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.
for further details.
Roland can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.
'Excuse me sir?' said the young male, sporting dreadlocks and a charity tabard. Detective Sergeant Coleman hadn't seen him and had no chance of altering his path.
'Can I ask you to spare a minute for Oxfam?'
Coleman had a meeting with DI McCormack to attend and was still at the top of Whitefriargate, a good ten minute walk from the station. He looked the youth square in the eye. He couldn't have been much out of his teenage years and it looked like a good wash wouldn't do him any harm.
'No' replied Coleman, shaking his head 'you can't'.
'It'll only taking a minute. If I could just tell you about the work we're doing and how a donation from you could assist in this?'
'The work that we're doing?' he said, stopping dead in the rain.
The youth was practically dancing as he bounced from leg to leg as the rain bounced off his face.
'That's right' he beamed. 'I'm sure you've seen all the dreadful pictures on your television. It's really terrible, but with your help we could change the situation out there.'
'What about your help? How are you going to be helping?'
'I'm trying to raise awareness and funds so that we can get the necessary aid out to the affected areas. With your financial assistance we can make a real difference.'
The youth was still bouncing from side-to-side as he carried on with his well-rehearsed sales pitch. Coleman grunted and tried to sidestep him. Although he was probably fifteen years older, he was in good shape and he thought that he could easily side step the youth.
'All we're asking for is £5 per month; you can simply fill in the standing order form right away so we can get things moving.'
Coleman stopped dead. 'Can we quit this we bullshit? I see you down here most days and every time, you're wearing a different charity's tabard. If I want to give more to charity, I'll do so directly, cut out the middleman, so to speak. That way they might actually receive all off my donation without having to pay your company its blood money.'
'It's only £5 a month sir...'
Coleman pushed past without a second glance. It was little more than emotional robbery; he wasn't going to be part of it. He really wasn't in the mood for these people trying to play him for an idiot...not today.
He spotted a newspaper vendor on his left and crossed towards him to look at the board.
Fiction - Welcome To Hellville - Part 13 By Rich Mills
From: "audioally" To: "Black Star" Subject: BASF C90 tape transcribed and identified
Date: 28 Nov 2040 12:09:06
Thanks for the opportunity to investigate the origins of the BASF C90 tape that you forwarded onto me.
As I understand you found this in an open box with other items, it hasn't been
too badly damaged by the elements and
Fiction - Zero and the Neighbours Part 1 - Demo version 0.1 By Joe Hakim
Frank was one of the regulars. From the first day I started dealing poker on the tables, Frank was there. To look at, he was your typical moody old man - old in the Father Christmas sense - white hair, a huge white beard and a round gut that hung out of his shirt and over his belt. You could imagine him sat in a grotto in the bottom of Princes Quay with some mewling
Fiction - Just like Eddie by Bob Spence
I don't know exactly when I got into it but there you are.
Like most lads, I suppose it was the thought of being Bristol's answer to
Elvis that was some kind of inspiration.
Yes that was always there in the back of my mind, but the accent never sounded
quite right to be fair.
Anyway. The South Deans Village Youth Club was a right place back then and we used
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 11 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
We waited standing back to back, hoping this would give us some protection. The tribesmen slowly circled us, just as they would when attacking a wagon train of settlers on its way to California. Well, this is what my novel said they did.
Occasionally, a warrior would prod one of us. One snatched a hair from George's head before rushing back within the group
to display his strange booty.
Fiction - The Wall by Darren Sant
Sometimes your best is just not enough.
Panic stricken and panting I arrive.
There it is, a fucking huge wall. An obstacle blocking my progress.
A visible representation of all that I can't achieve.
Nervously I look behind me. I lash out at it, kicking and punching but to no avail.
It is rock solid. I jump but find it too high. I take a running jump
Fiction - Divine by Blair Ashworth
"Mein Führer? Mein Führer?" The old man in the long grey coat was bent over the body slumped in the chair.
"Give it a few more seconds, Henry," said the doctor. "Do you speak any German? It might lessen the shock." No, Henry didn't speak any German and he didn't much care about any shocks he might deliver.
Behind the heavy oak chair,
Fiction - Off To See The Wild West Show Part 10 (1886: Hull, Yorkshire) By Frank Beill
'So how are we gonna get in?' George kicked a loose stone across the street.
'We've got to circle the camp and look for a weakness in their defences. That's what Buffalo Bill would do.' I was not certain what my hero would do, but I thought my scheme had the right sound to it.
'Aye, but it's Buffalo Bill we're wanting to attack.
Fiction - Scissors, Paper, Stone! By Bob Spence
The Lord Nelson was your typical run-down seventies pub. The decor was in disarray, with half a mind to venerate the Royal Navy's biggest hero or to catch the eye of the potential clientele with the latest fashion. In this manner it achieved neither.
Mickey was the prototype glass collector for every
Fiction - Drowning, Swimming By Joe Hakim
Keith sat and stared at his wife, who was holding his daughter and staring at the
28" Philips Widescreen TV situated in the corner of his house, on his laminate floor,
flanked at either side by his Sony sound system and his X-Box.
He was sweating and his head was throbbing - the general effects of the weekend
Fiction - Any Instructions? By Denis Price
It wasn't the first time he'd missed the bus. From the Mess to the monitoring hangar was only a quarter of a mile walk, something he relished during the central European summer as the airbase had been carved out of heavily wooded countryside teeming with wildlife.
Fiction - Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Ten By Steve Rudd
As the sun rose, so did my spirits. The men before me were all aged and seemingly wise.
You could just tell that all three of them had been born in this valley, and had all lived and
worked there ever since.
If any, or all, of them genuinely believed in a heaven, then it wouldn't be an,
other-worldly place delighted by harp-twanging angels.
Fiction - Second Chances by Nick Quantrill
Available now, Second Chances is a crime fiction novella set in Hull that is
already attracting praise from readers.
Influenced by crime fiction heavyweights Ian Rankin and Hull's Robert Edric,
Second Chances is set to be a great success.
For a taster, see the extract reproduced below, only available
Fiction - Invasion By Bob Spence
Moody just couldn't stop scratching. His shirt was far too stiff at the edge of the collar
and the coarse material was driving him to distraction.
You could also say that Moody was distracted anyway. He was waiting for a letter from his fiancee
and there was none.
Fiction - The Death and Birth and Death of a Legend By Bob Spence
Goober liked to be busy. Some people could handle doing nothing, not Goober Walton.
Running the tidy but ancient gasoline concession suited. Suited well.
It was orderly and everything clearly had its place.
Some would say it looked almost military in its order and for that it
Fiction - Feller's in Cut By Maurice Fairfield
Well that's her gone. You don't remember me do you?
I'll have a pint while you're thinking about it.
It's me Jack, Harry Fergus's son. Here for the funeral.
Thought I'd see her get put under. Not sure why.
It's always a laugh though, watching a parson doing a
Fiction - Firm but Fair By Mark Pollard
Cry-Baby Jim Breaks. He pioneered it, they say.
And the hushed, almost ecclesiastical tones of Ken Walton had heralded it's
entry into Saturday afternoon folklore: the bright lights of
Blackpool and Great Yarmouth, down to the lesser reputes of Ilfracombe and
Skegness had all borne witness
Fiction - Puzzles By Denis Price
I've got a really nice room, when the door's closed I feel ever so safe and warm. It's quiet as well,
just the swish of the wind in the trees outside. I like the trees; they hide the big tall fence.
My watchers say the fence is there to keep me safe, and that's their job too, they're always there