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TALES OF CRIME & VIOLENCE

Volume 2

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

pwauthor@mail.com

Dedication

To all who have read the previous volume and those who will read the third too.

Thank you.

Acknowledgments

I wish to show my appreciation and pay tribute by giving credit to all those innocuous, irrelevant and seemingly inconsequential moments and events in my life.

It turns out they were all tremendously important.

Again.

Authors note

Tales of Crime & Violence

This is volume number 2 in a collection of 3 books

The ideas and inspiration for these stories are as many and as varied as each of the individual tales.

They do not contain standard stories of theft, greed and wrongdoings, as one might expect.

Far from it.

Tales of Crimes & Violence looks deeper into the human psyche, the mind and spirits of those involved.

Although all the tales in these books are about committing crime, or being involved in acts of violence, the real story being told is one of the people involved; why and how they came to be in this position.

Are they willing participants, or victims themselves? The innocent caught in the crossfire, or is there more to their presence than meets the eye?

All the stories in Tales Crime & Violence have underlying factors, deeper meanings, twists and stings to savour and enjoy.

Acknowledgments i

1 The New Summer Garden

2 Like Rich Men Do

3 Kirsty

4 A Simple Job

5 A Family Man

6 Silly Cow

7 Taxi

8 The Barbecue

9 Unfocused Ghosts

10 You Can’t Trust Anybody

NEW SUMMER GARDEN

The New Summer Garden

You can walk away from a lot of things in your life, leave them behind you, forget about them, move on and hope they never come back and bite you on the arse.

But some things are impossible to walk away from. Usually, these are your own fuck-ups, the foolish, stupid mistakes you make, the bad decisions… and guess what? You generally make these when you are angry, down, or drunk.

My latest mistake was made when I was angry; angry at myself for being in a state of self-loathing, a morbid depression. So, I had a drink or two, or three, or four. I am not sure how many because I lost count early in the evening and it turned out to be a long, long night.

A very long night.

In fact, I never saw the night, because by the time it was over I was… well, I shall get to that a little later in the story.

By the morning it was too late. I had fucked-up big time. Now I had to do something which every fibre of my soul told me was wrong. I knew, whatever happened from now on, I was either going to end up in jail or dead.

Probably both.

I am not the brightest guy who ever walked this earth. I hated school. For some reason, I could not get my head around numbers, nothing seemed to make sense. I never learned my times tables. English lessons were bad too. Words do not seem to work for me.

As a kid, I could not understand why I was always in trouble, why people would not leave me alone, just let me be.

Oh, I know now. I was frustrated.

But as a youngster, I could not see that. I could not understand it was me who had the problem. So, I kicked out at everything around me, my parents, my teachers, the police. Everything and anybody which, or who had any form of authority.

They were my enemy.

The problem was, my frustration knew no bounds. I lost friends and I lost lovers because I was a fool. I think that is why, even now, I find it hard to make relationships and keep friends.

You see, I do not really like people. They come and go, they flit in and out of your life like moths in a house.

I never get too attached.

Is that a weakness?

I do not consider myself weak. I am strong and independent. Some people call it arrogance, I call it survival, self-survival.

The only thing I really have on my side is the fact I am a grafter. I work hard. I mean really hard; physically hard and I work long hours. It keeps me fit. I am a strong fellow.

But most of all it stops me thinking. While I am working my mind is focused, channelled to the task in hand.

I like that way. It stops me chewing over all the crap in my life.

Not being clever means the only type of work I can get are the shit jobs that pay shit money. Menial labouring jobs. My last job, which I had until a month ago, was as a gardener’s labourer.

My task was to wheelbarrow loads of soil into the grounds of a large house, a mansion owned by some millionaire.

That was when it all started to go wrong, again.

It was a late Thursday morning.

It was hot, scorching hot. I had been working since the sun first poked its head over the horizon. Matt was meant to have been working with me, but he called to say his child was ill. That left me to move two truckloads of topsoil from where it had been tipped, to the far end of the East gardens, where the new flowerbeds were to be sculptured into a designer garden, a new summer garden.

I was alone. The owners were away and the other gardeners, the skilled landscapers and ground workers, were not due to arrive until Monday. So, if necessary, I could work all weekend to ensure the soil was in place, ready for them to do whatever they had to do.

But right now I needed a rest, so I sat on the stone wall and took my shirt off, to let the fresh air cool my skin. Picking up my bottle I took a deep draught of the lukewarm water. It tasted of plastic, but it was wet and I knew I needed to keep hydrated. Tipping my head back I swilled the foul-tasting water around my mouth before swallowing it. With my head tipped back my face was directly in line with the sun, forcing me to close my eyes.

Swallowing the water, I dropped my head and opened my eyes. She was there, standing in front of me. I must have jumped with the shock of having someone seemingly just appear in front of me like that because she let out a little giggle and said sorry for surprising me.

“I thought I was alone, I mean that the house was empty and that no one was here?” I was rambling, partly out of shock, partly out of embarrassment.

“It is,” she said, “except for me and I had not planned on being here either.”

“Oh, I see.” But I did not see. I had no idea who she was. In fact, I had no idea who any of the owners might be. I was simply employed by my boss to wheel dirt from one place to another.

“I have been watching you working since this morning and this is the first time you have stopped.”

“Oh, have you, right,” I replied uncertain of what to say. She had been watching me, making sure I did my job. I felt a little niggled. I was a good worker. I did not need someone spying on me. My dislike for people was already rising to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” her voice was soft, “that sounded rather crass. I mean I have seen you working and am impressed by your tenacity.”

I had no idea what she had just said. Like I told you before, I am not good with words. But I understood she was being nice, saying she was not spying on me. I felt better, my anger melting away.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said politely, giving her a brief smile.

It takes a lot of control to be nice. when all you really want to say is ‘fuck off’, but I held it in, I needed this job. I needed the money it paid. So, all I said was “I had better get on, I have a lot to do.”

“No,” she almost shouted. “No, not yet, you need a break. It’s far too hot to work just now.”

Her voice was high pitched and feminine but carried an air of command. I do not think she was a woman you could win an argument with. “Come inside, get a cold drink and cool down,” she ordered. I followed her, like a scolded child, into the house.

I sat on a high stool at the breakfast bar, she poured two glasses of lemonade over ice cubes. When she turned from the counter and brought the glasses to the breakfast bar, I noticed for the first time the simple white summer slip she was wearing. It was thin cotton and I could clearly see the dark circles of her areola through the fabric. In fact, I could see so much of her through the fabric I also knew that she was not wearing any underwear, whatsoever.

The sun had been so bright, shining directly into my eyes I had not seen her figure while we were outside. But now my eyes were glued to her body. I tried to look nonchalant as if I had not noticed. I tried to look away. But I could not. I felt myself blushing and my jaw dropping.

I am sure she noticed, but she said nothing until she had placed the lemonade on the countertop.

“Give me your arm,” she said, reaching towards me and pulling my wrist. “You have a cut.”

I looked down at my arm. She was right, there was a small gouge just below my left elbow, on the inside of my arm. I had not noticed, but it had clearly been bleeding as my arm was stained.

In a few moments, she had wetted some kitchen paper and was cleaning the wound and the encrusted blood from my arm.

To do this she was holding my forearm with her left hand, gently dabbing away with her right. However, to reach the cut she needed to lean over the countertop, thus my upturned palm, which she had pinned down with her left hand, was now the resting place for her right breast. With her breast nestled into my palm, I could clearly feel her nipple pressing onto my fingers through the fabric, which was so thin as to be irrelevant.

As she worked away she said, “I am Rachelle by the way.”

“Hi, Rachel,” I replied, “I’m Sam. Pleased to meet you.” I surprised myself by my own politeness, it was very unlike me.

“Well, that will do for the moment, Sam,” she said sitting back onto her stool. My palm felt cold as her breast lifted away. Rachelle took a sip from her glass, her eyes looking at me over the rim.

She then stood, grabbed my wrist and said, “come with me.”

I asked her “why, where”.’

“You are hot, sweaty and you smell,” she smiled as she pulled me from the stool. She led me upstairs and along a corridor. Pushing a door open Rachelle guided me into a large bathroom.

“Time you took a shower,” she said.

The room was tiled, floor to ceiling, in travertine. I could see washbasins and a massive bathtub, but no shower. But before I could say a single word Rachelle handed me some shower gel and pressed a button on the wall. From tiny holes in the ceiling, a hundred jets of water started to shower down like a rainstorm.

“Get clean,” Rachelle demanded and left the room.

I stood there in wonderment. I had never seen anything like this before. The water fell from the ceiling and disappeared into small holes in the floor. There were no screens, no walls, no anything, except water raining down.

I undressed, leaving my trousers in a heap on top of my boots and walked

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 01.02.2018
ISBN: 978-3-7438-5394-2

Widmung:
To all who have not, will not and shall not. You are the backbone of civilised society

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