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    Tales of Crime &Violence - Vol 2: Volume 2
    Tales of Crime &Violence - Vol 2: Volume 2
    Tales of Crime &Violence - Vol 2: Volume 2
    Ebook109 pages1 hour

    Tales of Crime &Violence - Vol 2: Volume 2

    By Paul White

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Tales of Crime & Violence is a collective of three books of short, and not so short stories.

    The ideas and inspiration are many and as varied as each of the individual stories themselves.


    Although each tales in these books are about committing crime, or being involved in acts of violence, the real story is of those involved, why and how they came to be in this position, whether they were forced or coerced, willing participants or victims themselves.

    Not all is quite how it seems to the casual observer. Read on to find out why.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookRix
    Release dateFeb 6, 2018
    ISBN9783743853942
    Tales of Crime &Violence - Vol 2: Volume 2

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      Book preview

      Tales of Crime &Violence - Vol 2 - Paul White

      Title page

      TALES OF CRIME & VIOLENCE

      Volume 2

      Copyright © 2015 Paul White

      All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

      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.

      [email protected]

      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.

      CONTENTS

      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

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