Monday, March 31, 2014

Free Flamingos

For a period of five days Amazon kindle are giving away James Newman's White Flamingo for free. So if you like serial killers, drug addicts, prostitutes, and flights of pure noir fantasy set in a vice-riddled city buckle up and enjoy the ride HERE

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

From The Black Rose.

DANNY LOOKED at himself in the mirror. Naked. A full length mirror. She was right, Jane was right, bitch, that bitch was right, it was nothing more than a small black acorn. He took another line, drank another glass of putrid red wine and snorted a long line of cocaine from the coffee table. Another one. The bitch was right. That was why he did it. The other incident, in the bookies, it wasn't him. The devil, maybe.

His room was filled with old pizza cartons, empty beer cans and ashtrays overfilling with joints.

He looked at it..

The thing that his uncle had told him was so beautiful. The thing that had made the betting shop girl stop laughing. The thing that Jane had laughed about. That ugly monstrously tiny thing that had led him from one disaster to another. Led him to rape.
A knock at the door. Another knock. And the door came crashing forward. Danny said. “Edward, you could have fucking waited a bit longer. I’m just getting dressed.”
“So, I see, sunshine, so I see. But this is important,” Ed walked over to the coffee table and drank a big slug from the neck of the bottle of wine. “Ah, that tastes like shit Danny, you been shopping at that discount corner shop again. You know how I feel about that bloody place and the Pakis that run it.”
Danny made a move to the bathroom as a heavy weight smashed against the back of his neck. The neck of the bottle was still in Ed’s hand. The glass smashed into a thousand pieces. He didn’t know if the stain on the carpet was blood or the rut-gut claret from the corner-shop.
“A wee word in your ear son. Won’t take a minute.”
Ed grabbed him from behind held Danny’s hands back and looked at his full frontal reflection in the mirror. “Jesus Christ Dannny boy, what the feck do you do with that.”
“I mean, I thought you brothers were supposed to be hung. In more ways than one. But look at it…”
“Please Ed…”
“No fecking wonder your parents abandoned you, son. How you supposed to carry on the family line with a pecker the size of a fecking walnut?”
Ed opened the secateurs and positioned them over Danny’s cock.
“Now I have two simple questions. Answer correctly and you will still be able to piss with that thing. Answer incorrectly and say goodbye to your little friend. And I mean little...”
“First thing you should know before we start this little interrogation is that I have no time for rapists.”
“That little stunt in the bookies was well out of order. Now some people say that all rapists should be castrated. But with you Danny, it hardy seems worth it, does it now, son.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Well, it’s all in the past Danny. Any you know what What? I’m a forgiving man. Shame her old man isn't. I’ll pick a few hundred from a whip round on the housing estate if I take your cock back as a trophy. Can you hear me there, big boy?”
“What do you want.”
“I want to know is what happened to your two friends?”
“Wha…Oh no…” He felt the metal brush against him. “Please don’t do this.”
“Where are they, Danny?”
“I don’t know!” he cried.
“Wrong answer. But I’m a gentleman so I’ll give you one more chance. Where are they. Jimmy and Rose. Those two little love birds are trying it on with the big man. A little kidnap and ransom deal. Taking the big man's daughter aint half taking liberties, sunshine.”

“I know nothing about it Ed. I fucking promise. I saw them at the club, two nights ago, then he went with her, I went with her friend.”
“Jane, she lives near Tubbingdon Road.”
“A little vague.”
“Orpington, she lives near that crescent.”
“Telephone number,”
“She didn't give it to me.”
“I’m not surprised,” Ed Case smiled over Danny’s shoulder, his awful grimace in the mirror looked down at Danny’s member trapped between the teeth of the rose-clippers. “It’s hardly worth chopping off,” he chuckled.
“Thank you Ed. I’ll do anything, honest. But Jimmy, we know he’s homeless, he switched off his phone the last couple of days.”
“You've been most helpful, Danny, but as I say. I can’t stand fecking rapists.”
The serrated blades of the secateurs made a clicking sound as Eds fist squeezed the handles tight. Danny screamed. Blood gushed out from the rose-cutters and Danny’s small black penis fell to the carpet, quivering for a moment with nerve reflex.
“Be seeing you,” Ed said as he walked towards the broken door. “Take care.” Then as an afterthought Ed Case turned on his heels and reached for his top pocket.
Super glue.
Fuckin A.
Danny picked it up. He held it in his hand. Blood gushed across the mirror.
Ed Case walked towards him and took the penis from Danny’s hand. Opened the tube of glue and squeezed a line around the perimeter of the stem. It was messy. But it was done.
Danny looked at him.
Ed Case took Danny’s penis and glued it to Danny’s forehead. He stood back and admired his work. The penis hung limply from his head.
“Feckin dickhead,” Ed said more to himself than his host. Ed Case spun on his heels again and made it through the broken doors with a smile on his boat the size of the Dartmouth tunnel
Stunned by the humility of his condition he stumbled down the stairwell with his penis stuck to his forehead and stepped out into the middle of the road. He didn't have to wait long. A passing ambulance hit him head on and he flew backwards twenty yards the quivering member still on his noodle..
He came to in the back of the ambulance. Two paramedics were looking down at him. He tried to speak but his mouth was too dry and he felt faint, as if he were rising up out of his body.
He heard the paramedics speaking.
“Good Lord.”
“It’s Okay, the other day we have a man stitch himself together with superglue and today we have a man chop of his own dick and stick it to his own forehead. You ever felt like you’re in the wrong profession, John?”
“If we don’t do it. Who will?” His colleague replied philosophically.
“Did I tell you about that time I worked in a crematorium?” John asked his partner.
“That was a gas. We worked the night shift. The bodies used to pop up with rigor mortises, we used to dress them up, the bodies, in their funereal clothes and sit them around this big old table and set up cards and bottles of whiskey, like it was some kind of zombie dinner party.”
“No shit. Why did you do that?”
“We took pictures and sold them to this sicko who hung around the place. He would pay fifty quid for a good shot. He liked them young, you know, traffic accidents, shit like that.”
“Some people are crazy,” John’s partner said.
“Aint that the truth,” said John.
Danny blacked out again not knowing if he imagined the conversation or if that was what happened when you died in the hands of Ed Case.