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An hour later and I was sat in The Queens Hotel on Princes Avenue, close to the Adelphi, with Neil Ellis. 'Cheers' I said, passing the drinks over.
Ellis raised his glass and looked at me, still suspicious.
I couldn't help but laugh. 'Don't worry about it. You'll get your story.'
'But I have to go in that shit-hole to get it.'
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He had a point. The Adelphi was very much like marmite; you either loved or hated the place. I'd seen countless bands play there over the last twenty years or so, many of them on the insistence of my late wife. Some of them had gone on to become household names but many hadn't.
He'd been upset when I'd told him about the press conference the band were planning to hold tomorrow. Clearly, the local paper hadn't been invited. It was strictly music press and major players only. It was unfair on Neil, as I knew he was a good journalist. Previously, he'd worked for the nationals before heading to Hull for reasons I'd not yet got the bottom of.
Running a private investigation bureau meant I often needed good quality information and we'd built a mutually beneficial relationship. I finished my lager and nodded to Ellis. 'Let's go get you a story.'
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Crammed like cattle into the terraced house-turned-music venue, I fought for enough room to reach into my pocket to pay for our drinks. Doors had only been open for thirty minutes, but it was already a sell-out. We had been lucky to get in. News of the gig had spread quickly and with almost 200 people in the small room, the heat and noise was already becoming intolerable.
I passed Ellis his drink and ignored the look I got from him.
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'What's the crack?' he shouted across to me. 'You can't drag me in here and not tell me anything?'
I'd spotted John Starkey making his way through the crowd, heading towards the backstage area. I wasn't that surprised to see him. I pointed him out to Ellis. 'The sacked drummer.' 'I then pointed out Mark Harrison, stood on a seat at the side of the room, watching his band set up their equipment. 'Know who he is?' I asked.
Ellis shook his head.
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'Former manager of the band. Soon as they got a sniff of the big time, he was out on his ear.'
Ellis shrugged. 'So what? Hardly anything new, is it?'
I agreed and told him the story.
'And that' I said, pointing across the room, 'is Steve Hollins, the band's current manager.'
'I know him by reputation.'
I waved across the room to him. 'I've got your master-tapes' I said, when he had made his way through the crowd.
'You've got them?' he repeated.
'Not physically got them, but I know who has them.'
'Nice one.' He gripped my shoulder and squeezed.
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I pointed to the exit. 'We can hear ourselves think if we go outside.'
The door slammed shut behind us, reducing the volume of the music to a low level rumble. We walked across the car-park, careful to avoid the potholes, and stood under the lamp-post close to the street. I heard the door open and shut and saw John Starkey walk over to join us.
'You've sorted our problem, then' said Hollins, smiling at me. I asked him for the fee we'd agreed. He counted it out in £20 notes. It would pay the bills for a couple of weeks.
'I think so.' I indicated to Starkey that he should come no closer. 'It's a shame you had to sack him.'
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Hollins shrugged. 'Just business. Nothing personal.' He waved to his former drummer. 'Sometimes you have to make tough decisions in this business. You're a businessman, you understand where I'm coming from. And it's great you've got the masters back for us. I'm really grateful. It'll certainly make the press conference a lot easier. It'll look good having you there and won't do your business any harm, will it?
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'I suppose not.'
He lent in closer to me. 'It's a shame John had to go, but I always had my doubts about him, you know? He's not as focused as the rest of the band.'
'I heard the new record wasn't up to scratch.'
Hollins laughed. 'Who told you that?'
I shrugged. 'It's what I heard.'
'I think you'll find people don't want to let the band grow. For sure, the first album was raw and full of energy but it wasn't a true representation of what the band's about. Since we've got them in the studio for the second album, they've grown. The songs are more mature, more reflective; they've got more to write about now. As they've developed, they've needed to improve as musicians, to challenge themselves. Sadly, John didn't really measure up in that department, either.'
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'What do the record company think of the record?'
'They're still digesting it.' Hollins nodded at Starkey. 'How did he get the masters?'
I turned and watched Ellis and Mark Harrison walk over to us. 'It wasn't John.'
Hollins looked like he was going to be sick. 'Harrison?'
'He's got motive.' I said. I turned to Ellis. 'Are you getting all of this, Neil?'
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He had his notepad open. 'Loud and clear.' He looked up. 'How did he get the master-tapes?'
'He still visits the band's house' I said. 'Even though I bet they were told to be careful, they were probably lying around.'
Hollins interrupted me and pointed aggressively at Harrison. 'Mark's problem is he can't leave them alone. He really should get over it and move on. You weren't good enough for the band, Mark. You're small-time and don't forget it. You haven't got the balls for this job.'
Hollins walked around in small circles, presumably thinking it through. 'At least we'll have the story for the press conference' he said eventually. 'I know you're bitter, Mark, but I'm still shocked by this; really shocked.'
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I looked at Harrison. I didn't want to say but it had to be said. 'You're bitter, aren't you, Mark?' I said. 'The band were set for the big time and you thought your mates would value what you'd done and stick by you.' I turned to Hollins. 'I've no doubt you were very persuasive and promised to open doors for the band that Mark could only dream of doing.' I turned back to Harrison and shrugged. 'It's a shitty business, that's for sure.'
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I couldn't blame Harrison for being bitter. He had good reason. I assumed he'd downplayed it because he was embarrassed; embarrassed that I thought he was a failure. I waited for Ellis to confirm he had his notes up to date. 'But it wasn't Mark, though, was it, Steve?'
Hollins stared at me, confused. 'You just said it was.'
I shook my head. So far as I could tell, Mark Harrison was a decent guy; probably too decent to cut it in the music industry. Don locating him had proved to be a false lead. I wondered if Harrison and Starkey had cooked up something together, but if felt unlikely. They probably weren't even in Hull that much at the same time. Starkey was clearly messed-up with people worried about him, but if he had been sacked by the band, he would have no reason to be at the gig. That only left one person. 'Did Hollins put you up to it, John? Tell you to play along with plan?'
'I don't know what you're talking about' said Hollins.
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Ignoring him, I continued to speak to the drummer. 'He took advantage of you, John. He used you. He asked you to pretend that you'd been kicked out of the band, didn't he? I bet you've been having second thoughts about all of this, haven't you? First of all you had to fuck off your mate when he was doing a decent job for you. He might not be as dynamic as Hollins but he still deserved some respect, didn't he?
You were the only one in the band who stood up for him, I bet.
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You probably tried to change their minds, told them that you all owed Mark something. They didn't listen, though, did they? All they were interested in was the fame and money. The moment you stood up for Mark, they marked you down as a loose cannon. Things were different after that, weren't they?'
Starkey couldn't look me in the eye. 'He told me to do it. He said I wasn't as committed as the rest of the band and this was a chance to prove myself. If I agreed to pretend it was me who stole the masters, I'd show I wanted to stay in the band. I just had to disappear for a couple of days.'
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Fiction - Load the Cards By Sean Davey
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Loading up the cards and I start thinking. I think about casino's, and all that is.
Imagine a building dear reader, where degenerate, and often eccentric behaviour is not only the norm. its positively encouraged. Heavy drinking and gambling is as much a part of the punters mind as work, or going for a meal. Its just what they do to get their kicks.
Read more...
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Fiction - Charity Begins in the Toilet By Shep
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Like most stories this one starts at the beginning with a middle aged man kissing a middle aged woman on the middle of the lips. I'm not sure where the middle starts or ends but I'm fairly sure its centre is an equal distance from these two extremes.
The man's head jacks back and forth like a mother bird trying to vomit out some nourishment to her
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Fiction - Goths in Denim (I only dress like a Goth!) By Jason Ince
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'That can't be the time!' I scream, staring at the clock-slash-radio-slash-CD player. This is the last time I try a DVD marathon within one day, I'll kill Stanny for suggesting it to me. The phone starts to vibrate before the ringtone kicks in. It's Clark's tone...again, 'damn you, Clark!'
I charge across the room and leap over the chair and snatch the mobile.
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Fiction - Absinthe - A Cautionary Tale By Sean Davey
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In pursuit of the perfect high, man invented absinthe, and I among others regularly enjoy its powerful effects. But on some days, store-bought brands are far too timid for the task at hand. On these days we need the homemade stuff.
Created in garages and lofts, jam packed with wormwood and all those other alpha-terpenes to get the brain synapses into full gear.
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Fiction - Punishment By Nick Quantrill
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Punishment by local crime-fiction writer and thisisull.com contributor,
Nick Quantrill, has won a nationwide short-story competition run by HarperCollins.
Entrants were invited to submit a story of no more than 1,000 words in the
crime-fiction/thriller genre.
Here's what the judges had to say about Punishment :
'We were impressed with the use of
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Fiction - Friday Feeling By Nick Quantrill
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Friday 3pm
It was building up to being another busy Friday afternoon shift. It was probably no busier than any other shift, but the extra tiredness that Detective Constable Maynard felt by this point made them feel that much longer. He had been sent to Young's general store in East Hull straight after attending a suspicious death over on the other side of the city.
It was
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Fiction - The Morning After By Joe Hakim
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They'll be here soon.
There's nothing much to do other than wait, so I make another strong cup of coffee and light
up another cigarette. Even these seemingly arbitrary actions are cast into a new focus now.
This patch of time I'm occupying is a bridge - a bridge that spans the space between
the way my life used to be and the way it's going to be. I look around my living room
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Fiction - In A Room By Joe Hakim
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I wish there were bars so I could hold them, wrap my fingers around the cold steel and press my face in between them, but it's just a room, I'm in a dark room with no windows and no features, so I just sit and think and think and think.
I am a captive, a hostage in a foreign country. I'm apart from my family and friends and I don't know if I'll ever see them again.
Every so
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Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 2: Prologue (June 1904: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
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From the outside the two-storey building looked even more forbidding now than the first time I saw it. Eighteen more years of Hull soot had turned bricks from red to dark brown. The dank smell of Grandmother's skirt returned to me. I caught my breath. So many emotions stirred inside me. Doors in my mind that I'd kept closed for so long were opening again but this time
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Fiction - Buried In The Past By Joe Hakim
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Arriving back in Hull, the first thing that hits me is just how much hasn't changed.
As I walk down Princes Ave, I look at all the café bars that have sprang up to replace
the odd little shops and businesses that used to line it, but it still feels the
same somehow. There's a kind of progress, I suppose - even if progress means it's
starting to resemble everywhere else in Britain -
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Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 21 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
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The extra twenty-four hour wait only made me more desperate than ever to discover what had become of my old friends. It didn't feel right to be back and not be with them. They were Hull to me. I needed to see them and for them to see me. Would they believe little Sammy could have grown so much? Would I be as tall as George now?
My friends were all I wanted
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Fiction - Red Carpet Blues By Steve Rudd
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'One more word out of you, and it'll be your last - I promise.'
The ice-cold gun nudging Ellie's temple was motivation enough for her to keep her mouth shut, as she trembled with fear. She daren't even sob in case her captor construed that any form of noise was reason enough to blow her brains out without further ado.
So much for being a superstar in her own right,
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Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 20 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
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The deck rose and fell beneath my feet. My moccasins were meant for the solid earth of the Dakotas, not a slippery wooden deck in an Atlantic storm. I continued focusing on the infant pony and repeated all the psalms and hymns I could recall. Words that were drilled into me. I never thought they'd ever be of any use, other than to avoid Jolly Rodgers'
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Fiction - 'I Do' By Steve Rudd
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Nobody told me marriage would be like this. I thought it would be bliss, day in and day out,
but problems soon surfaced, after our hastily arranged elopement in good old Gretna - that bizarre little settlement that straddles the border between England and Scotland as though it can't quite decide where it stands; where it belongs; which side of the metaphorical fence it is
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Fiction - Two Sides : A Friday Night Out In Hull By Joe Hakim
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I'm just finishing off at work, watching the clock and loading the pot-wash with plates and cups,
waiting for Sarah to start her shift so I can go home.
It's been a really busy day, so I'll be glad to see the back of the fuckin' place.
I've been working at Sparks cafè bar on Newland Ave for over a year, but it's only been in
the past couple of months it's got really busy.
Fridays are
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Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 19 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
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Was it my imagination or were dark clouds hanging over the Persian Monarch the next morning?
I feared the worst. Heavy feet climbed the wooden steps to my hero's saloon.
As before Red Shirt, Dog That Stands and Laughing Waters were there in support of my case.
We entered the cabin and my spirits rose. Nate Salsbury wasn't there and Miss Arta was
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Fiction - Complicity Part 6 By Nick Quantrill
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Complicity is the new crime-fiction novella set in Hull featuring
Detective Sergeant Coleman and Detective Constable Maynard.
The thisisull.com serialisation is accompanied by the stunning black and
white photography of Roland Standaert, which illustrates the story and takes a unique look at the city.
Complicity and other stories are available for free.
Read more...
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Fiction - Gloomy Sunday By Joe Hakim
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As we got closer I could see it framed against the horizon. From this distance it just looked like a huge black shape, like a giant lump of coal or something. "Jeezus, it's huge," I said. "Yeah, I'm guessing it's a male," Mike said. "Could be about fifty tonnes of whale washed up down there." Mike was a marine biologist.
He'd been given the task of studying
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