Meet Maria - an Inkerman Writer

Grave Consequences

Emily Burgess found herself wandering around Larchhill cemetery like a lost soul. She couldn't remember how she had got there, or why she was in a cemetery. She had been walking around for so long she had watched the sun disappear behind the high boundary wall some time ago, now with daylight fading it was beginning to feel eerie.

Resting her hand against an ancient tombstone she tried to gather her thoughts. The stone was leaning precariously, threatening to flatten a potted chrysanthemum on the grave behind it. She looked around for somewhere to sit. Tall trees towered several feet above the wall, the branches groaned and leaves rustled in the cold wind. She wasn't easily frightened and was generally described by those who knew her as a somewhat feisty person, but this was no place for an elderly lady on her own. Looking to her right she saw a wooden bench sat under an archway half hidden by creeping ivy. She decided that would be a perfect place for her to shelter from the wind and made her way towards it.

As she approached she could see there was a faded inscription on the bench. She moved in close squinting in the poor light to read it. 'Donated to the cemetery by Thelma Pickles in memory of her husband Sidney.' What a lovely gesture she thought feeling a twinge of sadness, there was nobody in her life who cared enough to do such a kindness for her. She lowered herself onto the bench with a sigh. Feeling tired from all the walking she closed her eyes, she though if she sat quietly for a while the confusion might clear, then she might be able to find her way home.

After a few moments she opened her eyes afraid she might fall asleep. She was startled to see a man sitting beside her, she cried out and jumped up from the bench. The man sniggered.

'Oh it's alright Mrs no need to be frightened of me, here sit down.' He patted the bench where Emily had sat. She made no move.

'Alright please yourself.' The man said sourly. Emily eyed him up. He was what she would call a big brute of a man, a wrong un if ever she'd seen one. His broad shoulders and thick neck made his head look ridiculously small. Little piggy eyes stared out from a portly face, they seemed to stare right through her, and his bent nose was squashed against his left cheek. He was wearing Bermuda shorts and a black vest with a skeleton riding a motorbike transferred on it, hardly suitable for October. He stretched out his legs and folded his arms, they were covered with tattoos of skulls, eagles, wilting roses and tasteless verses.

'What's your name then love?' he asked. Emily stiffened on hearing him call her love, she wasn't one for endearments.

'It's Emily, Emily Burgess,' she answered, then as an afterthought firmly followed by, 'and it's Miss, not Mrs'.

'Oh alright Miss keep your hair on, there's no room for airs and graces round here. I'm Dennis, Dennis Pattison, Mr. if you want me full handle. I'm fairly new around here are you?' Emily frowned at him, what a stupid question to ask, as pointless as - do you come here often? She looked at his high black laced boots and wondered if he was one of those Goth people she'd heard about. Dusk had plummeted and darkness formed a clot around the cemetery, she shivered in the knowledge that she would never be able to find her way out now night had fallen. She decided she'd better be civil to him, if she used a lost little girl voice maybe he would help her.

'Dennis I wonder if you can help me,' she pleaded, 'I've tried but I can't find the gates to get out of here, I've lost my way somehow and I really need to get home to feed my cat. I don't want to be a nuisance but do you think you could point me in the direction of the gates?'

Dennis sucked his breath in between what few crooked teeth he had left. Holy cow he thought, this little old dear doesn't know she's dead. He knew that he'd kicked the proverbial bucket, he'd worked that out last night after spending an hour or two chatting to Sid Pickles on his bench. It was Sid who brought it all back to him. He'd been having a shave when the next thing he knew, he was looking down the barrel of a gun with nowhere to run. Oh yes, he knew he'd croaked alright. But how was he going to tell this frail little biddy?

'Yea I'll show you where the gates are,' he said cheerily, 'that's if we can find 'em in the dark, how about we wait until morning?' Emily was horrified at the thought of spending the night with him, and in a cemetery.

'No, no I must get home tonight.' She insisted.

'Alright come on lets get a move on.' He moved off muttering to himself, 'only gates you'll be seeing love are the pearly variety.'

They walked around the cemetery in silence for a while, Emily following behind Dennis despite not liking him she was grateful that at least she wasn't alone. Dennis half turned and asked over his shoulder.

'So you got lost eh, isn't it a bit late for you to be out on your own, there's some funny old sorts about you know.'

'I er lost track of the time.' Emily lied.

'Oh aye well that's easy done, funny old thing time, before you know where you are there's none left.'

'Hmm that's right.' Emily replied. She wasn't paying much attention to Dennis, but carefully observing the headstones, she was sure they kept passing the same one with the headless angel. She pointed this out to him, he was just about to tell her she was right and explain why she couldn't get out, when a figure loomed up out of nowhere in front of them.

'Barking dogs, you scared the shit out of me, what the hell…!' Dennis exclaimed. The figure shook its head.

'Tut, tut, tut, you surprise me Dennis, this really isn't a good time to be blaspheming and referring to hell.' Emily hid behind Dennis, alarmed and trembling.

'Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and can't say?' Dennis snarled angrily. The figure looked Dennis straight in the eye.

'I'm Azriel, a holy ghost.'

Dennis laughed nervously and Emily gave a muffled groan, then offered up a prayer, she feared she was in the company of the local weirdo's, or was it wino's she wasn't sure, perhaps there was one of each.

Azriel still looking Dennis in the eye took a step closer to him and leant towards his ear.

'I understand you know what you're doing here?' he said quietly. Dennis nodded. Azriel then peered around Dennis's bulk at Emily.

'Hello Miss Burgess, or can I call you Emily?' Emily gulped almost choking, she was stunned that this person knew her name, then realised the so called ghost had called Dennis by name too. She nodded an agreement.

'Come on out from behind there, I need to have a chat with you.' She slowly moved out from behind Dennis, pulled herself up to her full four foot ten inches, moved up close to Azriel and asked.

'How do you know my name?'

'I know everything, you should know that being a Christian.'

'How do we know you’re Azriel a holy ghost, are you a man or a woman?' Azriel raised his eyes toward the starlit sky.

'A man or a woman he retorted, what bible have you been reading dear? 'Emily was shocked at this response and took a step back. Azriel was used to being questioned like this, it was an occupational hazard nowadays there were so many different theories flying about. He could see it was going to be difficult to convince Emily she's dead.

'I'm a man Emily, and there's something I have to tell you that's going to come as quite a shock,' he began, 'there's never an easy way to say this so I'll cut to the chase. You see the reason you're here in this cemetery and can't get out is because you're dead.' A strangled snigger escaped Emily's lips.

'Dead? Whatever do you mean dead?' she spluttered. 'I've never heard such tosh,' now she knew she was in the company of wino's, 'I think you've had a few too many Alco pops young man, I'm alive and kicking look here,' she repeatedly nipped her hand then spun around to face Dennis her eyes searching his for confirmation. He slowly shook his head.

'Afraid it's true love you're as dead as I am.' Emily shook her head in disbelief, she didn't know what these two were up to but she didn't like it. Azriel went on to explain her misfortune.

'You might remember Emily you were on your way to St. Oswald's for evening choir practice, it being foggy you steered your Fiat panda the wrong way down a slip road and, well I'll spare you the rest of the details.' Dennis stifled a chuckle.

'Eh Emily only a woman would do that, what were you thinking of.' he smirked, Azriel scowled at him.

'We don't tolerate sexist remarks,' he told him. Emily was deep in thought. She did remember setting out to choir practice, and traced the journey in her mind. Suddenly a look of frightening realisation appeared on her ashen face.

'It was a cattle truck,' she uttered, 'the last thing I remember was seeing pigs flying towards me.' She brought her hands up to her eyes trying to shut out the image. Dennis was biting back the urge to make some remark about flying pigs and Pink Floyd.

'I am dead aren’t I?' she asked Azriel, he nodded gently resting his hand on her shoulder.

'So what happens now?' she asked timidly, Azriel smiled.

'Don't worry I'll take care of everything from here on in, my job is to welcome you both to your new home and settle you in.'

'New home, settle us in?' Dennis enquired.

'Yes, all will become clear tomorrow, its your funeral day.' Emily gasped.

'Your spirits will be free to roam anywhere between dusk and dawn when the funerals are over. Until then you can't leave the cemetery. I have to go to Woodend cemetery now, but I'll be back in the morning bright and early.' He gave a little wave then faded away into the night.

During the night Emily's curiosity got the better of her and she found the courage to ask Dennis how he'd died, she was absolutely mortified to learn he'd been shot by the local mafia. After this revelation Emily pretended to fall to sleep, she wanted nothing to do with riff raff like Dennis. He took himself off to look around the cemetery, hoping to bump into Sid or meet some of his new neighbours. He made a mental note to check out how much bling they had with them. He fancied he'd be alright for a bit of wealing and dealing in the spirit underworld, after all old habits die hard.

The dawn lit up the sky with the melting tones of a new day, they both sat at either end of Sidney's bench waiting for their funeral. Emily had spent the night coming to terms with the fact that she was dead, she couldn't change this so why worry about it, and life had been a lonely existence for most of her years. But she had worried about Merlin her little cat, wondering who would look after him now. The silence hung between them like an empty hammock. It became all too clear to Emily now why this waiting area is called purgatory. At eight-o-clock sharp Azriel floated in.

'Morning,' he said cheerily, 'Come on then, let's go and see how things are coming along and then I'll disappear and leave you in peace,' Dennis laughed heartily and nudged Emily.

'Do you get it, leave us in peace, you know R.I.P.' she ignored him, after all he couldn't harm her she was dead, she couldn't wait to be rid of him and his shallow banter and banal jokes. Azriel took them over to the East wall of the cemetery. A freshly dug grave lay sandwiched between a giant gnarled oak, and an elegant maple flaunting its orange and magenta leaves in the early mornings sun.

'Emily this is yours,' Azriel said sweeping his hand in the direction of the grave. Emily whilst disturbed at seeing her own grave was at least pleased it was in such a beautiful part of the cemetery. Azriel was walking up and down the cemetery wall looking puzzled.

'I can't see yours Dennis, it should be here just a bit further up from Emily's, sorry about this there must be a clerical error, I'll have to go and check the computer see what's going on.' He was gone only minutes before he returned. He looked sheepishly at them both.

'I was right there has been an error, but unfortunately it happened on the other side, and I'm afraid that means I can't put it right,' Dennis stared at him.

'Well that's rich that is,' Dennis said angrily, 'so does that mean I'm homeless?' he demanded, Azriel cleared his throat.

'It would seem Dennis that your body had to be disposed of in a hurry, and in what you might call an unconventional way. Basically your undertaker was paid a lot of money, or to be honest an immoral amount of money to put your body in somebody else's coffin, it appears that you had to disappear without trace.'

'Barking dogs so where does that leave me?' Dennis asked. Azriel looked across at Emily, bent his head slightly in her direction and raised his eyebrows. Her hands shot to her mouth in horror.

'Oh no, no…You can't mean!?' she cried. Azriel nodded, Dennis chuckled.

'Well the crafty old dogs, they're going to get away with murder.' He gave Emily a devilish grin then threw his head back and laughed loudly. Emily looked at Dennis and shuddered, she watched his massive shoulders and ample body shaking uncontrollably as he laughed. The very thought of eternity with him lying on…well she just wouldn't think about it, she would rather be dead.

'The Final Countdown'

Miss Ledbetter sort of knew as soon as her next appointment walked through the door, that she might be just a bit different to her usual clientele. She wasn't wrong…

'You were going to explain the reason you want to make your own arrangements Mrs Nesbitt?'

'Reason? aye I'll tell you the reason, it came about on the day of Nellie's funeral.' The funeral directors secretary nodded.

'I see, and Nellie is?'

'Was dear, was, she was my neighbour, forty seven years, always knew I could rely on Nellie. She was on her own like me you see.'

'A widow?' Miss Ledbetter asked.

'No, her old man, done a bunk years ago, ran off with the landlady from the local. There's three sons, but she never saw 'em, just like my lot. So you see they didn't really know little Nellie, their own mother, sad eh?' Mrs Nesbitt bent her head. The secretary made sympathetic noises and passed her a box of tissues.

'Sorry your upset Mrs Nesbitt you really don't need to explain…'

'Oh no, no dear I want to explain, you see it was the worst send off I've ever seen, a travesty, and I want to make sure that it doesn't happen to me.' Miss Ledbetter smiled and nodded for her to continue. 'You see Nellie was a free spirit, a sort of a mother earth person like me. They should never have put her in that stiff white nightie thing, it had a sort of ruffle thing round her neck stuck together with Velcro. I ask you how dignified is that? Nellie a dressmaker, the thousands of stitches sown in her lifetime, and they sent off to meet her maker in an outfit held together with Velcro. She would have turned in her grave if she'd already been buried. And you should have seen the make up, her face was the colour of a pumpkin and cheeks glowing like she'd just run a marathon, how undignified is that Nellie never wore make up. I couldn't decide if she looked more like Snow White or Dracula's bride.'

Lost for words Miss Ledbetter raised her eyebrows. Mrs Nesbitt drew breath then continued.

'And the casket thing they buried her in was a monster, absolutely enormous, she would have been rattling around inside. Her three lads had to lift the whole bay window out to get her into the front room for the wake. It was so big you could have got me and her left-side neighbour Daisy Goldsworthy in there with her. All that fuss and show, poor Nellie would have been mortified.'

Miss Ledbetter glanced at the clock on her desk.

'Don't mean to rush you Mrs Nesbitt but we need to finalise your arrangements, I have another appointment shortly.' Mrs Nesbitt responded with a question.

'Was it you who did Nellie's funeral, well you know I don't mean you dear, this parlour I was meaning?'

'I'm afraid I can't discuss the customers we undertake, that's highly confidential information.' Mrs Nesbitt chuckled.

'What customers you undertake, get it, undertake, eh you're sharper than you look you are.'

Miss Ledbetter bit her lip, she was feeling out of her depth in Mrs Nesbitt's company, and definitely at odds with her funeral request, it was time to call for help.

'I'll go and see if Mr Barwick's free then we can finalise your arrangements.'

In Mr Barwicks office she handed him the paperwork she'd completed with Mrs Nesbitt, and told him she would welcome his assistance. He read it, grinned and agreed to join them.

'Good morning Mrs Nesbitt, I'm Mr Barwick the branch manger. I've had a look at your funeral arrangements and I'd like to run through them with you before we sign to agree, Miss Ledbetter would you bring two cups of tea please.' Mrs Nesbitt gave him a wide smile and nodded her approval.

'So, shall we start with your choice of coffin, I see here that you're wanting an environmentally friendly one, and Miss Ledbetter tells me you've got a DIY kit, is that right?'

'Well I haven't had a kit as such, I've put a coffin together from used cat food cartons, cardboard boxes and the like, you see I believe in recycling, waste not want not that's how I was brought up.' She shook a finger at Mr Barwick.

'Oh yes quite right, I'm with you on that one, but I'm wondering if it will be strong enough Mrs Nes…'

'Of course it is I've tried it out, I'm only six stone wet through, and I've wrapped plenty of parcel tape around it.'

'I see well that seems okay. Now lets move onto what you want to be dressed in, Ummm a red dress, red hat and black leather boots, is that what you asked for?' Mr Barwick was doing his best to be professional, sitting opposite this determined seventy four year old, it wasn't easy.

'No she's got that wrong its red leather boots not black, I want to look, you know.' She gave him a wink. 'And don't forget the money, all me money and trinkets are going in there with me.

'Err…I'm wondering Mrs Nesbitt have you discussed these arrangements with your family?'

'I have not! None of their blumin business, it's my funeral not theirs.' Mr Barwick cleared his throat.

'Well… that's not strictly true Mrs Nesbitt, you see the funeral ritual's for those you leave behind, so they can pay their last respects to you.' Mrs Nesbitt threw her head back and laughed.

'Last respects, that'll be right, my lot have never had any respect for me, money, that's all they ever wanted from me. Well now's the time for me to have my own way, cos I'm taking it all with me, pay back time so to speak.' Mr Barwick shuffled in his seat, it was clear there would be no changing this customers mind.

'Now to your choice of hymns, err music, you're going to provide the CD's and player. On arrival at the church you want the heavy rock song - The Final Countdown, as you're carried out, When the Saints Go Marching In - Louis Armstrong, and when they lower you into the ground, you want Engelbert Humperdink singing - Please Release Me, is that correct Mrs Nesbitt?'

Mr Barwick was beginning to wonder if this was all a bad dream, he'd had some odd requests in his time, but nothing like these…

'Aye that's it lad, a good send off that don't you think? oh one more thing I don't want any slap on me face! So what happens now, will you need to measure me or anything?'

'Err…no that won't be necessary Mrs Nesbitt, but just one last thing, it might be a good idea to let your son know he's transporting you to and from the church in his hatchback.'

'Over my dead body,' Mrs Nesbitt spat, 'it's about time he did somat for me!'

Standing up to leave she gave Mr Barwick a little wave, clicked her teeth and said.

'I'll see you later dear.'

Come Take My Trust

You come bearing your loss

Imprisoned in your grief.

I'm here to listen.

I watch pain bend you, breaking…

But not broken.

Words unwind

Feelings flow

Released like wound springs.

You search for answers

That don't exist.

The seasons pass

As you wait suspended

*

You come wearing your sorrow

Like a glove

Protecting you from

the bitter journey

you must take.

I can't feel your pain

Nor taste the salt of your tears,

But come, take my trust

Together we can walk

This lonely path.

And when your journey ends

Remove the glove and you will see

There in your hand

Rests tomorrow.

Ghost Buskers

I hurry

head bent against lashing rain

the mouth of the subway

swallows me into it's

dim dank interior.

A young man sits shivering on the

cold concrete floor,

curled against his worn trainers

sheltering from the down-draught

lies a terrier.

Its eyes track my feet

nose twitching, watchful.

The young man lifts his head

from the folds of a

soiled grey blanket,

ribbons of breath

curl from his blue lips

I pass.

‘Any change Mrs?’ he asks.

I turn

my eyes meet his,

they are empty, soulless,

I feel his need.

His shaking hand holds out

a tattered baseball cap.

The sound of buskers

strumming guitars

and singing soulful songs

used to echo in this subway,

they've moved on

only their ghosts linger.

Now poverty and sadness

stirs the senses.

A coin slips from my fingers and

spins in the baseball cap.

I walk on.

‘Garden of Eden’ - When Ronnie decided to grass, was he motivated by greed, revenge - or both?

The Garden of Eden

The last remnants of torn flesh and strands of hair swirled out of sight down the drain centred in the stone floor. The wet walls glistened, lit by a single shaft of sunshine from a cracked skylight. Ronnie turned the pressure down on the hose, and directed it towards the bloodstained Wellingtons he was wearing. He sluiced every inch of them including the soles, a routine he never deviated from, he couldn’t afford to there was too much to lose. Satisfied he’d left no evidence, well at least not to the naked eye, he hung up the hose checking that it too had no incriminating stains.

In the far corner of the old warehouse there was a makeshift office where Ronnie changed his clothes, he peeled off the plastic overalls and pulled on his jeans and T shirt, dropping the overalls into a bin bag along with the wellingtons. As he turned to leave he was startled by a noise, he instinctively ducked down beside a filing cabinet. There it was again, he listened intently, looking up he saw it was a pigeon fluttering against the glass.

Uttering a loud groan he slammed his fist down hard on the desk, sending up a cloud of dust, part anger, part relief. He lit a cigarette and drew the smoke deep into his lungs, it was time to make the call.

He pressed speed dial on his mobile and waited.

‘Yea hello it’s me, warehouse is all cleaned up Boss,’ there was a grunt in the earpiece, then.

‘Good man, good man, yer money’s in the usual place see ya later.’ The line went dead.

A smirk spread across Ronnie’s lips.

‘Yea, you will, much later,’ he spat. He’d been more than happy to do favours for the Boss and take the associated risks, well who wouldn’t when the pay off was disgustingly immoral. But the Boss had taken his girl Ruby and…now that was a completely different ballgame. He’d loved Ruby, idolised her, now she was gone, snuffed out by that barbaric psycho, the Boss was going to pay. He dropped his mobile into his pocket, and bent to feel under the desk for the camcorder he’d taped there earlier. He had all the evidence he would need, he was going to make sure the Boss who thought he could have anything he wanted, ended up with nothing. It wouldn’t bring his Ruby back, but it would give him great satisfaction to see the Boss well and truly screwed.

He pulled the warehouse gates shut, rammed the bolts home and snapped the padlocks into place. At the side of the warehouse sat a small brick building, the roof had long been pilfered for its tiles and led flashing, leaving its interior open to the elements. Ronnie clambered over bricks and rubble to the left hand corner, reaching up into a gap in the wall he pulled down a tightly rolled bundle of twenty pound notes. Taking the padlock keys out of his pocket he laid them on the ledge in the gap. A fair exchange he thought kissing the wad of notes as he made his way to his car. The dashboard clock was flashing 7am he’d have time to grab a bacon butty at Sweaty Betty’s before going home to get ready for work. A great start to the day he thought as he accelerated across the deserted field.

The Garden of Eden looked like any other designer pub in the town, a heaving mass of overheated bodies, undulating and head-banging to ear splitting music, and sinking as much alcohol as they could in the ‘Happy Hour.’ But hidden away in the bowels of it’s cellar, dark yawning tunnels wove their way through and out of cavernous rooms, where just about anything could be bought. Ronnie was the Garden of Eden’s cellar-man and general dogsbody during the day, in the evening he took on a different guise. He was senior door supervisor, henchman, chucker out, bouncer, yes you name it, he’d been called it. But Ronnie saw himself in an all together more important role, he saw himself as a custodian, he was the one who ultimately decided who could or could not enter the pub, and who was allowed to pass through the side door that led into the cellar. Dressed in his spiv suit with its clip on dickey bow, his evil eye, sharp tongue and a southpaw that would floor Amir Khan, he not only looked the part, he could play the part if he had to. It hadn’t been fancy letters after his name, nor proof he had brains by way of certificates that had got him the job, no it was the fact that he was handy and the Boss trusted him, and this is what made it all the more bittersweet as he mulled over what he had in mind for him.

At midnight Ronnie’s mobile rang.

‘Never fails does he,’ the other doorman sneered, ‘he’s just like yer Cinderella twelve on the dot every night, I bet he’s a boring bastard to live with.’ Ronnie was listening to his Boss on the phone.

‘Leanne’s here son,’ Ronnie ground his teeth together, he hated it when he called him son, but hated even more the thought of his sister being made to degrade herself with him, ‘so I’m heading off now, make sure all’s sorted and locked up before you leave as usual.’ Ronnie didn’t answer, he was seething with anger.

‘Still sulking are we Ronnie, well I’ve told you buddy as soon as that low life sister of yours pays back the two thousand five hundred and ninety pounds, what she took from me, things will ease up, well just a little bit they will, she’s a real goer your sis.’ The Boss gave a lurid laugh. Ronnie’s eyes narrowed.

‘You said it was two thousand five hundred straight last week Boss.’

‘Have you never heard of interest son, ere this place aint a bleeding charity shop.’ The phone went dead. Ronnie cursed him, they would never be able to pay off the debt, things were getting too risky he was afraid for Leanne’s safety. He’d have to make a move tonight and put his plan into action.

Daylight was breaking as the last customers left by the side door. Ronnie paid the barman, checked no-one was still in the cellar and locked up. At the bar he helped himself to a good measure of Jack Daniels to keep him company whilst he counted the night’s takings. When he’d finished he made his way to the back wall of the office and moved two pine panels aside to reveal a safe. Bundles of money were stacked neatly at the back of the safe, the month’s takings. Ronnie took them out and dropped them into a large postpak bag along with the takings he’d just counted. Then placing a postcard in the empty safe he set the combination to lock it.

A phone was ringing as Detective Sergeant Westman entered the open plan office, it was his. A colleague sat across the room was reading a newspaper his feet up on the desk.

‘Your battery need changing does it?’ Westman said with an irritated tone, ‘policy for answering calls in three rings not reached your desk yet eh?’ he shook his head. His colleague looked up from the newspaper stretched his arm out and tapped his watch, indicating that it wasn’t quite eight-o-clock so he wasn’t officially on duty yet.

‘Pillock’ Westman said to himself as he answered the phone, he listened for a second or two then lowered his head into his free hand.

‘Well, well, well if it isn’t Ronnie the rumbler, long time no rumble eh Ron?’ Hearing Ronnie’s voice on the phone had brought a wry smile to Westman’s face.

‘Urgently, what’s so urgent?’ he asked looking at the mound of paperwork he’d planned to tackle Friday morning, ‘but why does it have to be now?’ he asked impatiently, thoughts of a hot cup of coffee and a morning in the office faded as he listened intently.

‘Okay, okay where? and this better be as good as you’re saying it is,’ he scribbled down where he was to meet Ronnie, signed himself out on the white board and left the office.

Ronnie watched as Westman approached him. He was sat on the end of a park bench, half hidden by a tall bush overlapping the seat. Westman sat down at the other end of the bench, neither of them acknowledged each other, it was Westman who spoke first.

‘So Rumbler, what you got, better be good mate I haven’t had my caffeine fix yet this morning?’

‘What I got is gonna get you some cred at the station that’s for sure,’ Ronnie sniffed, ‘but you got to promise me that I won’t be caught up in any of it, you know get done over or nothing, or I can’t tell you.’

‘What you talking about, you know I can’t promise nothing,’ Ronnie made to stand up, ‘hold on, look I’ll do what I can, but I’m not lone ranger you know, it’s not just up to me.’ Ronnie shot him a glance.

‘But you got a lot a clout, I’ve heard stuff.’ Westman knew he was taking a chance but he’d known Ronnie since he was a young lad, knew he’d only dabbled in petty crime, and then only under duress from his so called mates who used him. Ronnie was also taking a chance, but then his whole life had been one game of chance. He told Westman all he knew, and handed over to him the audio and video cassettes that held vital evidence. Then he told Westman the Boss arrives at the Garden of Eden between ten and ten thirty the last Friday in every month to bank the money in the safe.

‘Hold on, last Friday…but that’s today.’

‘So, you’ll have time to go back to your office get that caffeine fix you need, and have a quick shufty at the video before ten.’ Ronnie said sarcastically. He got up to leave and turned to look at Westman, their eyes met for a second and Ronnie gave a sly wink.

Westman got up from the bench, as he passed Ronnie he muttered.

‘You always were a cheeky bastard, now piss off.’

Westman and his team had got into position with just ten minutes to spare, it hadn’t taken much persuasion for the DI to give the nod after he’d watched the video. For the past five minutes they’d been watching a man with a flat shaved head, and equally flat feet plod in and out of the pub carrying crates of empty bottles, his arms the width of beer barrels. At ten minutes past ten the Boss’s car pulled up outside the club. Westman spoke into the radio.

‘We’re on, he’s in, I’m giving him a couple of minutes to get into his office, okay into positions….go, go!’ Westman and the DI headed for the man juggling with empty bottles. He flashed his ID at him and asked him to step inside, Westman followed him in and told the PC that had arrived to stay on the door.

‘Right, take me to your master,’ Westman said to the bottle man, he didn’t move, ‘your choice mate, to the Boss’s office or down the station.’ The man moved forward down the dim lit corridors. Westman radioed for a PC to escort the bottle man to the station, there was no protest. Hearing voices the Boss came out into the corridor, on seeing Westman he gave an uneasy smile.

‘Mornin Westy, what you doin’ here?’

‘Well funny thing is we had a tip off that you’ve been burgled, so we’re here to check it out.’

‘Burgled? Na there’s no sign of any break in here, but go on indulge yourself and have a look around if you must.’ Westman stroked his chin.

‘Checked everything have you, you’re fast you’ve just got in, checked your safe?’ the Boss frowned.

‘No, but there’s nothing out of place in the office, look,’ he stood aside and pointed into the room.

‘I’d check your safe while were here if I was you, save us coming back later.’ The Boss impatiently elbowed his way past Westman, tossed the pine strips from the wall onto the floor, stabbed at the combination and pulled the safe door open. He took a step back, then a step forward and peered into the safe.

‘Jesus Christ some bleeders only robbed me aint they!’ he reached into the safe and pulled out the postcard Ronnie had left. He glared at the words written across an idyllic island scattered with palm trees stretching into a turquoise sea. ‘Wish you were here with us?’ Ronnie had written, the Boss handed the postcard to Westman.

‘Mmm very nice,’ Westman said sarcastically.

‘Nice, nice, I’ll bleeding kill him, he’s robbed me I’ve been had.’

‘You certainly have,’ Westman nodded….’Edward Devine I’m arresting you on suspicion of….

‘Do what?’ the Boss barked protesting as handcuffs were snapped on his wrists.

***

On his way down from the hotel room to the lounge, Ronnie stopped at the reception desk to order a drink and pick up the three Sunday newspapers he’d asked for. His sister sat on the terrace beside the balcony overlooking the South Pacific Ocean. The waiter brought their drinks; Ronnie took a good swig then laid the newspapers out on the table, his mouth curved into a wide smile as he quickly scanned the front pages.

Edward Devine nightclub owner and entrepreneur

arrested…Blah…blah…blah…prostitution, illegal

gambling, extortion, drug trafficking and….

Ronnie threw his head back and laughed.

‘Yes, Yes,’ he cried through clenched teeth, punching the air. He grinned at his sister raised his glass and took a long drink, the ice cold lager felt like nectar as it slid down his throat.

‘He thought he had us by the short and curlies girl, but we got him, his cronies will never find us here.’ Leanne smiled sheepishly.

‘Thanks Ron, I’m really sorry to bring you all this trouble, I should have known better, but he tricked me, told me to go and buy a new wardrobe so I would look good on the dance floor, honestly I thought that’s all I had to do, and when I refused to be a call girl…‘ Leanne sobbed.

‘Hey come on it’s over, we’re both out of it now and can make a fresh start, we might have been brought up a bit rough girl, but we have morals, well sort of,’ he winked.

‘But it’s my fault he killed Ruby, he said he would if I didn’t do as I was told, but I didn’t think he really meant it thought it was just a threat to scare me. I’m so sorry Ron I’ll never be able to pay you back.’

Ronnie bowed his head.

‘No Leanne it’s not your fault, he would have thrown Ruby into his pit of bull terriers sooner or later, just because he could, and because he’s a blood thirsty bastard.’

He took out a photograph from his wallet.

‘We did it Ruby, we did it girl he’s going down for a long time, revenge surely is sweet.’ Ruby his little Yorkshire Terrier looked back at him out of the photograph, the loyalty she’d shown him in her short life still shone in her eyes.

‘You’re Kidding Me’ - Do our eyes deceive us, or are we deceived?

You’re Kiddin’ Me?

‘Such a striking shade of fuchsia,’ I say to the young girl stood next to me. We had both set our eyes on the kid gloves at the same time and were each laying claim to them. I was firmly holding onto a thumb, whilst she squeezed a ring finger.

‘You wha?’ she drawled. She’d heard what I’d said, couldn’t fail to we were stood so close together, the little madam. Well if she wants to play games…

‘I said, isn’t the shade of fuchsia pink exquisite, don’t you think?’ she glances around the store and ignores me, ‘it reminds me of the dress I was wearing when I lost my virginity, way back in 1941.’ She gives a loud sniff and throws her head back, shock tactics probably aren’t going to work on her. Just look at her, standing there in combat trousers with the skimpiest of bikini tops, fiddling with the ring pierced through her nose and snapping gum, and that purple hair. I can’t imagine what she wants with kid gloves.

‘Do you want the gloves for a special occasion dear?’

‘What’s it to you?’ Ah, so she’s arrogant as well as ignorant.

‘I just wondered, you see I need them to finish off my wedding outfit, it’s my darling granddaughters wedding, she’s marrying a ballet dancer.’

‘You’re kiddin’ me?’ she sneers, and throws me a scowl, a baby who can’t have their own way. The store assistant, a young man wearing a sickly smile and an overpowering aftershave, is trying but failing ever so miserably to be unobtrusive. He’s hovering around busying himself folding and tidying in the way shop assistants do, and giving us sideways glances. He sighs and looks at his watch. The ornate clock hanging from the ceiling tells me there are only minutes to closing time.

‘Lost my virginity to a military attaché’s son,’ I try again, still no response. She probably doesn’t know what an attaché is, the young are so uninformed nowadays, but it’s rather gratifying to try to shock them, fun too, they think they invented anything remotely related to sex. Well I’m not giving in, I’ve been waiting for these gloves to be reduced for weeks, and it’s the last pair. I might look old-ish, but I’m still feisty and can stick up for myself if I have to. She gives a tug on the gloves; I tug back and hold on tighter. Catching her eye I nod towards the clock.

‘Oh look it’s almost closing time,’ I smile at her and arch an eyebrow, ‘looks like one of us will have to give in.’

‘Well it’s not me, I really want these gloves,’ she whines giving them another tug, harder this time, I hang on tight; this little upstart will get these over my dead body. The tone of her voice changes from sulky to pleading, and she pouts.

‘You see I have a leather jacket that’s the same colour, and a lipstick, look let me show you.’ She starts scrabbling around in a green canvas bag with her free hand, then tips it up, an array of items spill out onto the counter, including amongst them a pack of condoms. The assistant throws his hands in the air and protests.

‘Ladies please, it’s almost closing time I’ve just tidied and…‘ I seize the opportunity, grab the pack of condoms, and holding them up above my head I wave them around to grab the assistant’s attention.

‘Oh look at these, all the shades of the rainbow, so colourful, and what does this say,’ I bring the box to eye level and squinting I pretend to read, ‘oh…and they’re flavoured… well can you believe it, they didn’t have these when I…‘ The assistants hand moves quickly to his mouth as he stifles a laugh. The girl looks fraught, her eyes flit between me and the assistant, then letting go of the gloves she quickly gathers her belongings into the bag and is gone.

Giving a sigh of relief and a wry smile to the assistant, I slide the condoms across the counter towards him. He slips them into his jacket pocket, gives me a wink, then bending ever so slightly but reverently towards me, he asks.

‘Would you like the gloves gift wrapped madam?’

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nikki pressed her nose on McDonald’s window and scanned the tables for her friend Shaz; she wasn’t hard to find her poppy red hair peeping over the top of a Vibe magazine. Nikki made her way to the table, breathless she leant over the empty chair. Shaz looked up.

‘Got ‘em?’ she asked, Nikki sat down and patted her hand on her chest, indicating she needed to get her breath back. Shaz tutted opened the magazine and turned her back to Nikki.

‘No, phew…. I didn’t get ‘em, and don’t go off on one’. Shaz kicked the chair leg.

‘It wasn’t my fault, I’m gonna get a coke then I’ll tell you what happened.’ Shaz mimicked her.

‘It wasn’t my fault.’ in a high whining tone, then grunted.

Minutes later Nikki returned with a carton of coke and a bag of chips.

‘Here stop sulking and have a chip, she pushed the bag across the table. Okay, this is how it went. I walk up to the counter, it’s five minutes to closing time, perfect timing, I know that the guy on that section can’t wait to get out the place on Friday’s.’ She stops takes a swig of coke and picks at a couple of chips.

‘So, I just gets hold of the gloves to slip ‘em in me bag, and this posh old biddy slides up, and gets hold of ‘em the exact same time as me. So I gives ‘em a tug, but the daft old bat hangs on to ‘em don’t she, staring me out, bleeding face just like an owl she had.’ Shaz rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

‘An old woman, couldn’t you grab them off her?’

‘Oh yea what then? Shove ‘em in me bag while she’s screaming thief, I don’t think so. Anyway then she starts telling me about when she lost her virginity and stuff, I tell you Shaz she was barkin’, as if I’m interested in who popped her cherry.’ They both laugh at this.

‘Anyway the assistant guy’s at the till counting the money, and he’s getting all fidgety like, starts looking at his watch and shaking his head, you know. So I gives ‘em another tug harder this time, but the daft old bat still hangs on to ‘em, then she has the bleeding cheek to ask me why I wants ‘em!’

‘But, hang on a minute Nikki, you didn’t have the money to pay for them anyway, so what was the point of hanging on to them?’ Nikki looks surprised at this.

‘What was the bleeding point? What do you think, do you think I was gonna let a silly old git like her get one over on me, huh?’

‘But err...suppose she’d give up and let you have the gloves?’

‘Well I’d have gone all guilty like wouldn’t I, you know apologised and stuff, insisted she have ‘em, then give her a kick on the shins as I ran out.’ She laughs.

‘It’s not funny Nikki we could have got a few quid in the Queens for them and…‘

‘Shush listen, so I thought right, I know what I’ll do, I’ll tip me bag out on the counter pretending to look for a lipstick, you know kid on it’s the same colour as the gloves, then when I put the stuff back, I’ll sneak another pair of gloves in.’ A slow smile spread across Shaz’s lips.

‘Mmm, smart, but not smart enough eh?’

‘But, I forgot didn’t I…I’d hidden a wrap inside a box of condoms, and they fell out right in front of her.’ Shaz’s eyes widened.

‘Jeese I nearly shit meself. Quick as a bleeding dog out the trap she spots it and grabs it don’t she, starts waving it about and shouting to the guy about the lovely colours and flavours, and how they didn’t have ‘em like that in her day. Well I didn’t know what to do Shaz, unusual for me I know, but I couldn’t think straight. Then I sees the security guy out the corner of me eye, heading straight for us he was, time for a sharp exit I thought, so I just shoved everything back in me bag and legged it.’

‘So what about the wrap, did you get it off her?’

‘Err…‘

‘Oh no, you’re kiddin me?’ Shaz stood up, ‘so we’re worse off, no money and no smoke, you know what I’ll do it myself next time… you’re a waste of bleedin’ space!’

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The bouncer, or senior door supervisor as he preferred to be called, nodded approval to those he deemed old enough, dressed enough, or sober enough to enter the Red Light, a popular designer pub in the North East town of Scarbridge. Deccer was the archetype bouncer, six foot two, handsome, and sporting the required six pack and a menacing look he’d perfected for the yobs. The girls loved him, and he knew it. His associate bouncer Gordon wasn’t as blessed with good looks, nor indeed with his physique. His appearance was more suited to his day job, a shop assistant in the House of Fraser department store, the poor-mans Harrods. Deccer fiddled with his earpiece tuning into the details of a brawl at the Frog and Ferret on the other side of town, he shook his and turned the volume down.

‘As I was saying Gordon, I’ve never had a wink of sleep, what a goer, wrecked me she has.’ Gordon nodded. It was always the same boring tale, how he’d taken some bird home seduced her, and how he was the best thing that ever happened to her.

‘As it happens Dec I struck lucky with a bird myself today.’ Deccer spun round to face Gordon.

‘You, you got lucky how come? A bird just happened to flit into the store and you scored did ya?’ Deccer laughed at his own sarcasm.

‘Well yea as it happens that’s exactly what happened, and she brought her own condoms.’ Deccer threw his head back and started spluttering, reckoning to choke on laughter at Gordon’s revelation.

‘You trying to tell me you got that lucky, hah!’

‘Yea I did, she came sauntering into the store, I’ve seen her there before, sex on legs mate I’m not kiddin’, pure sex on legs! Then this old granny comes in, gets hold of the same pair of gloves as her. Started staring each other out, neither of ‘em would let go, you should have seen ‘em mate, hanging on like it was a bleeding life raft just for a pair of gloves. But then who knows what goes on in women’s heads eh?’

‘Come on then, cut to the chase, did you shag her?’

‘Then the old biddy started going on about losing her virginity. Bloody hell I thought, then the bird tips her bag out on the counter looking for her lipstick.’

‘So did you or didn’t you?’ Deccer asks impatiently.

‘Hold up while I tell you, a pack of condoms only fell out of her bag and onto the gloves didn’t they, well the old woman was mortified, let go of the gloves gave the bird a filthy look and left. The bird then picks the condoms up, shoves them under my nose and says. “Your place or mine?” I was gob smacked, but decided on hers; I haven’t changed the sheets for weeks.’

‘You’re kiddin’ me?’ Deccer shook his head and frowned, ‘just like that?’

‘Yea mate, just like that. So you see working in a store does have its perks, so next time you’re taking the piss remember that.’ Deccer slapped Gordon on the back, nodded and said.

‘Respect Gordon, respect man.’