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> Glasgow’s Bond Note; 1/16, story
peter.howden
post 22nd Feb 2021, 08:28pm
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GLASGOW’S BOND NOTE; 1/16

The beautiful blonde beckoned James forward, disregarding her saucy cloths as if they had just gone out of fashion. The reddest, roundest, fullest lips a mouth he had ever seen, panted for his favours. He closed in just moments away from sensuous bonding… he awoke.

He’d felt restlessly, uncomfortable becoming aware of reality, from a uneasy sleep after the night before. A thumping head hinder his eyes focusing, leaving just a dim blur, but worse, far worse, his mouth was a stone dry, Sahara desert’s portable toilet. Now James could not escape a weird fuzzy picture, enclosed his confused mind, of attractive blond girl, with some special curves. Abruptly, he became aware of a deafening unnerving silence, which should not be, so, for the guardian of the flat…his mutt, usually is all over him by now.

Slowly rising out of oblivion, not the land of nod, just out senselessness for some hours. James could recall swigging back some mysterious alcohol, as if tomorrow weren’t related, anyway, he told himself, no work in the morning. Who was he kidding; no employment for some time, no inquires for his agile profession, his manner of expertise? Glancing around with a head still not connected to any brain, wondering when he had come home… and how. He hoped he had not driven. First thing obvious, he was fully clothed except for his cowboy boots. He rose and in the dark, moved to the kitchen to find cool fluid, any liquid would do, even water, to quench his thirst.

James had no idea what he frantically gulped down out of a tatty old carton, but instantly solved his immediate dire thirst, shocking the system as it went…but the hairy tongue soon came back. His mind raced back to where was his dog. It had been with him for some time, then his curious habits made a perfect sentry canine. The mutt would let anyone in, even if they busted in, uninvited… the hound would not let them leave, in any manner…then came terrible retribution

Flashing back to the night before, straining through the unknown. It had been a 60s night, tried to pull on an old pair of flower power brushed denim flairs, however there was no way he could haul them past his knees. It was calmer to go as an easy riding cowboy, close to the ‘James Dean’ look; brilliant white tee-shirt, tight jeans, and a cowboy hat, though he could vaguely recall, some joker cruelly baptised him; as ‘Pearl & Dean’.

Doubting why he was sleeping on the smelly old couch, (for that is where the crossbreed napped), instead of his king-sized bed, he bumped into some sparse furniture, almost falling back into the couch where he played knocked out. Just managing, with great exertion, to reach the light switch. He turned on the power… to find chaos. The room was in ramshackle turmoil, books… records strewed all over the place, while his cherished couple of seats overturned and broken. The whole thing would not register, this could not be real…so instinctively he switched the light back off, standing in the dark solitude, impassive. Still, the image of this good-looking female would not leave his mind

Slowly moving to the kitchenette, put on its light then immediately switched them back off as they were far too bright straining his crippled eyes. Opening the fridge, his eyes tightly avoiding the glare from the inside bulb, reached in for a can of juice. He had no idea what kind, but he was not fussy, just desperate to rid himself of his furry tongue. Gulping the cold fluid quickly, then pushing his head back making it hurt more than before.

Aiming the empty can for the bin but just missed, bashing against the wall. James forced his eyes open, flicked the light switch again, realising even a bigger turmoil mess in the now upside-down kitchenette. He could not figure out why?... was this a burglary …but what were they looking for? Cautiously moving back into the room, switched on a sidelight. What a bloody mess, a real turnover…the bampots, whoever they were. He then instantly checked the front door. No sign of a forced entry though a slight noise from inside the master bedroom, alerted him to almost being sober.

Grabbing the first thing at hand, which happened to be an imitation miniature statue of Rodin’s “The Thinker”, silently proceeding, checking every step he made, as you would expect from his disciplined speciality, moving towards his boudoir. Glancing through the ajar door, he entered the doorway. Prostrate, naked on his king-sized bed, was a young attractive woman, with blood down the side of her mouth, now congealed. There was lots of it being highlighted by the bright yellow silk sheets. Pools of blood, spread on the rug and flooring, some on the far away wall. It looked as if she had put up one hell of a fight.

She was the very image of the girl in his mind since the moment he had come to life…. She was dead… but lying motionless beside the bed, tongue flabbily on the floor carpet…. was his dog!
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TeeHeeHee
post 23rd Feb 2021, 12:25pm
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Assuming that like any writer who puts pen to paper in expectation that someone somewhere will read the fruit of their labour and offer fair critic, I hereby submit mine: Pure Shite.

C'mon Dylan, sun's out, lets go walkies. rolleyes.gif


--------------------
"Destiny is a good thing to accept when it's going your way. When it isn't, don't call it destiny; call it injustice, treachery, or simple bad luck.”
― Joseph Heller, God Knows
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peter.howden
post 23rd Feb 2021, 12:31pm
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Thank you TeeHeeHee...for reading my scribbles...and your statement...hope I don't receive too many complains
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TeeHeeHee
post 24th Feb 2021, 12:59am
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You're more than welcome biggrin.gif However, don't confuse honest critic with complaint tongue.gif


--------------------
"Destiny is a good thing to accept when it's going your way. When it isn't, don't call it destiny; call it injustice, treachery, or simple bad luck.”
― Joseph Heller, God Knows
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peter.howden
post 24th Feb 2021, 08:07am
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Good morning TeeHeeHee… I will endeavour my pencil will not lead me there??
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peter.howden
post 25th Feb 2021, 08:51pm
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GLASGOW’S BOND NOTE; 2/16

The bloody shock of finding a lifeless body would have various effects on different people, even for those who alas have to deal with such affairs on regular occurrences… yet, never become used to it, except for those mortuary workers who are a separate breed to the normal. This time it caught James well below par , a jolt waves hit his consciousness dealt with what at first could be an allusion, although experience told him above all else it was indeed… fact. .He had to leave the scene to think, and think hard, so quietly closing the bedroom door over, then wondered why he did so, for it was a sure bet the female had no ability to go anywhere, even if it was her last wish. The door lock clicked shut allowing short relief.

James retraced his steps back into the kitchenette, ignoring the chaos while searching for the electric kettle, then the precious coffee, but then again more important, the allusive clean mug. Pouring several large spoonful’s of sugar, and teabag… the Glesga antidote to comfort his worried soul. The kettle came to the boil and James filled his mug, sat down, drank the dark liquid until it cleared his head of any insignificant nonsense and senseless drivel . James knew what he must do, but before phoning the law, he must lay to rest old ghosts, making sure he has his facts right. For one thing he couldn’t remember…the good time he must have had last night, as the dead body was completely naked in his bed.

Grabbing some tools of his trade, the small trusty pencil torch, two sharp pencils and a pair of fine rubber gloves along with a couple of small plastic bags, plus a glass cleaning cloth; he could no longer delay anymore. Putting on the fine plastic gloves, taking the soft cloth to wipe the door handle on the outside, then inside while shutting the inside door behind him. James placed his torch in his mouth, standing perfectly still as he pointed the beam towards the deceased.

Very slowly his light scrutinised each line available without disturbing a single hair. There was obvious sign of struggles as the bed clothes were sprawled across and twisted over the top end of the bed. There were cut marks of the mattress with some kind of sharp instrument, as if someone blindly plunged at the victim. Spots of blood were sprinkled over the bottom half of the bedding.

The lady of the piece with a beautiful face even in death, though now rather swollen around the mouth and eyes, which could suggest some form of asphyxiation. James ’s thought for a moment; he recalled a blond girl’s features where on his mind while he woke from his intoxicated sleep. Sharply he wondered if there was any connection or just a drunken lure. His professionalism returned quickly, reminding himself never to jump to ill substantiated conclusions. Uncle John would shudder or roll in his grave, face hardened with recalling Uncle John… and what happened to him.

The phone rang in echoes depriving him concluding his thoughts as he automatic reached for it on the small dresser in his bedroom, but the furniture was upside down and scattered. Keeping his cool he waved his head around the whole 360 degrees, then up and down. He made a hasty grab for the object and it stopped ringing. A voice loud and laughing shouted at the other end. “I guess you have found your little present, from me by now?”

The deep-toned voice sneered again, “How could I do this to you? I will not tell you anymore you bastard; …just put it down to fate or bad luck”. James questioned who was speaking, and what the bloom were they talking about, but the intruder ignored him by continuing, “and you and that bloody relation of yours crucified me! Mamma, this is the real thing to me” , James asked again, but this time in demand form, but the voice just continued with a laughing menace in his voice, “I have phoned the cops you son of a bastard …Talk yourself out of that…you wally!”. The crude dialogue ended abruptly, a thunderous click of the phone at the other end… rocketed through the line into James ’s ear.

Just then…. the doorbell rang right through the whole apartment.
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peter.howden
post Today, 12:01pm
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GLASGOW’S BOND NOTE; 3/16

Believing the police were behind the heavy oak front door, James quickly covered his deceased dog, to give his staunch hound some sense of privacy . with the local cop shop, crossed swords and a tedious relationship existed, concluding, it would be better to open the door willingly rather than having it forcibly broken down. With the latch on, he opened the door ajar, attempting to look normal, whatever the hell that was? James almost swore, as the devious face of his next-door neighbour Frankie emerged, slurring his words as usual, “Hell of a noise coming from your place last night?”. A long pause followed as if Frankie was waiting for an apology of sorts, then realized none was coming… added slyly, “I was a bit hurt you never invited me in; the line of work you’re in must be able to pick the birds?”

Frankie’s manners less than recommended for a sub species, but he had been handy to have in the past. “Sorry Frankie, but it was one on one”. “No need to say any more you lucky B”… James shut the door before the thug had time to finish his obvious sentence. Frankie was a dinosaur ,still thinking of woman as birds, wearing high heeled shoes, suspenders, and wiggle,

Turning back into such a horrendous scene, assuming the murderer struck in the dark, James kept the main light off, hunting for clues left at the extreme crime. The blood’s consistency had not changed, bruising around the mouth cheeks and eyes were certainly some hours old. She had been smothered but as far as he could detect, not by pillows which remained unruffled and slinky, as silk pillowcases are. Slapped around before being murdered, though somehow, all the details did not connect. The slashing or stabbing was all out of concept, and the smell of urine was not there. Something was definitely wrong with the mouth, the blood on the teeth and gums.

Meticulously examining the half-lit corpse at an angle, exposed a fragment of paper lodged in her mouth . Taking two thin pencils as chop stick pincers, managed to free the piece from the body fluid-stained teeth. The lips by this time were a odd pleasing blue, a macabre beauty as the body lay unprepared for her maker. The doorbell rang; then rang again…constantly. Hearing Frankie’s door open, then close much quieter, James prudently placed the blood-stained note into his jean’s back pocket.

Opening a large drawer, removed the plastic gloves placing all his protective gear into it…then made his way to casually open the door, without the latch this time. Staring into the doorway was a freckled reddish faced plump man, sporting an odd hat, and a coat almost trailing to the ground. Roy-poly would be a better description however his face screwed sternly, not matching his clownish appearance. “Well!”… cackled the man; “I’ve a warrant to search these premises …for I have reasons to believe a foul deed has been committed!”.
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