About Us
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Issue #4:
Stanely Finds a Vortex,
by Randy Tanner
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There's a Lot of Letters in Rumplestiltskin,
by Robert Neilson
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An Ingenious Adventure,
by Jason Sizemore
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A Failure of Self-Help,
by Rosalind Barden
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Stony Weather,
by T.P. Keating
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Stony Weather
by T.P. Keating
I wafted the crow tattoo on my flat palm from side to side. Accompanied
by my soothing words, I soon had Ben Gashi, alias the Lord of Larceny,
deeply hypnotized.
"What do you see?" I whispered.
"A combination lock."
"What sequence will open it?"
"2, 5, 3, Q."
When I snapped my fingers, he paid my very reasonable fee and I ushered
him out. Criminals are such a gullible bunch, thankfully. After all, they
represent a substantial portion of my clientele.
I owed it all to the late Dropkick Monroe. His one-man advertising
campaign on my behalf soon worked wonders for business. Since then, no
gossip about crime and criminals is too small to interest me. Armed with
details of a felon's latest escapades, they can often reveal rewarding
nuggets when under hypnosis. If Ben's recent raid proved as lucrative as
street-chatter believed, I'd soon be on a never-ending holiday, given that I
now knew the sequence to his combination lock.
Well, there is some stuff that Dropkick Monroe isn't responsible for.
Look, I'll be upfront from the start. My Transylvanian heritage allows me a
certain sway over common mortals. Though it's only a distant family link on
my mother's side, I hasten to add. Really, the sun does me no more harm than
to produce a mild skin allergy, which over-the-counter medication keeps at
bay. I'm a masseuse with old blood in my veins, who mesmerizes her clients
into believing that they've received their money's worth. Where's the harm
in that?
My diet is firmly under control too - a good chunk of blood pudding once
a week is more than sufficient for my needs. The idea of anything stronger
makes me feel positively queasy. As for dressing all in black, I'll leave
that to self-pitying teenagers. Mine is just another scene, you know? After
all, this is multi-cultural Britain. Live and let live. It's not like I
sneaked into the country in a fishing boat, while hidden inside a coffin.
It was noon and I didn't have another client until 2 o'clock. Grabbing my
floppy purple sun hat and raffia shoulder bag, I rushed my sandalled feet
along the hot Pimlico streets, towards Victoria Station and the nearby
office that contained the wall safe of destiny. The last week of May saw the
first proper summer weather, which with the start of June now threatened an
imminent thunderstorm. So London. Often I'd wanted to say to my clients, "If
you carry on with your unhealthy lifestyle, then I see a tiny prison cell
looming large". Soon it would all be history.
A good luck spell came unbidden to my lips as I entered the building.
Without looking up from the post she was sorting, the dolly-bird
receptionist announced "Mister Gashi of Gashi Import and Export is not here
at the moment, and he isn't due back until later this afternoon." I didn't
reply. Under my influence, I'd strongly suggested a long liquid lunch to him
- not that he required much persuasion. She deigned to glance my way.
"Connie, great to see you. Love the hat. So, Ben's still stressed?"
"Long may he fret, his stress is my regular income. I left my address
book upstairs last week. Mind if I go and get it?"
"Knock yourself out." Thank heavens I gave visiting massages for the hard
at work executive. I'd seen him using the safe and I descended on it. The
numbered dial turned beneath my bony fingers and the door opened smoothly.
Random chance be damned, tomorrow called me with the voice of spun gold
itself.
On a necklace of cheap pebbles hung a 2-inch diameter circle of flat,
unadorned grey stone. That was it? The ill gotten gains from the so-called
theft of a lifetime? Pathetic. I toyed with the idea of suing for the stress
caused to an innocent burglar. After all, our courts loved to defend the
easily upset victim nowadays. Nah, screw it. I stowed the stupid street
market junk in my shoulder bag and closed the safe, taking care to wipe off
my prints.
No good, the anger returned. I yanked the disc back out and grabbed it
tight, intent on hurling it down and crushing it beneath my cruel heel.
Damn, I didn't have my usual stilettos, just these stupid hippy-dippy
sandals. "Drop dead, Ben Gashi, Lord of Lunacy more like it." That felt
better. With my anger exorcised, I decided to hypnotize Ruby on reception,
so that she'd forget all about this little visit.
Was Ruby crying? "It's Ben," she said, as I approached. "He's just been
shot dead in a pub." I felt dreadful for wishing him harm.
"This country, I don't know." I shook my head. "Will you be alright?"
"Yes, thanks. The policeman on the phone said he'd be along shortly."
Blast, that meant I couldn't influence her. Without thinking, I'd once
more retrieved the pointless necklace. "Look, it might be rather awkward if
my name came up during their interview," I said. "How about you never saw
me? I'll pay you. Hmmm?"
"What's that?" Poor creature, the news seriously disorientated her.
"Forget you've seen me." Her eyes glazed over for a few seconds.
"Hi Connie, didn't notice you come in. Have you heard the news about
Ben?" She told me about the shooting again. Started sobbing again. Wow,
could this necklace possess the power to control minds?
"That's truly awful. Trouble is, I can't hang around, I've got another
client due shortly. Look after yourself. Bye."
"Will do. Bye."
Theft of a lifetime? More like the theft to end all thefts. Although a
course of action began to propose itself to me, I needed to run a few tests
on the power of this amulet. Birdbrain here didn't really count. How did it
work? I suspected some kind of military technology. An aid to sapping the
will of the enemy, disguised as a charm to hold greater sway over the
credulous. Frankly, I only cared if it worked.
A test. I wanted a straightforward, accurate test that proved the whole
occurrence didn't merely represent a coincidence. So many people confuse
coincidence with cause and effect. I should know, I made a steady living out
of their ignorance.
He'd do. That young lad with enough designer labels to open a shop.
"Excuse me." I made sure not to touch the amulet.
"Yeah?"
"Can I have your watch?"
"Very funny, lady."
I held the disc between thumb and forefinger. "Can I have your watch?"
"Sure." He undid the strap and handed it over with a winsome smile. "Will
there be anything else?" He'd begun to speak like a Bond Street shop
assistant who smelled money.
"The contents of your wallet."
"Absolutely." He shoved a mass of bank notes my way. I played a hunch.
"Do you work?"
"My parents set up a trust fund for me, actually." Such a surprise.
"Well, that's it then. Bye."
"Yah, see you." I scurried off in the opposite direction, in case his
critical facilities came back too soon. Then again, judging by his choice of
labels, that didn't seem likely. I headed for my rented pad, to tidy up and
clear off, ready for a reward of indolent luxury that didn't involve
fiddling state benefits.
I was perched on my old wicker travel case, to get it closed, when a
knock came at the door. Sod it, I'd forgotten about the 2 o'clock
appointment.
"George, I'll be with you in a tick." He knocked again. "Sorry George,
won't keep you long." With the final buckle done up I took a breath and
opened the door. "You're not George."
A sickly-grey looking monolith of a man stood before me, wearing clothes
that appeared frightfully medieval. For a split-second I worried about
catching the plague. "Are you an actor?" I asked.
"I am London," he intoned in a deep, gravely voice.
"Pleased to meet you. Are you a friend of George's?" He moved forward and
I had no choice but to concede ground and let him in. "Look, Mister
London..."
"I have come to retrieve the amulet." My, but that rumbling bass of a
voice must thrill the theatre audiences.
"Pardon me?"
"The amulet, it shall be returned." What a ham.
"Setting aside all the retrieving and returning stuff for the moment, who
the hell are you to barge in like that?"
"I am London. I was here before the first druid came and I'll be here
after the final brick has crumbled. Some call me the Grey Stone Avenger, but
I am London."
In fact his skin did have a dusty, rock-like look to it, and he could've
taken a moment to wash off those odd crimson blotches before venturing out.
If not an actor, then an undercover government agent, disguised in a way
that played on superstitious minds, like the amulet he wanted to pinch from
me.
"Just wait here and I'll get it for you." Some spook, to fall for that
old trick, although the crammed travel case did help to suggest my imminent
return. With just my light vanity case in hand, I snatched the necklace and
opened the window. By stretching to my full length and letting my stilettos
fall to the ground before me, I had a drop of only six feet to negotiate.
Easy. My deadly heels back on, I raced off to the main road and hailed a
taxi.
"Where to?"
I used my charm. "Would you mind driving around central London for a
while, without being paid?"
"Of course, sweetheart. Any particular route?"
"Aimless is fine."
"You've got it. Here, let me close the glass partition to give you some
peace and quiet."
We headed towards Hyde Park Corner. Good, I'd made some time for
reflection. Obviously, the government agents would find their toy and me
sooner rather than later. So, I needed an instant get rich plan. A bank.
That's it. Lots of untraceable cash.
"Park outside this bank, stop your meter and wait for me, please."
"Will do."
I joined a queue and concentrated on looking nonchalant. A horse-drawn
carriage drew up outside - not exactly an everyday sight. Whatever. The
queue edged forward and I cranked up the nonchalance. A cold, heavy hand
fell on my shoulder. How on earth could security be on to me? I'd claim
false imprisonment, a breach of Human rights should provide a lucrative
settlement. I risked looking behind me. "Oh, you again."
"I am London."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"Succumb to your baser instincts and you will never recover."
"Is that a line from your play? Are you in rep?" But he didn't reply.
"What will you do with the amulet? Flog it at a car boot sale?"
"It shall be destroyed."
If he was London, then he was a dull, unfashionable suburb with crappy
local services and dirty streets. His gaze didn't waver from me, while we
shuffled towards the head of the queue.
"Bugger it, here's your stupid ornament." I threw it into the air and
strolled away in a huff.
"Wait!" he said. Like a lemon, I waited. "Do you see this garish
leaflet?" I nodded. "It is for a most worthwhile charity. Give the money
that you stole from the young man to this charity, and you will have truly
triumphed over the inferior side of your nature. Here, do not miss your
turn."
Incredibly, I found myself complying with a chipper smile. Not until we'd
left the bank, when he'd crushed the amulet to dust in one hand and carted
himself off, did my sanity check back in.
"Oi lady," a man shouted. The taxi driver was getting out of his cab.
"What about my fare?" Using every last drop of my own innate power, I just
about managed to convince him that he'd been paid.
I'd learnt my lesson. Crime was a mugs game. Next time, I'd only take a
necklace if the rightful owner were wearing it. London had shown me that
much.
The End
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