Read Online Rant by Alfie Crow - Free Book Online
Authors: Alfie Crow
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Crime, Humour, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Crime Fiction, northern, Heist, rant, mike rant
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guitars, stuffed donkeys and Uzis, maybeâ¦
I was a complete wreck, my adrenaline level having at last dipped to a sustainable level, and wanted nothing more than a cup of tea and my bed. And a wash. A long, long wash in very hot water. The thought of hot water and my position in it set me shaking again so I jogged across the road to the house. As I went I reached into my pocket for myâ
Bugger.
No, my bugger wasnât in my pocket.
Nor were my house keys.
Or my wallet.
Because this wasnât my pocket and it only contained some greasy cellophane (you donât want to know what was on it â or if you do, then youâre out of luck, because I certainly didnât want to know what was on it) a battered old equity card in the name of Al Cooper (maybe he was telling the truth about Eurovision â and you donât think it could have been Alice Cooper, do you?) and a booklet from the hospital, cheerily entitled 101 Things You Didnât Know About Impetigo. My skin began to crawl out from under my shirt and slink off down the street in search of happier times. So that was what my friend in the park had been shouting at me as I left. The fake passport was in the old jacket too.
I sighed. So if the park guy went to the policeâ¦
But I was beyond thought for the moment; I really needed a cup of tea. I wandered up to the front door, wondering if I could break in, when I noticed that the door was standing open. My stomach flipped over for the final time and as I deposited the feeble remains of last nightâs Indian meal onto my own doorstep, I realised that it was Annaâs half day. And that I was a dead man.
I thought about just running away and joining a cult. Seriously. Some kind of group for nihilistic failed actors who resent the world and want to bring Armageddon down on the West End as soon as possible. I even started walking back down the path until it occurred to me that thereâs probably quite a waiting list to join so I decided I might as well face Anna, and the music.
I walked back up the house. It was odd that Anna would leave the door open; something definitely wasnât right. Maybe she was lurking behind the door with a carving knife or a frying pan. Maybe sheâd had enough and had left. I have to confess, somewhat guiltily, that the last thought cheered me up for a second, until I realised that however angry she might be â and she was definitely going to be more than a little cross â I needed her by my side right now.
Nevertheless, I was very wary as I entered the hall with a cheery âHello! Youâre not going to believe the day Iâve had. Now before you start getting upset I have to tell you that none of it was really my fault asâ¦there â¦wasâ¦goodness. You really are in a mood with me, arenât you?â
The house was trashed. There was paper everywhere, furniture overturned, broken glass. I took out the gun from the carrier bag. Not that I would shoot Anna, you understand. I just had the vain hope that maybe I could shoot myself before she got to me.
âOh Anna! Darling?â I called in as jolly a voice as I could muster. âWhere are you? Promise you wonât castrate me before youâve heard me out. Come on Anna, youâre scaring me. I promise Iâll pay you back for the Indian last night and Iâll take all of the money to the polieeeeee eeeEEEEEK! â
The back door was shattered. There was blood all over the kitchen, and a note on the table. It seemed to be written in crayon.
There was a severed finger lying on top of the note, pointing accusingly in my direction.
Reader, I wept.
Scene Four
The BFGIA
Wednesday 5 th . Morning rush hour.
I am still the designated driver.
I sit on a pair of testicles swollen like grapefruits (my own testicles, incidentally, in case youâre wondering) and wince every time I have to press a pedal. As weâre now driving through Bristol, this is quite
I was a complete wreck, my adrenaline level having at last dipped to a sustainable level, and wanted nothing more than a cup of tea and my bed. And a wash. A long, long wash in very hot water. The thought of hot water and my position in it set me shaking again so I jogged across the road to the house. As I went I reached into my pocket for myâ
Bugger.
No, my bugger wasnât in my pocket.
Nor were my house keys.
Or my wallet.
Because this wasnât my pocket and it only contained some greasy cellophane (you donât want to know what was on it â or if you do, then youâre out of luck, because I certainly didnât want to know what was on it) a battered old equity card in the name of Al Cooper (maybe he was telling the truth about Eurovision â and you donât think it could have been Alice Cooper, do you?) and a booklet from the hospital, cheerily entitled 101 Things You Didnât Know About Impetigo. My skin began to crawl out from under my shirt and slink off down the street in search of happier times. So that was what my friend in the park had been shouting at me as I left. The fake passport was in the old jacket too.
I sighed. So if the park guy went to the policeâ¦
But I was beyond thought for the moment; I really needed a cup of tea. I wandered up to the front door, wondering if I could break in, when I noticed that the door was standing open. My stomach flipped over for the final time and as I deposited the feeble remains of last nightâs Indian meal onto my own doorstep, I realised that it was Annaâs half day. And that I was a dead man.
I thought about just running away and joining a cult. Seriously. Some kind of group for nihilistic failed actors who resent the world and want to bring Armageddon down on the West End as soon as possible. I even started walking back down the path until it occurred to me that thereâs probably quite a waiting list to join so I decided I might as well face Anna, and the music.
I walked back up the house. It was odd that Anna would leave the door open; something definitely wasnât right. Maybe she was lurking behind the door with a carving knife or a frying pan. Maybe sheâd had enough and had left. I have to confess, somewhat guiltily, that the last thought cheered me up for a second, until I realised that however angry she might be â and she was definitely going to be more than a little cross â I needed her by my side right now.
Nevertheless, I was very wary as I entered the hall with a cheery âHello! Youâre not going to believe the day Iâve had. Now before you start getting upset I have to tell you that none of it was really my fault asâ¦there â¦wasâ¦goodness. You really are in a mood with me, arenât you?â
The house was trashed. There was paper everywhere, furniture overturned, broken glass. I took out the gun from the carrier bag. Not that I would shoot Anna, you understand. I just had the vain hope that maybe I could shoot myself before she got to me.
âOh Anna! Darling?â I called in as jolly a voice as I could muster. âWhere are you? Promise you wonât castrate me before youâve heard me out. Come on Anna, youâre scaring me. I promise Iâll pay you back for the Indian last night and Iâll take all of the money to the polieeeeee eeeEEEEEK! â
The back door was shattered. There was blood all over the kitchen, and a note on the table. It seemed to be written in crayon.
There was a severed finger lying on top of the note, pointing accusingly in my direction.
Reader, I wept.
Scene Four
The BFGIA
Wednesday 5 th . Morning rush hour.
I am still the designated driver.
I sit on a pair of testicles swollen like grapefruits (my own testicles, incidentally, in case youâre wondering) and wince every time I have to press a pedal. As weâre now driving through Bristol, this is quite
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