Nightmare in Jamaica 2nd Edition New Haven Publishing Ltd

27/10/2024

I'm raising £2,500 to support Tommy's dream of training in Havana, Cuba – a rare chance to take his boxing skills to the next level. Every donation, big or small, brings him closer to this incredible opportunity. Thank you so much for your support; it truly means the world to us and makes a real difference in his journey!

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/wnqUs6Q1VNWQp2Tq/

Iʼm raising money to support a sports project. Support this JustGiving Crowdfunding Page.

15/04/2024

See you there to show our appreciation of Jeff Moh Memorial Gig Thursday 18th April Bar Love 265 Portobello Road Free Entry

23/02/2024

FLASH FICTION FRIDAY

"THE MASTERS OF TWINING"

Prologue ⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️

On the urban streets, shrouded in mystery, deception thrived. An ingenious scam known as "Twining or Ringing the Changes", as known in different parts of the country," its origins, and the con-women are elusive, like ghosts floating through the atmosphere for thousands of years. With agile hands and silver tongues, cunning blaggers moved between truth and lies from the ancient cities of the East to the streets of wartime London in the West.

:::: ::: :::: ::::: :::::: :::::

"From Rags to Riches and Back Karma Came Calling"

She recalls when her G's lived on the edge, the thrill of adventure coursing through their veins as they rang in the changes.

"Living like Rockstars, high on sniff and with pockets rammed with scratch, game for everything and anything flying around the globe."

They were based in Pompey, with easy access to the south. Their headquarters were where they plotted their moves before taking to the road like modern-day bandits. They were young and carefree, chasing the elusive dream of easy money.

Their scam was simple yet effective. They'd trick shop cashiers wherever they went through Europe and beyond. The buzz of the game was unreal, the rush of adrenaline coursing through their veins with each successful transaction. The clinking of coins, rustling banknotes, the hum of the shop, the background conversations, and the clack of the cash register all added to the buzz of the moment.

They'd begin with a £20 note or a Hundred dollar bill, or whichever note in whatever currency or country they were in, buying something inexpensive, 90p or less.

Handing the cashier a £20 note as the cashier returned the change—a £10 note, a fiver, four quid coins and shrapnel, setting the stage for the switch.

They'd say sorry, I've just found a pound in my pocket. Could you please give me a tenner, and I'll give you back the fiver and five-pound coins?

The trick was to ensure that the cashier remained unaware. Most cashiers fell for it, always needing change during their shift. Swiftly pocketing the tenner in her back pocket from the pile of money in her hand, thus keeping a fiver and the coins. Then, she'd casually request a tenner back, pointing at the till to reiterate her request.

As the cashier went back to the till, when the cashier returned with a ten-pound note from the till, she'd lean over and take it from the cashier's hand and begin the fraud.

She'd start counting the money back into the cashier's hand, slowly counting it out, saying, "Five, six, seven, eight, and nine," and then throw the ten-pound note back into the hand of the cashier (the one the cashier had just given her)

Along with the five-pound note and the rest of the coins into the cashier's hand, saying,

"I tell you what, love just give me the twenty back."

The shopkeeper who'd been expecting to see ten pound now mysteriously saw twenty momentarily confused but wouldn't even think a scam was happening; the cashier could see twenty pounds in his hand so it must all be correct, and would go back to the till and hand over the £20 without hesitation.

While she kept chatting, not giving them time to think, and nobody would be the wiser, it all seemed so natural. But she'd scammed them out of a ten-pound note in her back pocket. That sleight of hand meant she walked away with £30, only parting with £20.

She'd sometimes push it further, smoothly asking for the £20 back after a quick exchange, capitalising on their trust. If they took the bait, she could double or triple her haul with each attempt. Every successful swap left her more prosperous, and the cashiers often remained oblivious.

They dubbed it a "double-up" or "treble-up," depending on the outcome. The simplicity of it all and the obliviousness of their marks allowed them to reach numerous places without detection. They visited towns and cities, hitting up various spots—supermarkets, pubs, chippies—constantly vigilant. Their scam went through borders, Germany, Switzerland, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Holland, Belgium, Spain, Canada, India, Thailand, India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Hong Kong, Australia, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and beyond, adapting to different currencies and settings.

Despite the risks of flying across the globe and the toll on some of them, they persisted, raking in thousands weekly. But in '98, she called it quits. She couldn't ignore the karma catching up—it was time to abandon the deceit and seek a new life.

Years since she last set foot in Pompey, the memories flooded back as she walked its streets, the echoes of their past exploits resonating in every corner. But now, the city seemed different, as if it had moved on without her. She was drawn to the old haunts where they once plotted their schemes. The shops that were once their targets now stood as reminders of a life she had left behind. She couldn't help but wonder what had become of the people they had deceived, the faces that had unknowingly contributed to their fortune.

As she wandered, lost in thought, she stumbled upon a familiar sight: the shop where it all began. The dimly lit interior beckoned her, drawing her in like a moth to a flame. She stood at the threshold, hesitant yet curious, her heart pounding. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of paper money and stale goods. The cashier behind the counter looked up, a faint glimmer of recognition in her eyes.

Had she seen her before, or was it just her imagination? She approached the counter, her hands trembling slightly as she reached into her pocket. The familiar ritual played out before her, the exchange of money, the fleeting moment of trust. But this time, something was different. As she handed him the change, she hesitated, her conscience weighing heavily on her mind. She couldn't go through with it, not this time. With a heavy heart, she returned the money, her fingers trembling as she pushed it across the counter. She looked at her, confusion etched on her face, but she did not explain. Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving behind a life that no longer belonged to her.

As she stepped out into the daylight, a sense of liberation washed over her, and the weight of her past finally lifted. And as she walked away, she couldn't help but wonder: was there hope for redemption?

"RINGING THE CHANGES" Setting: Outside a shopping centre.

Characters:
- Jilly Conwomen, 28
- Dave Driver, 20
- Shop Assistant
- Kids
- Security Guard
- Store Manager
- Mia (Undercover Cop)

(Jilly and Dave drive to a shopping centre.)

Jilly: "Dave, just after I do the trick, make sure you keep your eyes open, and you’ve got my back. You'll do the checking. And don't be taking your eye off the ball. I'll pay you for doing the driving at the end of the day like I always do."

Dave: "Don't worry, I'll have your back; how much are you up anyway?"

Jilly: "Not that it's any of your business, but I reckon about 400 quid; I need a few more for the hotel tonight."

Dave: "Yes, but you pay me peanuts. 50 quid a day."

Jilly: "Yes, but I'm taking all the risks, and I pay you; then I have to pay for the petrol and the hotel. It all adds up, you know. You're just the bag carrier and the lookout man, watching my back and stuffing your face with bags of crisps and all the rubbish I buy. Look at how much weight you've put on."

Dave: "P**s off you t**t. I know, but I'm sure you could pay me more. You must be loaded; we've been on the road for two weeks, and your wallet is crammed with notes. And I'm struggling. I'm behind with my rent. I need more money."

Jilly: "Stop worrying about what I'm making and concentrate on what you're supposed to do. My heart pumps p**s for you. Now shut the f**k up and pull over there."
(They park. Kids kick a dog.)
Dave: "Oi, you lot, p**s off before I come over and kick you."
(Kids run away. Dave pats the dog.)
Dave: "Good boy. Go on, get off home."

A beggar approaches, and Jilly shoves him out of the way.
Jilly: P**s off, mate. Get a job!

Dave: You can be a right bastard at times, Jilly.

Jilly: Come on, save your lectures for later. I want to get these last touches; the shops will close soon. We need to get a move on.

(Jilly enters a shop, buys a bag of crisps for fifty pence, and hands over a twenty-pound note.)

Assistant: (gives change) 19.50

(Jilly leans over, takes the change, and stealthily slips £10 into the back pocket of her jeans.)

Jilly: Oh, sorry, I've just found some loose change. Can you give me a ten-pound note, love, and I'll give you the change back?

(Assistant hands over a tenner. Jilly takes the note from her hand, counts the money back into the cashiers hand, throws the ten-pound note back in her palm, and piles more change on top; the assistant sees 20 pounds in her hand, slightly confused.)

Jilly: I'll tell you what, give me the twenty-pound note back. Love.

(The shop assistant hands over the twenty note from the till, unaware she's been scammed out of a tenner. Dave watches, pretending they're not together. They repeat the same in the following ten shops.)

Jilly: Yes, I've made a few quid today. I'll look forward to counting it later; counting scratch is my favourite thing to do in the world.

Dave: (impressed) Sweet! You're a master at this. Where did you learn how to do this?

Jilly: That's for me to know and you to find out.

Dave: When are you going to show me how to do it?

Jilly: Well, you've been watching for the last few weeks. Indeed, you must know how to do it by now. When you feel confident, let me know, and I'll watch your back while you do a few shops.

Dave: Yes, but every time I see you do it, it doesn't look as if you’ve done anything wrong; I can't seem to get my head around it; you seem so casual about it all, and nobody seems none the wiser, and you do it so quick, and all the time you're chatting to the assistant it all looks so natural.

Jilly: It's not just about quick hands, Dave. It's about confidence. Look at that shop assistant; she didn't suspect a thing. I can do double-ups and treble-ups; there are loads of variations, but we'll stick with just a simple tenner while I'm training you.

Dave: But what if someone catches us?

Jilly: That's why you need to have balls to do this. If you act like you're in the right, people won't suspect a thing, and you can easily blag your way out of it. Acting stupid, they always fall for it, trust me.

Dave: What if they suss me out?

Jilly: Play it cool. They won't. Confidence, mucker, confidence, stop acting like we're up to something. Relax; it'll be fine.

Dave: What if this goes wrong?

Jilly: for f**ks sake, It won't stop acting like you're scared. Just look, you're not doing anything act like we don't know each other. Watch and learn.

(In a busy store, a security guard notices Jilly.)

Guard: Hey, what are you up to?

Jilly: Just getting some change, mate.

Guard: Change, huh? I can't determine what you're up to, but I think leaving the shopping centre is best.

Jilly: I was getting some change. I don't think there's any harm done.

Guard: I'm sure you're up to no good, so get a move on. I don’t want to see your face around here again.


Jilly walks away; Dave follows him a few minutes later, feeling paranoid.
Dave: This wasn't worth it, Jilly. You could have ended up in jail.

Jilly: He didn’t know what I was up to, but it's part of the game, and I never let it bother me; get straight back into it.

Dave: I'm done with this. My arse went back there. You might be able to deal with the stress, but it's not for me; he could be on the phone to the police right now, for all we know.



Jilly: Look, it's not for everyone. It may be time to move on and do something else: get a job. You're not cut out to be a conman; you're too soft.

Dave: I just never thought it would come to this. I'm done with this life, Jilly. It's not worth the risk.

Jilly: It's about making scratch. But I wouldn't let that guard put you off; he let me go. It's so hard to work out.

As Dave leaves, he hesitates for a moment.

Dave: Jilly, it's not worth it.

Jilly smirks, seemingly unbothered.

Jilly: We just got unlucky this time. It's so difficult to prove half the time the coppers can't be arsed with the paperwork over a tenner.


Dave: You must be mad. Something will go wrong one day, and you'll end up in Jail.


Jilly: Suit yourself. You’ve got to have bolloks. If you ever change your mind, let me know. But to be honest, you're starting to do my head in and making me jumpy with your paranoid talk; for f**k sake, we're not robbing the Bank of England.

As Dave walks away, he feels relieved not to be involved anymore.

Dave (whispering to himself): It's not worth the risk.

(As Jilly moves away from Dave, an undercover cop named Mia follows Jilly)

Mia: (speaking into a hidden mic) We've got movement. The suspect appears to be leaving the scene.



(Mia follows Jilly, observing her every move. The tension escalates as she gathers evidence.)

Mia (whispering into the mic): Suspect seems unfazed. Continuing surveillance.

(Jilly, unaware of Mia's presence, heads to an alley to count her money.)

Mia (communicating with backup): I need confirmation on her criminal record. This might be the break we need.

(As Dave wrestles with his decision, Mia gathers crucial information, closing in on Jilly's illicit activities.)


Dave (muttering to himself): It's not just about the money; it's about the risks we took.

(Mia, reviewing her findings, realises the extent of the operation and decides to make her move.)

Mia (calling for backup): We need to apprehend the suspect. I've got enough evidence to bring her in.

(The climax unfolds as Mia, accompanied by the guard, closes in on Jilly.)

Mia (announcing herself): Jilly, you're under arrest for theft and fraud. You have the right to remain silent.

(Jilly, shocked, is handcuffed while Dave watches from a distance.)

Dave (whispering to himself): I made the right choice. No matter how much money she makes, it's not worth going to prison; yes, I will get a job. She's right. I'm not cut out for this.


As Jilly is led away in handcuffs, the gravity of her actions finally seems to dawn upon her. Dave, distanced from the crime, observes from afar, his relief palpable. Mia, the undercover cop, glances at Dave, acknowledging his choice to walk away.

11/02/2024

A legendary figure who was well known in the music scenes of London and Berlin for over four decades, Japarree Abdullah, also known as Jeff Moh, was a Borneo-born music enthusiast with an unbridled passion for rock bands like Deep Purple and Uriah Heep. He quickly made a name for himself in Europe by contributing to magazines based in Berlin and Germany. Jeff worked with both major bands and undiscovered talents, treating every artist with equal respect.

Jeff's departure left a massive void in the hearts of his friends. He was a charismatic character who loved keeping up with current affairs, watching the World Cup, and pursuing his passions for dancing, photography, and music.

Jeff, a man of many talents and interests, tried his hand at accounting and gold trading but ultimately found his calling in photography, which led him to London in the '70s. With his camera, he became a master storyteller, capturing the essence of bands and the vibrant personalities within the music scene.

Jeff had a diverse group of friends from all walks of life, but his heart belonged to London. Despite requests to return to his family in Borneo or Singapore, Jeff insisted on staying in London, declaring, "Hey Bro, this is my home, and I'm happy here."

Over the years, Jeff took thousands of photos. It would be fantastic to see his photos spread across the internet someday. Jeff had numerous stories to share and always loved a good laugh. He was a great walker and had incredible energy until he had a stroke, after which his health declined. Nevertheless, Jeff lived life on his terms. He hailed from a warm, loving family back home, but he chose a life of adventure. He had extensive knowledge about the cities of Europe and shared numerous amusing stories.

Jeff was one of the coolest characters on the music scene. I mean how many people like Jeff do you meet in this lifetime? We did loads of gigs together and had our ups and downs like mates do, but we got through them. Jeff was a humble character, and he worked in the background taking his photos and then back in his room spending days and weeks editing them before releasing them. He went on many photo shoots with bands, and he seemed to know everybody wherever he went; he was always being invited to gigs to take photos, he loved it and knew so much about music.

When news of Jeff's passing spread, his shocked friends gathered at the South London Islamic Centre at short notice. In the prayer hall, they bowed in reverence, offering prayers for their fallen bro. Outside, the city bustled with life, but those inside the mosque paid their respects.

Jeff was laid to rest at Eternal Gardens, a Muslim cemetery in Chislehurst, Kent. Memories of him flooded his friends' minds as they said their final emotional goodbyes. The Imam's words around the grave provided solace, even if they were incomprehensible to some. Jeff Moh's story came to a close, but his photographs will live on in the hearts of those who knew him.

I would like to do a memorial gig for Jeff probably the end of March as I will be on a holiday from Uni. His burial was at short notice, taking his friends by surprise, and it was a trek to get there, so I'm sure people who knew Jeff would like to come together and celebrate his life and reminisce about their stories of Jeff with his mates in the atmosphere he loved.

04/02/2024

R.I.P Jeff Moh.

Jeff didn't simply take photographs; he lived and breathed music, particularly rock and roll. With his straightforward, no-nonsense style and approach, Jeff pushed the boundaries of photography. He actively sought out action shots on stage and favoured bands that knew how to entertain and generate energy before him. As a teenager, Jeff journeyed from the Malaysian side of Borneo, propelled by his passion for music and the pursuit of enjoyment, and arrived in London in 1979/80. After spending 20 years residing in Germany and traversing Europe, Jeff, already fluent in English, mastered German also.

He had been a gold dealer for many years, and legend had it that he wore those shades because of the glare in the vaults from the bullion. Jeff once informed me that he had trained in Kung-fu and had been a long-distance runner in his youth. He had travelled to numerous countries on the hippy trail in the 70s.

Fifteen years ago, Jeff returned to London. Coming from the tropical jungles of Borneo, Jeff preferred European weather, finding the cooler days here more to his liking. The energy surrounding musicians and the sense of adventure in the industry were hard to match. Jeff Moh became the resident photographer of Mau Mau Mondays among many other things and had friends worldwide.

Jeff was a free thinker who loved the buzz of music and good times. On our first encounter, he greeted me with his classic, "Hello, Bro!" Clad in his rock and roll attire bandana otop his head, with a camera slung around his neck, a spliff in hand, and his shades on – he never removed them, resembling a character straight out of a Cheech and Chong film. Another sad loss to London's music scene, Jeff will be missed by many.

Jeff passed away peacefully in his sleep, perhaps the best way to go. Nonetheless, he lived a fulfilling life, and I'm certain many people have their stories and memories of Jeff.

Farewell, Bro... Rest in Peace Japarree Abdullah [aka Jeff Moh] 🙏

24/01/2024

"I would like to share a story close to my heart about Dermot Cadogan, who recently passed away. I have known him since he opened Acklam Village Market and had bands performed there over the years. He was always genuine even if it meant speaking his mind and sharing his opinions, whether I liked it or not.

Over the years, we shared many good laughs, but one memory stands out the most. In 2017, I experienced a devastating house fire that left me with nothing and in the hospital. Like a true friend, Dermot came to my aid and gave me £500 to help me recover. He told me to pay him back when I could, but later on, during Christmas time, he insisted that I forget about the money and not tell anyone about it.

Despite hearing people gossiping about and criticising him, I never said a word. Dermot was a strong-willed man, but he had a heart of gold, and he did so much for the community. I even worked for him for a while, but I got fired for getting drunk on the job. I didn't take it personally, though, because we had always been straight with each other.

It's been a few years since I've visited Acklam, and I haven't seen Dermot for a while. His passing is a significant loss, and I offer my deepest condolences to his family and Caroline. It's a sad time, but I will never forget the kindness and compassion that Dermot showed me during my time of need."

23/01/2024

Robert Plant is a legendary musician with great insights and thoughts on life and music. Below are some of his famous quotes:

1. "The past should be a stepping stone, not a millstone."

2. "I like being alone in all aspects of my life. Feeling lonely and needing things is an essential part of my being."

3. "You cannot give up something you believe in for financial reasons. If you die by the roadside, so be it. At least you know you've tried.

Ten minutes in the music scene equals one hundred years outside of it."

4. "I didn't copy my vocal style from anyone. It just developed until it became the girlish whine it is today."

5. "Music is for everyone that walks the planet."

6. "Since childhood, I have been obsessed with certain kinds of American music, such as Mississippi Delta blues of the Thirties, Chicago blues of the Fifties, West Coast music of the mid-sixties – but I’d never touched on dark Americana."

7. "My kids are grown-up now, and I love them, and we are in close contact as big-time friends. But they don't need me that much now, and I can enjoy this wonderful world of music."

8. "There’s nothing worse than a bunch of jaded old farts, and that’s a fact."

9. "Whenever I have bid a hasty goodbye to a loved one, I’ve always made sure that my record collection was safely stored away in the boot of the car."

10. "It’s sort of a feeling of power onstage. It’s the ability to make people smile or to turn them one way or another for that time and for it to have some effect later on. I don’t think it’s power… it’s the goodness."

17/01/2024

"Bricks and Bars"

The love of books is such an eye-opener because they allow us to share experiences through storytelling. My passion for books blossomed during my time in prison as a youngster. Whenever the cell door closed with a clang, I found comfort in the pages of a book that would transport me beyond those walls, sparking my thirst for adventure and taking me on journeys across the globe.



I read about the world during my incarceration, which only fuelled my desire to explore further through books. Once I completed my sentence and was released, I spent years travelling, always with a love for immersing stories. This love affair with books eventually inspired me to become an author myself. Today, three of my books are in the British Library—a journey that began when I worked as a bricklayer in the library many years before, never dreaming that I would have books in there myself one day.



A great book can whisk you away from the routines of everyday life and immerse you in captivating worlds while sitting comfortably in your armchair. People turn to reading for various reasons—seeking escapism, seeking enjoyment, or simply craving the thrill of discovering places and characters. What more could we ask for?



Books' enduring appeal lies in their ability to supply an escape route into realms and ignite our sense of adventure and curiosity. Whether it is the longing for something beyond the boundaries of reality or seeking reassurance in the company of crafted characters, novels offer a haven for our minds. The sheer delight of immersing oneself in the pages of a captivating story is a pleasure that forms connections that transcend time and circumstances. This irresistible allure of books, with its promise of embarking on adventures, makes it a beloved companion for individuals, myself included.



Throughout my journey, books have served as a vessel navigating life's turbulent seas. Beyond the confines of prison walls, it has been a companion during my travels, providing solace and enlightenment. Countless novels have unfolded enchanting landscapes before me, weaving tales that surpass realities.



As my explorations deepened, so did my appreciation for books. It is not merely an escape from reality. It also serves as a gateway to other worlds—a medium that ignites curiosity and fuels imagination. Through the crafted narratives, readers can traverse epochs, meet cultures and empathise with characters whose lives differ.



The magic of a good book lies in its power—it sculpts universes within our minds while allowing us to experience triumphs and tribulations vicariously.



The escapism provided by books is a way to escape from reality. It is a journey of the mind that enhances our understanding of the experience. As I've transitioned from being a reader to contributing to the world, books have remained my source of inspiration, fuelling my creativity. Whether I was confined within prison walls or exploring the expanse of the British Library, stories have woven together a tapestry of experiences that surpass the boundaries of time and circumstance. Therefore, in the tapestry of life, books are a thread that connects countless people in their search for solace and excitement within the pages of a book.

Tommy Kennedy IV

15/01/2024

We're back on tonight for the quarter-finals against Manchester University! Good luck team 🤞

Birkbeck Students' Union

09/01/2024

John Healy's autobiography, "The Grass Arena," vividly recounts his 15 years as a homeless alcoholic in 1950s London. The book details the harsh realities of life on the streets, the struggle for survival, and the pursuit of alcohol. Healy's narrative takes a turn when he discovers chess in prison, offering an escape and leading to a transformative journey. The memoir is praised for its sober yet powerful storytelling, providing insight into the challenges of addiction and homelessness. The book has garnered positive reviews, with readers commending its honesty and compelling portrayal of Healy's life. It also touches on themes of chess, class dynamics, and relationships.

02/01/2024

He's got the world at his feet.

Luke Littler, a 16-year-old darts player from Warrington, has become the youngest player to reach the -final of the World Championship at Alexandra Palace. Nicknamed 'The Nuke,' Littler's journey started with childhood videos of him throwing darts and emulating Raymond van Barneveld's celebration. Despite early enthusiasm for football, Littler shifted to darts at age nine, winning titles and stunning victories, including beating the Dutchman who inspired him.

Now, just one win away from the championship, Littler's remarkable story continues to captivate the sporting world.
Warrington's 16-year-old darts prodigy, Luke Littler, has reached the World Darts Championship final, aiming to become the youngest-ever champion. His impressive performance, including defeating the eighth seed with a 6-2 score, has garnered attention and celebrity status. Despite trailing in the opening set, Littler showcased composure, achieving high checkouts and an average of 106.05. The teenager's unexpected success has led to calls for a place in the Premier League, but his focus remains on the upcoming final at Alexandra Palace.

Sixteen-year-old Luke Littler impressively defeats former world champion Rob Cross in the PDC World Darts semi-final with a score of 6-2. Littler's exceptional performance, marked by a 106 average and 47% doubles accuracy, solidifies him as a favorite in the upcoming final against either Luke Humphries or Scott Williams. Despite Cross's strong play, Littler's confidence and skill set him apart, captivating both the crowd and the world of darts.

02/01/2024

Sebastian Horsley, born in 1962, was a flamboyant figure known as "The Dandy of Soho." Born into a wealthy family with a tumultuous childhood, he had an eccentric life, dabbling in stock markets, engaging with Soho's prostitutes, and even undergoing a crucifixion experience in the Philippines. Horsley's unique dandyism, influenced by figures like Wilde and Quentin Crisp, embraced the filth of Soho. He wrote columns, ran a s*x advice column, and staged provocative art exhibitions. Despite his shocking antics, he was described as gentle and sensitive. Horsley's life ended with a he**in and co***ne overdose in 2010, leaving behind a legacy that blended art, extravagance, and a distinct sense of individuality.

29/12/2023

I had to unpublish El Peculiar; Amazon deemed it too obscene. One day, I will re-edit and publish it again. But I had fun writing it. It's all a learning curve x

Flash Fiction Friday

"EL PECULIAR"

In the dim haze of a Medellín hotel back room in 1984 on New Year's Eve, I gracefully sidestepped under the ropes, my body glistening under the harsh lights. Cigar smoke lingered, and the clink of champagne bottles echoed through the air. El Peculiar, the infamous gangster, arranged the fight, setting the stage for a brutal showdown.

My lean, battle-hardened face, short-styled scalp, and no-nonsense expression gave me the air of a Greek warrior from antiquity. My light blue eyes, sprinkled with hints of turquoise, locked onto my Colombian opponent, Jose Maracas. He glared back.

As the Mexican referee introduced us, the crowd's anticipation swelled. I knew I had to win tonight. I sensed a trail of sweat rolling down my cheeks and brushed it off with the back of my leather gloves. The soft tissue under my eyebrows crisscrossed with tiny scars from previous bouts, but with an air of composure about me. I could sense the crowd wanted blood, and I loved to entertain. My heart pounded, my stomach knotted with anxiety; I wanted to shed my skin and step out of the ring. Always this way before a fight; fear made me crazy and was the key to my unbeaten reign.

I cast my eyes back over my opponent, who looked huge as he stared across the ring. I bunched my fists tight, more than ready to unleash them. My body pumped up with steroids; but I didn't give a toss. The Mexican referee called our names and our achievements. The crowd roared their approval. When the cheers subsided, the referee signaled us to the center of the ring. We tapped gloves and went back to our respective corners. The bell clanged out for the combat to take place.

I sprang into the center of the ring like a gazelle. My footwork was phenomenal. We circled each other for a minute, threw jabs, and looked for an opening. My opponent caught unaware as I drove a thunderous right hand upwards with deadly accuracy. The veins in my neck bulged, all my power coursing through my muscular arm. Jose felt the impact, a bone-shattering uppercut under his chin. His face contorted in pain as a brilliant white light flickered across his brain. His eyes rolled, the mouthguard rocketed out of his mouth, covered in blood and saliva, across the ring and landed in the crowd of spectators.

The powerful punch buckled his legs and felled him as he crashed to the canvas with a sickening thud. Blood spewed from his open mouth onto the canvas. He sensed he had bitten his tongue and could taste it spilling in his mouth. The pain was immediate and horrendous. His jaw jarred with the severity of the blow.

The crowd dumbfounded into silence. A 12-round bout, and they were here to taste and smell the blood. They felt robbed and cheated; indeed, this couldn't be the end?

The referee stood over the prone body, laid in an ugly position, and counted: 8, 9, 10, and waved his arms. Over; the crowd disgruntled. The sledgehammer of a punch ended this epic battle in less than 90 seconds. I rubbed my stubbled chin and thrust my arms into the air. The crowd, by this time, went berserk. The boos reverberated around the packed room. I made short work of my opponent. I outthought and outfought him in the first round. A smile spread across my face as I realized I had won the cold hard cash, a huge purse, a million Yankee dollars. My trainer hefted me into the air and gave me a bone-crushing hug. Reporters and photographers clamored into the ring to get close to the champ.

A reporter thrust a mic into my face; he wanted my reactions to the fight. I cleared my throat and took a swig of water from a plastic carton as I leaned into the mic.

My accent broad and deep, sounding like a chainsaw hammering through concrete. A look of arrogance filtered across my face as I told the reporter, "I'd trained for this fight for six months. I knew I could win, but I never thought it would be this easy. I want to thank my trainer and all the fans who came out tonight to show their support." There was a tic above my right eye as it fluttered up and down with excitement. The reporter asked what my next move would be? "I'm going out to have some fun with my prize money tonight and sample some of these beautiful Colombian señoritas," I replied.

The reporter whacked me on the back, laughed, and said, "Well done, champ, you deserve it." My opponent pushed himself off the canvas, a broken look on his face; he knew he had been well and truly beaten. I forced myself through the crowd and embraced Jose, whose face was smeared with blood. "Thanks for the fight," I uttered. Jose replied, through bloodied swollen lips, "Congratulations, amigo, you caught me by surprise. We should have a rematch." I laughed in his face and said, "Anytime, hombre."

A gunshot broke out; a bullet blasted through the back of Jose's skull. It exploded like a burst melon, his brains were turned into mush and splattered over the ring and caked me in gore. A voice screamed across the room; "Enjoy your winnings, you piece of s**t. You lost me a fortune tonight." The crowd too intimidated to say anything.

El Peculiar laughed out loud, threw the pearl-handled gun into the ring, and shouted, "Dump his body in the garbage outback, and let's start the party."