2.37 The Headache

2.37 AM, Jerry sat alone on his balcony. He was in total darkness except for the red burning tip of his cigarette; glowing in the night. He wondered if anyone could see him, sitting alone smoking at this ungodly hour of the morning. He imagined a sniper waiting, steadying the gun, ready for Jerry’s third drag before firing the bullet that would release his pain. But there was no sniper and no blessed relief. 

The rain hammered down on the roof above him and on the garden below but it wasn’t the weather that kept him awake; it was the headache that prevented sleep. On days like these Jerry wanted to rub Ibuprofen gel into his skull to see if he could kill the pain in his brain. But he knew he couldn’t, and he knew it wouldn't.

2.37, would eventually turn to 2.38 and then seemingly an hour later would turn to 2.39, time moved like that at night; every second taking a lifetime and every minute taking an eternity. During the day of course it was different, during the day he could hardly keep up. Time disappeared like the water draining away in his garden down below. Jerry took another drag, his head ached but it wasn’t like your normal headache. This was a pain in his frontal lobe that made him feel like his skull was closing in on his brain from all angles. It was loneliness, desperation, helplessness, haplessness all rolled into one. 
The stupid thing was he had a wonderful wife, two beautiful kids, and a great job that most would die for, so why the pain? Why the loneliness? Why the desperation? 
Just then something caught Jerry’s eye, two glints of light, in garden below. He looked closer and saw the outline of a cat who, despite being drenched, was walking proudly down the path; a real stray cat strut. Jerry nearly smiled as he took one last drag. He wished he could have that arrogance, that confidence, that ability to deal with adversity. He wished he could be feline. As the cat disappeared Jerry yawned,  stubbed out his cigarette, quietly opened the balcony door and climbed back into bed next to his wife, hoping sleep would come before the alarm clock.

the haircut

It's a song one, one of my favourite songs ever. The song is at the end but you'll have guessed it by then :-)

‘Hi, I’m home.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Bloody hell! The shops were crowded.’

‘Uh hu.’

‘Didn’t see anything I liked.’

‘You dopey twat!’

‘I thought you’d be pleased. You hate me spending money.’

‘Not you love, Gerrard, he should have slipped it through to Suarez but had to shoot, the selfish wanker.’ He still hadn’t turned round to look at her.

‘Right, I’m going to have a bath.’

'Ok'

Emma slowly got undressed as the bath filled up with water and bubbles. That was it, that little conversation there was the very microcosm of their relationship. For too long she’d been willing to take the crunchy with the smooth but recently all that had changed.

She got in the warm water and smiled to herself.  To think that she’d worried the first time she’d cheated on him; worried he’d notice a change in her demeanour or a change in her smell. Wondered if she’d give off pheromones of a woman just fucked; wondered if he’d sniff out her secret. Her friends noticed, her friends saw her smile and knew immediately that she’d been satisfied, but him, nothing. She bet he could never even imagine it happening, but it did.

She lay in the bath thinking about her lovers until the water went cold around her. There was the tender Chris who’d do anything to make her happy, he was like a puppy, willing and playful, eager to please and easy to control. She liked Chris, she thought about his arms, his skin and the point where their bodies met. He’d been the first and when they’d first met he played the shy boy. Emma had liked that at the time, but despite the satisfaction there was something missing; it was too nice. So, she bedded Rich too, the office bad boy, she’d heard him boasting about shagging a married woman a few days after they’d been together. But he was discreet in his own way. He never named names. And finally there was Mr Potatohead, a silly nicknames she’d never use to his face. It was him who she’d just been with, him who made her eyes sparkle with satisfaction.

She thought about her hubby, she wondered where it all went wrong. Was it when she cut her hair that he stopped loving her?

The Resurrection Part 4

This is part 4 of the Vinny the Diamond the Resurrection Story for the whole story click here

Vinny picked up the phone and ordered room service, he wasn’t hungry but he needed the bellboy. He lit another cigarette and coughed as he exhaled, he knew he was smoking too much but he’d just escaped death, he didn’t care.

He watched the girls on the streets while he was waiting for his food. He needed Mila to stay there, not to be picked up. 

There was a knock on the door, Vinny took the gun off the bed and put it back into the waistband of his trousers and went to over to the door. The spyhole revealed it was who he had been waiting for. He opened up and ushered the young man in to the room carefully closing the door behind him and going back over to the window. 

‘Where do you want it?’ 

‘Just put it over there,’ said Vinny, he watched the lad put the tray down and then spoke. ‘Do you want to earn yourself a bigger tip?’ 

The bellboy looked round at Vinny who had a large denomination note between finger and thumb. The lad’s eyes lit up. 

‘I need you to bring me a girl, not just any girl but that one.’ Vinny pointed at Mila who was doing her best to attract customers down on the street below. The bellboy peered out of the window.

‘Tell her a client is willing to pay her big money for a night. Bring her back with you and you get three of these. You understand?’ 

The bellboy nodded 

‘Can you do that for me?’ 

He nodded again. 

‘Go then.’ Vinny growled. The bellboy went. 

Vinny knocked the lights off so he could watch the scene unfold in the hastening gloom below. He made sure to stand back a little so he would not be visible from the street.

At first he thought the bellboy was heading towards the wrong whore. But just at the last moment he found his radar and honed in on Mila. Vinny wondered if he would bottle it when he saw how young she looked. If the poor lad got arrested soliciting an under-aged girl, the money Vinny was offering would pale into insignificance.

But either the lad didn’t notice or he didn’t care. Vinny watched them negotiate, their heads bobbed back and forth like boxers in the ring. He instinctively took a step back when they both looked round at the hotel, but then he saw the two of them leave her patch together, cross the road and head into the building. Vinny the Diamond smiled, flashing his trademark diamond to no one in particular. Part one of his plan had just fallen into place.

There was a knock on the door, the same knock as when the food was delivered.

‘It’s open.’ his voice was full of tar.

There door opened and two figures came in.

‘Where do you want it?’ Vinny guessed the bellboy was speaking out of habit.

Vinny turned round, Mila gasped as she saw who the client was. She looked pale, ready to flee but her legs didn’t move.

Vinny took out three notes and handed them to the young lad and then shooed him out of the room.

Mila was still rooted to the spot avoiding eye-contact, fear coursed through her veins. Vinny smiled, he’d let the bitch suffer for a while, after all she had helped set him up. He watched her shake. He realised he was horny, he had half a mind to fuck her, but she was so young, she’d insisted that she was 18 but there was no way and even if there was the slightest of chances she was telling the truth he wasn’t prepared to risk it. He’d go to prison for murder but not for that; he’d not be called a nonce, no way.

But he enjoyed watching her suffer, after all he was sure that this bitch had double crossed him, sold him out. But despite enjoying her pain he had to keep her sweet, after all she had to believe in him for this plan to work.

He walked around her, inspecting her.

‘It really is you, I thought you were dead.’ He said this in the kindest voice he could muster.

‘Vinny, she made me …’

‘Ssssssh’ Vinny put a finger on her lip, he knew it was corny but it gave him a feeling of power. Mila was sniffing back the tears. ‘It’s alright, don’t worry, I know it wasn’t your fault. I’m sure you kept your promise.’

Miha looked at him for the first time, she searched his face for clues; did he really think it wasn’t her fault? Did he really think she had kept her gob shut? She was confused, unsure what to think. It was exactly the look Vinny’d been hoping for, it told him all he needed to know. It told him that she had set him up and that she’d do so again. But this time he wanted her to.

‘You’re a good girl Mila, you gave me the information I needed, I trust you. I know Georgina is a bitch, but you were brave.’ Vinny was laying it on a bit thick now but it seemed to be working. ‘Now I have more cash and I need more information, can you give it to me?’

Another look had come over Mila’s face - greed. She’d gone from fearing for her life to working out how much she could milk both Vinny and Georgina for. Vinny could read her like a book, he knew she was thinking how could this so called gangster be so stupid as to trust her again after what happened last time?

She looked at Vinny now and nodded.

Vinny took out a wedge of notes and peeled off a few for Mila.

‘Is the old man dead?’

Mila shook her head.

‘Do you know where he is?’

Mila looked at the notes in Vinny’s hand.

‘C’mon Mila I am not a charity, you’ve got enough there, answer the question.’ His voice was rough both in tone and texture.

Mila got the message and told Vinny all that he wanted to know. Vinny smiled, patter her on the shoulder and gave her one more note for being a good girl before ushering her out of the door. 

The Resurrection Part 3

This is part 3 of the Vinny the Diamond the Resurrection Story for the whole story click here

Georgina sat by her grandfather, he was going to live - there was life in the old dog yet. They couldn’t say whether he’d make a full recovery or not but the signs were encouraging. He looked so grey, so old, so limp that Georgina could barely believe the doctor’s words.  She squeezed her papa’s hand. She’d been crying but the tears had stopped, her papa would not want her to cry, he’d want her to think, to keep a clear mind, to keep focus. Her mind had been on hold since the stroke but now it was working again.

How the fuck had they let Vinny get away? Okay so she and her brothers had been preoccupied but her father’s driver and Stefan were there and neither of them had acted. Now that Diamond idiot could be anywhere and plotting their downfall. They had to get to him before he got to them. But where the hell was he. She also had to deal with the driver and Stefan. She knew the driver had to go, he was getting fat and lazy, if only she had a hitman like Vinny to take care of it. As for Stefan well he’d need to be taught a lesson, but he was only young, he could learn. Maybe she could get him to take care of the driver; that would show her if her little bodyguard had any balls, it would also make him a man.

She’d sent her brothers to Vinny’s flat but he was long gone. None of the girls had seen him, Kat, Eleanora, Anna on the one side or anyone on the other. He’d disappeared with that money and those stones. Be she knew he wouldn't have gone far. She cursed his name; she knew it was crazy but she blamed him for her papa’s stroke, she hated that thieving bastard. She wished she’d twisted that knife a little further and a little harder.  When she found him she’d make him wish Father Chirstmas had had time to pull the trigger.

This is part 3 of the Vinny the Diamond the Resurrection Story for the whole story click here

The Bridegroom

It was a bright day but not warm, the sun shone in the blue sky but its heat was nullified by the strong winds that whipped off the sea. Waves rolled in, they were crashing onto the rocks at the side of the beach but on the sands they were more serene, rolling and then receding before being replaced by the next one and the next one. Seagulls lined the top of the shelter, too scared to fly in case the wind blew them off course.

Alone on the promenade resplendent in his morning suit was a bridegroom pacing back and forth. He looked like he could have been cut out of a bridal magazine so perfect was his attire. But in bridal magazines the grooms don’t wear frowns and weren’t usually smoking cigarettes, they certainly weren’t alone on windswept promenades. He’d managed to get his cigarette lit despite the wind and was smoking it uneasily, he obviously wasn't a regular smoker. There was something in the way he held his fag, something in the way he grimaced as he inhaled and something in the way he blew out too much smoke that told me it wasn’t natural to him but a source of comfort in a difficult time.

I wondered why he was there, alone, dressed for, but not at the biggest day of his life.  Maybe he just needed some last minute alone time before all the attention of the big day - but it looked more serious than that. Maybe he’d been jilted at the alter, the wife-to-be getting cold feet and deserting him, with him running down to the sea to escape the sympathy from the grannies.  Or maybe someone couldn’t bear to hold his peace and had blurted out a reason why the act of holy matrimony shouldn’t go ahead, ruining the big day in the process. But if I were a betting man, I’d say it was him that was having second thoughts, some serious doubts about whether he wanted to go through with it. He sat down now, a far away look in his eyes as he stared out to sea, his brow still set in a frown, his stubble appeared to be visibly growing on his face, tears in his eyes.

But maybe the tears were just a result of sitting in the wind. Maybe the haggard look just a reaction to the elements. Maybe the ciggies were just a way of dealing with big day nerves. Because as he stubbed out his cigarette with his highly polished shoes, he looked around and a huge smile formed on his face. I looked in the direction of his gaze and there was a beautiful woman in a stunning dress laughing as she walked towards him accompanied by a photographer.

‘I can’t believe I forgot the bouquet.’ her words carried to me on the wind. I smiled too, it was infectious. If I had been a betting man I would have been out of pocket.