30 Nov 2006
For a while the world was silent.
“I’ve got the number for the Samaritans if you want, dear.”
One of the two old girls walking their pooches past me came forward with what looked like an orange laminated card with writing on it. I lay motionless and, perhaps reasonably, was still considering jumping off cliffs. My camera lay two feet in front of my eyes being sniffed at by an old and decrepit Yorkshire terrier whose hind legs were visibly shaking. Either age or that pooch is about to drown my Olympus in syphilitic dog wizz. Time to arise methunk.
“Thank you. You are very kind to consider my state of brain.”
She pushed the card into my protesting hand, perhaps convinced that the tufts of grass between my knuckles must surely signify a desperate man.
“But I can assure you madam,” as I bent for the camera and righted myself, somewhat unevenly, “It was just the wind.”
“O, I know all about that. Vera there has wind something chronic. Never a quiet moment.” Vera nodded her head at me in what I took to be a reassuring manner.
“No, you don’t understand. A gust of wind almost blew me over, that was all. No need for concern, I’m fine. Really. Here’s your card back.”
She slid it back into the depths of her handbag as she turned towards her friend and dogs. “I don’t know about over but I do know about up. Once Vera had a moment whilst I was feeding the fire…”
“Gosh, is that the time…”
“..no eyebrows for a month.”
“Thanks. Bye then.”
16 Nov 2006
Frederick B. Walters, B. for Buster, aka Freddy Rich, born August 21st 1967 in Oakland, stabbed and shot to death August 19th 1995 in Las Vegas, was a pimp. Born to religious parents, father worked in a bar, mother took in sewing and cleaning, Frederick first realised that he had game in the fourth grade when he had three white girls bringing him candy bars every lunchtime, as he stood by the swings. One day four eighth-graders took him to one side and showed him the outcome of taking advantage of the quarter-back’s younger sister’s generous nature, so Frederick started buying his own candy; and he started carrying a blade. He was a bright student, polite, helpful and was never caught doing anything wrong. 1982 and Frederick’s elder brother returned from service overseas, drove a sweet ride, wore the glitziest suits in the neighbourhood and always had at least three women on the go, calling the house day and night, asking Freddie where his elder brother was, what bitch was he doing, begging to know, cajoling Freddie with all kinds of offers if he would only tell. Frederick thought about candy bars. He lost his virginity to a woman called Rosie Thomas, a gap toothed college dropout who had been dropped by Freddie’s elder sibling. Rosie told Freddie that he was a real man, that he could take care of her. Freddie explained that he had no dough, he was still at school; Rosie told him it was cool, she’d get him money and she did. One night Freddie felt the green notes in his hand, smiled, called Rosie a ho bitch and demanded to know where the rest of his money was. She grabbed him around his knees and wept and cried out that she had no more, that Freddie had it all, and he kicked her away from him and Freddy Rich picked up the phone and called Darlene, a white girl at high school. Rosie picked herself up from the floor and grabbed for the phone but Freddy Rich cocked his left arm and sent her flying across the room and over the bed into the wall with a powerful jab. Mind yo’self he spoke quietly and then back to the phone and turning Darlene out.
1990, Freddy Rich was 23 and he had 17 girls working for his money, out on the streets of Oakland every night, come rain, come shine, you better come on time, bitch. He’d paid for twelve abortions, a small facial skin-graft to cover a nasty knife wound (which he’d made, a little high on PCP one night, a little carried away with his bottom ho, his number one girl) numerous medical bills, countless bail bonds, the odd bag of smack and two funeral wreaths; funerals to which he didn’t go. Freddy drove a Cadillac Coupe De Ville and a Lexus, both decked out with a leather interior of dark purple, to match his favourite custom Armani suits. He was knocking bitches off other pimps every week, keeping his own girls tight and watched over. That year he made a deal with Lieutenant Kowowitz out of the 13th Precinct and every Friday night, poker night for five-o, six of his best girls entertained Oakland’s finest. Freddy Rich’s street cred and infamy grew. He no longer needed to administer beat downs to aggressive tricks or wannabe players trying to stake his turf; no, now he just called 911 and asked to speak to Lieutenant K. He had black, white and yellow bitches; bitches who could swallow two feet of hosepipe, nasty bitches, sweet talking bitches, whips and chains bitches and one double-jointed bitch who could pull in over 10 gees a night when the going was good. And with Freddy Rich, the going was always good.
1995 and Freddy Rich was 27 years old, a mack at the height of the game. He still based his crew in Oakland but he’d run his girls all over the country, hitting big conventions in Las Vegas, the Japanese tourist season in Hawaii, the ski season in Canada. Freddy Rich was now filthy rich. He had met one of Darlene’s regular tricks who was an investment banker for Merrill Lynch and over the course of a couple of years Freddy had taken some of his advice and invested his money in stocks and shares, long term interest accounts, off-shore accounts in the Grenadines and the odd work of art. Freddy was thinking of retiring, leaving the game to the more hungry up and comers he always saw sniffing about or to those he would occasionally deem worthy of hearing a few words of wisdom of how to play the game and not let it play you. Freddy got drunk on Hennesey one night with Rosie, that same first bitch in his stable, and told her he was thinking of quitting the game. She purred and rubbed up against his naked chest and said then it will just be you and me baby. Sure Rosie, you and me. Rosie suggested that Freddy oughta enter for Pimp of the Year at the Players Ball in Vegas in August as how could they not award it to him and what a fine way that would be to leave the game. Freddy Rich grunted.
Freddy Rich won Pimp of the year and was awarded the large trophy in a private room of one of the larger casinos in Vegas, surrounded by his best looking bitches. Darlene was the first to step up and kiss his huge pinkie ring, shaped in gold and encrusted with diamonds, it showed a woman on her back with her legs splayed in the air. All the other macks and pimps cheered as they knew he was a righteous player of the game but they became silent as Freddy started to talk. Gentleman and bitches, from this moment forth I am out of the game. Look after my bitches, they all work real hard for my money and they could for you too, if you treat them right. I ain’t Freddy Rich no more. I am Frederick B. Walters and me and Darlene here are off to Long Island and a life of ease. I salute you! Freddie Walters and Darlene left to rapturous applause.
Freddie Buster Walters never made it to Long Island. Darlene did though, with all the correct account numbers and passwords for Freddie’s extensive wealth. Rosie had brought Freddy’s small derringer from Oakland, had been let into the hotel suite by Darlene and when Freddie was asleep the two lovers finished him off. They weren’t very accurate with the shots or the knife wounds and Freddie took about twenty minutes to die a gurgling death. It just goes to show; as soon as you leave the game you be a chump and a square and you will be played, just like Frederick Buster Walters.
Bent at the knees,
Contents pouring to the floor,
Balls enraged and glowing,
From the boot to the groin and fist to the jaw.
“Eh, see you Jimmy,
I’ll fucking have you, pal!
You’re one dead doss cunt”
(There’s no where safe for me now in this town.)
Inspecting the pavement
Hearing the furore from overhead,
Carefully checking they’re still both there,
Someone’s gonna die, someone’s gonna be deid.
“Oi Tommy, fucking leave him,
He’s fucking had enough.” Says his lass,
As my eyes focus and my fingers close,
Around something empty, hard and made of glass.
“Not yet. He needs a bit fucking more!”
As another boot comes in
And I know enough is enough as I move from the floor.
His foot finds air where my head should have been.
Rising I take his ankle and twist,
Enjoy the look on his face as things swing
From how it was to how it is,
And I move fast and he sees nothing.
“You killed him! He’s Dead!
She screams at her ex-boyfriend.
Better him than me.
So there we were....
on a dark and windy night ....
the shutters weren't staying shut..and there was a noise from below...
an eerie strange noise that was not of this planet
So I tugged gently on Lindo's arm and stood up and moved towards the trap door. Something was alive below..
our minds were racing..what could it be?..heart was pounding so hard that I thought it would beat through my chest.
One of us had to approach the door. I didn't want to, nor did she, but to spend the rest of the night awake, in some sort of sleep, but still knowing that IT was alive below our heads was untenable. Lindo grabbed the chainsaw...
the revving of the chainsaw now drowned out every noise in the house including the thumping of my heart...
...and I admit, I sat there as Lindo took the reverberating saw in her hands and nodded towards me. I carefully lifted the trap door and Lindo stepped inside...
the darkness was the blackest light I have ever had to encounter. Taking a few seconds to adjust my eyes I noticed something strange lurking in the depths of the cellar???
All I could do was watch as the intrepid Lindo strode onwards downstairs. What could she see? I saw her shiver twice as she made her way down the rickety stairway, all the time with the comforting noise of the saw by her side. If there was arse to kick, she would truly kick it...
jesus christ.. something had just scurried over my foot..fucking rats I knew we should have called in the pest control..
Amidst the humour, there were still noises aloud. I decide at this point that it was time to get out Uncle's M60. Lindo would not got down to the cellar alone. I stepped up, let her know I was coming and cocked the mammoth weapon in my hands...
I carefully edged my way down scanning the cellar from left to right and then I noticed something at the back of the room that I had never seen before. there at the back was the best wine collection that I had ever clapped eyes on. the noise seemed to be from the corks popping out of the bottles..oh my god what a waste, quickly I ran over to try and save the best vintage..
....too bad Lindo saw the light of fine wine. Just as she had grabbed the bottles that truly needed saving, her long lost great Aunt arose from below and took a great big chunk of flesh out of her arm. I knew immediately that Lindo had minutes, maybe an hour to live as herself. I grabbed the bottles from her arms and kicked her firmly in the stomach. It was too late for her but not for the wines. As I sped up the rickety stairs, the third step broke and I chinned myself proper good. There was blood and everything. As I fell I let a bottle drop, the finest wine ever made ever and it broke on the floor and some of it spilt into the air and into the mouth of the waiting vampire...
the bastard.. if he thinks he can kick me in the stomach and run with the wine he had another thing coming..good job I was medically trained, quickly wrapping a piece of material round my arm I picked up the chainsaw and sliced into Auntie finishing her off with one fell swoop, and now it was time to get the hell out of here..
As my leg was released from the hold of Auntie (all due to Lindo chopping her up proper style) I took the time to grasp the last bottle of wine firmly in my grasp. This was a den of the After Dead. I knew that Lindo had been bitten and therefore, pretty soon, I would have to perish her. But as I watched her chop her way through the masses of the Undead I also knew she was my greatest ally. For the moment...
I knew the next few hours was going to be my greatest battle, knowing that I had been bitten and knowing the consequences I ....
But wait! Suddenly it occurred to Bruce that the curse could be lifted if you killed the head of the family. Lindo could be saved! Would she save herself....
I had to get myself to a place of safety, locked away so that I couldn't harm anybody and to give Bruce time to get me some help, hopefully he would know what to do to reverse the change that would occur within me..
...and it's funny that Bruce was so busy watching Lindo chop seven shades of shit out'a the night hugging mongrels that, for a moment, the importance of the situation escaped him. Not for long though. It all became clear. The headmaster needed to die. Lindo's arm was sagging with the weight of the c'saw, so I grabbed her and thrust my way through the denizens of the dead, taking a few heads with me all due to excessive usage of the baseball bat. Suddenly, I saw a light, like that from the wound of Kerist, shining to me from across the corridor. I knew I must head there with Lindo for full on redemption...
I felt myself getting weak with the loss of blood from my savaged wound, but my mind was sharp and focused, we had to head towards the light and get the hell out of here. the mission now was to find the leader, the head of the vampires and drive a stack through its heart to release me from this curse which would be with me for eternity if we didn’t act fast.. the taste of blood was already in my mouth!!
As I saw the headmaster scamper up the stairs I could also feel Lindo's gaze upon my neck. It was a thin line to walk, being friendly with a vampire but a line that I would see through. I grabbed Lindo and she grabbed me and picked me up. Already her strength was doubling. Together we lurched towards the spiral staircase and upwards. I had a short but sharp wooden ruler from an ancient maths class and Lindo had her, now dormant, C'Saw. We lunged up the steps after the Vampyre Nostra DOminicus...
the head vampire was in our sight, he knew that we were on his trail and that battle was to commence..
The upper courtyard was barren of everything but stone. There was a stone floor, a stone battlement and not much else. At first sight Magnus (head vampyre) was a weedy man, a man such that Lindo might crush between her thighs, but no! He doubled in height as he rose up before us. I nudged Lindo, as if suggesting that if there was any a time for her near vampiric tendencies to be put to use, it would be now. Her eyes rolled, the blood in her eyes abated for a moment and she stood up of her own accord. She growled, I cocked the shotgun..she was about to fly...
the power was surging through my veins, a feeling, which was awesome, I knew I could take on this evil being. I suddenly rose from the ground with the most immense strength surging through my veins; this was the time to kick ass. I lunged towards the demon knocking him to the ground, only for him to jump to his feet and meet my challenge. our eyes locked.......
....and at this point, feeling a little left out, Bruce pulled the triggers. Now, it could never be said that the Lord of the Underground was a handsome fellow, but after digesting the rapid output of a two Mac 10's, there was not much head left. Bruce chose the moment to be a hero, little realising that Lindo, amidst the struggle of the Nearly Dead, had already pulled The Lord Vampyre's tongue out of his mouth and wrapped it around his legs. Bullets didn't hurt the situation much, as Lindo and the Lord lay in a heap on the floor. How would Lindo arise? As one who needed further culling? Or as one who needed a good agent in Hollywood?
lucky for Bruce amongst all the flying bullets, the moment I had pulled out the vampire's tongue I had reached for the sharpened ruler which Bruce had given me and plunged it deep into the lord’s heart..I slumped to the ground on top of the evil demon and felt all that immense strength slowly drain from me...
.....yeah, immense strength, blah-de-blah. All I saw was fucking bonfire night. There were explosions; green light emanating from Lindo's mouth, rising to the sky and exploding. It was clear that we had conquered some kind of fucked up Ancient Evil, with a chainsaw, good looks and the right attitude. Medals would not be awarded but they should be. Never be afraid of the dark. Embrace it and, if needs be, fuck it up!
The morale of this tale is never down four bottles of very pleasant red wine and then go and explore a derelict house with Bruce....
15 Nov 2006
RE: Claim No: 7SO00035
October 7th @ 10.00am
To Judge Willow,
I am writing to you at, admittedly, rather short notice concerning the above case that you are overseeing. Francine Hurley has been denied legal aid and therefore, due to fiscal limitations, is left no option but to represent herself on Friday. I have conversed with Sue at Barnstaple court and with a representative of the claimant's at Frank Paul’ Solicitors who have both advised me to contact you as soon as possible in writing and put forward the following case in the hope that you may allow myself to help Francine in court.
Francine is of advancing years, a point, which on itself would merit little consideration, but when combined with the drastic effect this whole ‘disagreement’ has had on her health, in my eyes has to be taken more seriously. Therefore I am hoping that this request of you to allow Francine some assistance in court on Friday, in representing her case, be heard with fair and kind consideration, if not solely for the toll this is taking on her health, then perhaps just to enable the smooth running of this fast-track case as Francine’s hearing is far from perfect.
I have no legal experience but have been asked by a mutual friend, who is concerned about Francine’s situation and ability to represent herself adequately due to her deteriorated health, if I might help. I understand that this is perhaps rather late in the day to be making such a request but I have only just been asked to help and this seems to me to be the best way to approach you concerning these, hopefully, extenuating circumstances.
Either way I shall be present at your courtroom on Friday at ten with the hope that you will allow Francine Hurley some assistance.
Thank you very much for your time.
Dear Judge Willow,
I thought it only right to send you another short missive to thank you for the help and consideration that you clearly showed to me on that most interesting (at least for me) of days, last Friday.
The level of nervous energy that was coursing through my system is best comparable to the first time I dove from a sixty-foot cliff. Trepidation and exhilaration combined with a suspicion that a visit to the lavatory might be wise. However, despite being somewhat of a stranger in a strange land, I did not feel completely lost and this was due to you being so accommodating of a layman.
I do not imagine I shall be sat before you again so I send my best wishes. I was contemplating sending flowers but, what with all the recent media coverage of two certain mildly errant judges, I was concerned that I might embroil you in a fresh bribery case.