Stories and Paintings
“Just shove that stuff over,” said LaShawn, as I climbed into the mess of pool noodles and kickboards on the back seat of his car. Rory sat in the front. With a screech of tyres and a belch of smoke, we roared out of the train station car park. “So it all went to plan... Continue Reading →
A dockside office in Grimsby, 12th March 1999. Two men in tracksuits—one black and one red—stood waiting in the dim moonlight seeping through the window. “This is a bad idea,” said the man in the black tracksuit, in between biting his thumbnail. “We should have run as soon as it happened.” The man in the... Continue Reading →
Five men were killed, and a police officer was wounded during a raid at Immingham Docks last night. The violence erupted as Police Special Forces intercepted a large drug shipment entering on a local fishing vessel. Reports say the boat’s crew immediately opened fire, and police responded with lethal force. No crew members survived the... Continue Reading →
The train ride from the airport was pleasant to begin with; outside the window, white clouds drifted through blue skies, while frangipanis bloomed amid the trees whizzing by. Rory regaled me with humorous stories from his prison stay—the humour was black, of course. Very black. The inventiveness of some of the prisoner suicides disturbed me.... Continue Reading →
A small apartment in Grimsby, England, 1995. “I swear to God, I can get the money! I just need a few more days.” “You agreed to have the money last Friday.” “I know, I know. But I can get it.” “Terry already gave you another week to pay him back. And now you’re saying you... Continue Reading →
Inter-realm violence (IRV) is a form of physical attack using supernatural means. Essentially it involves an attacker delivering a weapon of spiritual origin through a portal to a selected victim. The technique, though difficult and rarely practiced, is highly accurate, and almost untraceable. Earth is a rare (perhaps the sole) point... Continue Reading →
After we passed through customs, Rory said he was peckish, so he and I stopped at a little airport coffee shop plastered with Italian flags and paintings of the Colosseum, called Caffè di Venezia. Rory ordered a ham and cheese croissant, Vegemite toast, bacon and eggs and an orange juice; I ordered a chocolate milkshake.... Continue Reading →
A dockside office in Grimsby, England, 1992. “So, you’re the fella Gavin’s been tellin’ me about. Done all that mischief up in Halifax, yeah? How old are you, kid?” “Old enough.” “Hmm.” “I’m looking for work.” “Well, I got plenty of work on. But I don’t give jobs to just anyone. I’m lookin’ for the... Continue Reading →
Gather round now and listen, my friends, I’ll tell you a epic story, Of a man who’d not flinch in the face of fear, Kept his hand steady despite the four beers, He’d drunk, and his name was Rory. A speck in the blue, on cold steel wings, Soaring five miles above sea, Carried two... Continue Reading →
After Rory’s prison escape, we drove to his uncle’s house, where we caught a few hours’ sleep. Uncle Des woke us at six, and we dined on toasted cheese sandwiches. (Rory ate six of them and kept raving about how good they were. They were okay; Rory had barely eaten in five weeks, so anything... Continue Reading →
