I can wait.”

Hill couldn’t hide the fear of being caught. After consideration he walked away.

“Constable Wood definitely isn’t here.” Pete announced. “What the hell was that about?”

“You’ll never guess who’s back in town.” Joe had watched Hill until he’d left the street. Now he closed the door and brought Pete up to speed.

Part 3
Part 1

NaNoWriMo Progress

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

So Much To Answer For- Part 1

This entry was posted in Fiction Manchester So Much to Answer For on November 1, 2006 by Ian Pattinson

“I need a beer.”

Pete reached back and hooked the fridge door open without looking around. “I thought you might.” What had been bare earlier tinkled now. “Or I have spirits.”

“Whisky makes me maudlin. Vodka makes me vomit. I can’t stand Southern Comfort. And brandy….” Joe selected a bottle of Snecklifter. “Actually, I’ve never drunk enough brandy to form an opinion.”

“Was it him?” Pete laid the knife down and looked around from the messily filleted chicken this time.

Joe was paying undue attention to the bottle cap. Happy it was clean he drew out his keys and levered it off with the bottle opener that nestled amongst them. “It was him.”

“Good riddance.”

Pete didn’t see the expression that flashed across Joe’s face, like someone had whacked him in the ribs. He took a drink of the beer. “He had his throat slashed. Not a way to go, even for a prick like him.”

The fillets went into bags for freezing. The carcass went into a pan for stock. Joe took his beer through to the living room.

Joe was two thirds of the way through the bottle when a thought struck him. “They must have his fingerprints on file. Maybe even DNA. They didn’t need me to ID him.”

“But they dragged you in anyway.” Pete bore more beer. “And they knew where to find you.”

“Some bastard on the force really hates me. Thanks.

“They probably checked my place than came hunting. How does it feel to be an accomplice?”

“Peachy.”

Notes

National Novel Writing Month starts today. This is not my NaNoWriMo entry, rather something I scribbled down whilst working on the helpdesk a few weeks ago. It’s being serialised in honour of the event. After this I’m going to put up some of Post & Publish, including new chapters written recently, and then whatever I get done this month. Hopefully I’ll have enough material for daily updates for the rest of the year and maybe beyond.

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

Fiction, Crime, Manchester

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