Literature

Broadland Street
The Key
The Perfect Christmas
In One Brief Moment
Platform 15
Mrs Sanderson
The Release

'Broadland Street'

Broadland Street was one of those shadowy, suburban crevices of modern life that always attracted the degenerate, the menacing half-bred youth or the ever needy and greedy. If you've ever dredged through one of these unwelcoming, back-littered straights, the ones that bisect the dimly lit terraces or high-rise blocks, then you will be all too aware of the openings they may offer up to a struggling two-bit criminal; from begging, mugging, beating and rape to possibly even murder. It's always been here and they've always thrived here; the dirty rats and their dog's, partners to their masters crimes. It was here in a back-alley of Broadland that I first killed a man. Well, I didn't just kill him; I gorged out his throat with my teeth (I always keep my front canines sharp and filed to a point) and then slowly pricked out one of his eyes with 'so cool'. So cool was my pet name for the greyish little flick-knife I had picked up at school in the last grade. The guys name was Jackson, John I think, but everyone called him Blackjack. He died in agony, pleading for his life. It wasn't quick and it sure wasn't easy or pleasant to watch, but I never did take a life from anyone who deserved it; at least that's what I used to tell myself. I was paid well and slowly revered throughout the small town; that was how it first started.

For ten years I worked these streets, dodging, weaving, avoiding the cops and the vengeful. The gangs were the worst, it was hard to work alone with so many other eyes watching and waiting. Every move was marked out, positions swapped day-to-day, rules altered nightly and lives changed forever, like a badly played chess game with scum for the pieces; everyone wanting the upper hand, no-one willing to budge. It was because of this fact and others that I found myself once again down a badly smelling walkway in familiar surroundings watching a thinly framed girl standing on a corner. I had just finished a job, a very bad job and was desperately in need of some good-looking company. She stood there shivering and at one point I thought she would fall to the ground. When she lit up the cigarette her hands shook and the small lighter flame juddered back and forth before it set the white tip ablaze. I couldn't make out any of her other features from where I was placed but I began to believe that I should do, so I walked over, checking my wallet as I went.
"You want business mister?" she uttered.
"Sure." It had been a while and I had plenty of cash.
"You alright though?" I thought it best to ask seeing as her eyes were half glazed with that I've just shot up look. "Sure mister."
"Call me Jonah. You new around here?"
"Second night. Pollards got me working Broadland for a few nights, says its safer, what with all the... Well you know, it's a lot safer anyhow."
"Its never safe around here, never has been and I doubt it ever will be, but you'll be alright with me. No-one will touch you tonight!"
She was beautiful, especially in the half-moon glow, with bright rosy cheeks and a smile that would crack the hardest of hearts. I was feeling better already. "What do they call you?" I asked.
"Chelsea, everybody calls me Chelsea".
"Well then Chelsea it is, come on I'll buy you a drink - a warm drink"
"I thought you wanted to fuck?" she quipped.
"Girl I ain't fucked anyone in ages! Fucked up a few people though, if you know what I mean."
She smiled. There it was again. That heart-stopping smile, I was warming to the broad already, even if she was just another cock-sucking slut. Everyone has to start somewhere. We walked on past Baltimore Crescent and up towards the up-all-night. "Maybe this one was different," I thought as I carried on with my evenings work.

When I read the local rag that next morning my jaw dropped. 'Local Prostitute Found Murdered In Broadland Street - Suspect Identified.' She had been stabbed 14 times, apparently. It was all there in words but the pieces just didn't fit. Time of death for instance 'likened to be 11PM'. Not true, she was me until at least midnight. 'Dark brown hair'. Again, this wasn't so, she was a blonde and a true one at that. I tried to remember some kind of clue. "Second night. Pollards got me working Broadland for a few nights, says its safer, what with all the..." Later, she'd told me that a local grass had been pestering her for three days now; he wanted some information, even offered money. Strange that. No, wait, that was it, I'd been set up. I finished my espresso and rose to catch a rare glimpse of myself in the café mirror. There were scratches and bites running around my neck, but then that was nothing unusual. "Chelsea," I thought, "You bastards!"

Thinstripe never knew what hit him. I grabbed the skinny weasel by the balls, placed so cool under his nose and within 30 seconds I had the name of her killer. Not wanting to leave any links, I tossed the slimy shit into the river, after I'd crushed in his windpipe with a rusty stilton. I hated this type of scum, the squealing dog-turd type. Still I now had the information. Someone had perhaps only five or six hours to live. It was time to prepare for some serious brutality.

Mallard must have found Thinstripe, the ugly arse-banger. I didn't think they'd realise so fast, but I could just make out Thompson his fuck buddy slipping into the warehouse. I would need to be quick, silent and deadly. I could be all three when I wanted to after all I had cleaned out the Italian mob single-handed back in 68'. Sure I took a bullet in the wing, but they were so messed up it took two weeks to identify Maloney. What a shitty bloodbath that was. I needed another one here. When I get like this I only feel the deep thump in my chest and the smell of their fear. I only hear the sounds I need to hear and I move, I mean I fucking move. I went in through the back, a bit cliché but then clichés are what I'm about. The first guy was taken out swift-like, his neck opened like a bean can and the dirty fuck covered my shirt in crimson slime. I was hyped up now, onboard, not overboard if you know what I'm saying; they didn't stand a chance. I still wasn't sure who had set me up, but I was just about to find out. "Jonah, you stupid arse!"
Maney was only a pawn but he fought well, cutting the side of my face with his flailings. Dumb little shit. He was holding out too, so I slid so cool under his ribs forcing him to reconsider and shut him the fuck up.
"Pollard..." he whimpered, "Pollard!". I was off before his guts hit the floor.

I hadn't always been this bad or this thorough. Circumstances did me, yes sir. Mr. circumstance took me and played with me like a stinking kitten unravelling a ball of string. For many years I had tried to be a model citizen. Good food, clean clothes. I even tried church once or twice. That wasn't for me though, the fucking hypocrites. Grafferty ran the Butchers shop, was cleaning out to the mob, two-timing his missus and yet still he stood there, weekly, in the pulpit reading scriptures from the bible all ashen-faced and god-like. Perhaps that's why later on I blasted both his kneecaps instead of just the one agreed by Dobson. I detested that kind of human. You needed some morality and scruples. Anyhow, what did for me was the locale I got bought up in, you couldn't escape the scum, even if you tried running, it would claw you back like long hand of death. Of course I never would have come back if it weren't for the skirt. No sir I had ran far away from here when I got the call from Nancy's Mother. I came back for the skirt and my son. Not that the world gave him a fucking chance either, or Nancy. They both died during childbirth. I never got over it. Like I say circumstance made me what I am, there's just no way of getting away from that fact. It also taught me not to be sloppy, to rely on my own steel and to use my head, that's how I took down her killer, Marty who was waiting with four guys in the back room.

It was just plain nasty, that's all you could say. I caught the first one with a slug under his eye, splattering half his face against the back window. Luther took a blast next in the mouth from both barrels, leaving a gaping gap that somehow matched his expression when I had first entered the room. I liked that one. The next guy, I didn't recognise, had a single shot to the thigh, crippling the slow fuck to the ground. I kicked away his toy gun and pummelled this face with my elbow. All this time I'd been watching Marty who had managed to kick one off at me. It went through my right shoulder, but I didn't feel it. I blasted his hand off and pushed him back into the chair. He didn't scream, moaned a little and waved a finger or two at me as I strapped him up tight. I could hear movement from down the corridor, but I already knew where everyone else was now and who they were. Head see, you need to use your head in these situations and you also need to remain calm. I listened to my heart, it was thumping a nice fierce rhythm, loud but consistent, just how I liked it.
"Your choice is simple" I said to Marty.
"Either you tell me who put you up to this or I'll cut off your dick!". He squirmed, I'd hit a nerve. I already knew who the main chief was, but I enjoyed playing and anyway this ugly fuck was not a nice piece of work. Rumours had it he'd sliced a bitch in half when she refused to go down on him in front of a group of guys. Another had him castrating a guy for short-changing his mama over some groceries. Whether they were true or not, I didn't really care. He was going to die, with or without his dick. "Your choice" I repeated, releasing the tape.
"Your'e gonna kill me anyway. It was Pollard, fucking Pollard paid me to do it. Don't cut off my dick man..." he pleaded.
"He wants you out of the way. There's a new guy, coming in from Georgia. He's bringing someone with him, Travis I think. If Pollard leaves it all open for him, he gets to live the high life away from all this shit." It all made sense now. With this town running scared and me out of the way, there'd be nothing to stop some new cheese carving up a slice of action, especially with the cops mixed up in all the trouble of late. They'd probably move into Regis where the takings are as good and then worm their way back to Broadland when it had quietened down a little. The low life, half breeds. I pressed the tape down around Marty's mouth and took out so cool. Marty struggled like one hell-of-a-bitch but I managed to quieten him a little with a blow to the back of the head. I stared down at the knife. We'd been together a long time. Seen some great things, done some even better things. Then I took a long look at Marty, the guy who killed my skirt. He deserved to lose his dick. I paused, then quickly put the knife away, took out my 45 and sent one through his ear. It came out fast, pinging its way round the room. I must be slipping, I thought. I couldn't cut the guys dick off. I could hear the sirens approaching and within two minutes I was long gone from another crazy evenings bloodbath.

It was three long days later when I found Pollard. I knew the worm would crawl out of his hiding hole, he just couldn't resist the sleazy nightlife and the dames, it was only a matter of time. He'd never change, not that any of us ever could change. I just never expected to see the skirt again. "Chelsea" I uttered as the door flew open. That was it, when I was always at my most vulnerable, always because of a dame and Pollard knew it. The double barrel tore off my right arm and spun me out into the corridor. Just my luck, now I was wounded in one shoulder and disabled in the other arm, but it got me mad, real fire-cracking angry. I released two of my baby knives with a flick of the wrist. One of them caught Pollard smack bang in the throat. The other seemed to slice off half his nose. I couldn't tell, but his face looked pretty mashed up as I stumbled over to him, retrieving my gun. I smashed the butt into what was left of his face and the warm blood sprayed over me like a fountain. Chelsea had ran screaming from the room and I could still smell her sweet scent. It was heaven and I knew the play alright. It was a dollar and dime set up. I should have seen it coming. It was almost perfect. That fucker Pollard. At least I'd took him and half his gang with me. Now it was over I could be free, I would soon be away from all this hell and never more be party to its shadowy, corrupt world. I was finished. This time It was definitely quits. There was a loud knock at the door. I opened a case into the centre and walls either side. Click, click, I was all out. "Pollard, I'm coming in.."
I lowered my empty gun and the door swung open. Normally I'd have taken out every last one of them, there and then, but not this time. I still had so cool, but this guy was no smock, he was a pro.
"Hi Jonah." he stood there with the brim of his hat angled to just cover one eye, leaving the other one cold and like stone staring at me as though, well as though he damn well knew me; as if he'd always known me, even respected me. In both hands he held semi-automatics and a fan of knives played out across his chest. He was well heeled, suited and booted, ready for anything or anyone.
"Hello Jarvis, I've been expecting you" I said smiling and spat the last of Pollards blood into the carpet.

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