|
|
 |
Fiction |
|
 |
|
|
'Mr and Mrs Smith' he said, nodding in the direction of the Ford Mondeo, which Coleman had thought was unoccupied. 'I've spoken to them and taken details, but they were still in shock.'
'What are they doing here?'
'Having a rest.'
'Having a rest?'
'That's what they said.'
Coleman shrugged and thanked Dawson before making his way over to the car. What people did in their own time was little concern of his. A witness wasn't to be sniffed at.
|
Making himself comfortable in the back of the couple's car, he stifled a yawn before asking the first question.
'Long day?' asked Gary Smith, catching the yawn in the rear view mirror.
Coleman nodded, looking at the driver. Dawson had already checked the Ford Mondeo with the PNC to ensure it was registered to Smith. He was 42 years old, Mrs Smith considerably younger. 'I'm sorry you had to witness this.'
Smith waved the sentiment away. 'We're OK. I'd just like to get my wife home. It's getting late.'
|
Coleman had already noticed neither of them was wearing wedding rings. 'Fair enough, sir. If you could start at the beginning for me, please.'
'I've already told the Officer what we saw.'
'I appreciate that, but it's always useful for me to hear it first hand.'
'We pulled in here for a rest. At first I didn't realise what was happening. Then I became aware of some shouting, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could tell it was coming from the lorry.'
'How close were you?'
'We were parked here.'
|
|
Coleman estimated they were about 50 yards away.
'You told the officer you pulled in at 12.40. How long were you resting for, before you heard the shouting?'
'Ten minutes or so.'
Coleman held the man's eyes, but Smith wasn't giving anything away. 'Then what happened?'
'The lorry driver was hit over the head with some sort of bat. It was too dark to see properly. Certainly something big and hefty, as the guy using it was swinging it over his head before bringing it down on the bloke.'
|
|
'Mrs Smith?' Coleman noticed she had started to cry. She shook her head and said nothing.
'And then this van just took off. I hadn't even noticed it was there until then' said Gary Smith.
'How do you mean, you didn't notice it? Surely, if it was parked in the lay-by…' Coleman let his question trail off.
Smith thought about his answer, clearly uncomfortable. 'It was dark. I didn't notice it.'
'OK, so it took you by surprise.' The couple didn't convince him, but as they sat there in silence, they clearly weren't prepared to share the real reason they had stopped in the lay-by. 'What happened then?'
|
'It's all a bit of a blur, to be honest. This van came to a stop next to where the men were and then a few seconds later, it took off again.'
'Did you get the registration plate?'
'It was too dark, I'm afraid.'
Enough time for the hijacker to jump in, wondered Coleman. But why? Had the driver put up enough of a fight to scare them off? The driver of this other van had to be an accomplice, he reasoned. He asked them both for their contact details, making it clear he understood they wouldn't be the same, before allowing them to leave.
|
|
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - The Animal Empire Strikes Back By Patrick Henry
|
|
From a small boat we looked around river-creeks for fresh-water crocodiles. A wealthy German had one brought aboard to sit on his knee; jaw bound with rope by the Aborigine crew; his glamorous wife photographing.
I criticised them all. The Abos protested they never hunted or ate these creatures, as many people do; now releasing this victim. I said they had
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - The Post Office of Doctor Moreau By Kenton Hall
|
|
I was lying on my back - hands tucked neatly behind my head - and staring at the ceiling, where the Visigoths who had decorated the hotel room had utterly neglected to place a slow-moving fan.
Sometimes, a protagonist just can't get an even break.
I mean, I could feel it in my bones. I was about to be summoned on an adventure that would utterly and irrevocably
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - Admission Cost By Patrick Henry
|
|
I hitched to The Edinburgh Festival, giving poetry-readings, arriving daybreak, sleepless, my literary hostess, Nancy, American, Gertrude Stein-monologuist, whirling me off to see The Festival Director, John Drummond; complaining about publicity, calling me as witness, newly arrived and bewildered. Wearily I agreed.
Nancy's salon lacked audience. One performance,
Read more...
|
|
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - The Head By Marc Heeley
|
|
The words that break free from a head, that's trapped inside a box on top of a wardrobe.
Feeling the words, the ones that fall on the skin, breathing down your neck and asking to be seen.
Odourless saliva soaked speech, without colour also. You know it's there.
The head no longer wants the words, they've been ejected.
The head now makes no sound, the words clatter against
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - The Prodigal Son By Joe Hakim
|
|
stuck in my room again/ looking up at the blinds/ gaffa-taped shut, keep out the light/ single beam escapes through a gap/ one piece of light concentrating on the wall/ imagine it to be hot like a laser/ imagine the smoke rising up like a spirit/ but it's not there, not there at all/ it's only in my head/ only in my head
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - Surfers on the Sofa By Gemma Durham
|
|
How hot is Hull? With it's seductive, cosmopolitan avenues, the chip spice, the late
taxi's always on the way. Ask someone from down south to sit on your sofa and you'd
think they would have a date in the ocean with a surfer.
Awards for the friendliest university, and a special up and coming indie rock scene that has hottened hull to the top.
Learning to speak Hull has
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - Walking Into Doors By Nick Boldock
|
|
She squinted into the mirror and looked at the bruise around her eye. Already it was turning a sickening shade of purple. It throbbed when she prodded away at it. The thick laceration in her bottom lip was stinging as well, as she dabbed at it with a wedge of TCP-soaked cotton wool. She knew she ought to be more careful. Less clumsy, less thoughtless.
He'd say he was sorry,
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - The Graveyard Shift By Rich Mills
|
|
The taxi office is beige with nicotine and age.
Battling with the Sandman, my weapons of choice, cigarettes and coffee, dispensed from the
whirring-gurgling coffee machine. Of things I've done for money this is the lowest.
Six calls all night, only TV to numb the brain. Cups, and corners filled with cigarette butts.
I wait for the dawn.
Then my replacement comes on,
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - Big Slaughter By Kate Askin
|
|
As Big Slaughter housemate 'Little Wee' Jim gave a final tug on the
garrotte round the neck of the only other remaining contestant, he knew he had won...he knew...
He knew by the sound of that last gurgle...It came from the throat of six-feet-six
Thai hermaphrodite Om Lui (whose height was enhanced by foot-long calf extensions, no less).
He knew, by the last desperate,
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - Debit Column By Patrick Henry
|
|
Raymond, abrasively-witty, biography-reviewing journalist, worked during endless pub-going; volumes under arm; notes mental or
beer-mat-jottings; from Five AM. around Smithfield Market, through mid-day Fleet Street, Soho; to evening Chelsea, exhausting his trail home.
Early hours meant snatched sleep and eating; columns grittily-written: cold turkey! Five A.M. his taxi
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - 100 Words Competition - The 1st One Hundred Words Are The Hardest By Rich Mills
|
|
He'd started that first sentence many times, deleting it and starting over again.
The cursor blinked in the corner of the screen, taunting him, daring him to write something.
He stared at, became hypnotized by it. Time ticked by, blink, blink, blink.
His mind was just blank, blank, blank.
Then in a sudden rush to fill the white expanse with black he started banging away at
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - End Of The Line By Nick Quantrill
|
|
This is how it happened...
I was driving down Lowgate. There's got to be a better way than this, I thought to myself. But then I saw her, clinging to a lamppost, holding her hand out as her friend tried to stop her from falling over. I indicated and pulled over; she would do nicely. Her friend bundled her into my car.
No respect for anything, least of all herself, I thought
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Another Brick In The Wall, Another Man In The Crowd By Steve Rudd
|
|
'It doesn't look any different on this side,' the disembodied voice yelled over the void.
'I never said that it would look any different. But I bet it feels different,' ventured an old man's voice on the Eastern side of the wall.
'Not really,' the disembodied voice declared. 'At least not from where I'm standing.'
To some people, the momentous fall of the Berlin Wall signified freedom
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 2 Chapter 2 By Frank Beill
|
|
It was too late in the day to visit Tweed Street school - the children and their teachers would be long gone by now. This left only the address I'd been given for George. Hessle Road was not a long walk from Princes Avenue but a tram ride was quicker or to be precise two tram rides were: one into the city centre and one back out again to get me to my destination.
All the old reactions
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - The Service By Joe Hakim
|
|
I'm a professional. I get the job done.
It's already getting dark as I arrive at the station. I make my way past the perimeter fence and park my car in the shelter. So begins the process of shedding everything that makes me who I am, in order to become somebody else.
You can never tell what kind of night it's going to be, so even now after all this time the anticipatory adrenalin
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - The Emporium of Illusions By Andy Bilton
|
|
I cannot decide which foam bath to put in to the tub. Mood, I feel, is an important player in a first date situation and I do not want to fold at the first hand by getting in to the wrong one before tonight's encounter.
So do I pour in some of the Marks & Spencers 'Tranquility' that has an unnerving resemblance to Rowntree's Lime Jelly and 'treat myself to an indulgent bathing
Read more...
|
|
|
Fiction - The Horrible Death of Tony Clare: Retribution and Revolt By Sean Davey
|
|
Tony Clare, British Premier, bringer of war, pestilence, famine and social impotence, died today. Killed by an unknown man. A man driven not by his hatred for the Prime Minister, but by his own need to right the wrongs that Tony Clare's society was responsible for.
A society which neglected its own people, raped the land, taxed the workers and killed the innocent.
Read more...
|
|
|
|
|
| What's Happening? |
|
|
|
| Chill Out |
|
|
|
| About Us |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|