29th Day , livre ebook

Jason Bruce - Jason Bruce

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159 pages

English

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An ancient prophecy. A chance to find the greatest of all treasures. A group of unlikely adventures out to get the job done, and go on a roller coaster ride with several empty seats, which start to fill up along the way, on a journey unlike anything any of them could have ever imagined, or any of them will ever forget. Enter Edith Michaels, her son Jack, and grandson Toby, the boy whose special gift gets the wheels turning with the help of a medallion passed down through the ages, which, thanks to Jack and his light fingered nature, ends up around his neck. Crime, lies, betrayal, love lost, love found, violence, fortunes won, fortunes lost, this story has it all, and that's just Jack's private life. There's action and adventure too, as Mrs. Michaels, the hard as nails grandmother who doesn't pull her punches, either verbally, or physically, does her best to look after Toby, keep him clothed and fed, and at the same time does her best to keep Jack out of a prison cell, which is hard at the best of times. This is no roller coaster ride at any amusement park though, and if you want to go along for the ride, buy a ticket, strap in, and keep cross you're fingers crossed, because this one might just come off the rails.

Sujets

Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)

Fantasy

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Publié par	Jason Bruce
Date de parution	01 juin 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781908886804
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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The 29th Day
By Jason Bruce
* * *
Dedicated to Horace who passed away before the book was completed.
Chapter One
Your Aunty Myrtle s getting married on Saturday, and she s asked us to the wedding reception, Mrs. Michaels said, as her son, Jack, walked into the kitchen.
Ladies and gentlemen, Jack said, looking around for his cigarettes, welcome to another edition of unsolved murders. This week s unlucky contestant is-
Our Myrtle might be a lot of things, Mrs. Michaels said, but she s no murderer! Her husbands all had heart conditions, as you bloody well know!
Yeah, right, and this latest loser s gonna end up sharing the same shallow grave with em under her petunias. Fiver says he dies during the honeymoon-fiver-
Don t be bloody morbid, Mrs. Michaels said, as she began stirring her tea. You d do well to remember that since your granddad passed on, she s all the family we ve got.
Jack laughed, as he admired himself in the mirror above the sink, and lit a cigarette. Is that supposed to be reassuring? His funeral was the only time she s bothered to come here in years-and even then it was so she could take all the inheritance.
Oh, here we go again . She needed the money more than we did, because-
Because she needed an emergency nose job, Jack said with a little laugh, as his son, Toby, walked into the kitchen, yawning, and carrying the newspaper under his arm.
For the life of me, I ll swing for you in a minute if you don t-
Mornin son, Jack said, exhaling a lung full of cigarette smoke into Toby s face.
Toby coughed, and waved a hand in front of himself as he made his way through the nicotine laced cloud to the cupboard in search of some cornflakes.
Hey Tobes, old Aunty Bluebeard s gettin married again for the hundred and twenty first time, and she s asked us to the weddin deception .
Don t go telling the boy things like that, Mrs. Michaels said. Fillin his head with stuff you know isn t true. Our Myrtle s only been married three times before.
If it s not true, Jack said, snatching the newspaper from Toby, and turning to page two, then why does it say here, exclusive , Weston Super-Mare woman set to break Elizabeth Taylor s record in Druid ceremony this Saturday?
There s no milk, and there s no more corn flakes, Toby said.
What s new? Mrs. Michaels said, as she got up, and went to the sink to take out her frustration on the non stick surface of the frying pan with a steel wool pad.
I m goin down the shops in a minute, Jack said. I ll get some then.
Can I come dad? Toby said, smiling, as he imagined himself tearing the wrapper off a bar of chocolate, and sinking his teeth into it.
Well, if you give your face a swill, and tidy your hair up a bit, yeah.
And make sure you fill the car up with petrol, Mrs. Michaels said. It s a long drive down to Weston Super-Mare.
By the time Toby had gotten ready, and gone back downstairs, Jack was already in the car. So, slipping on a pair of muddy trainers, and a jacket, he headed out through the front door with his grandmother calling after him something he couln t quite make out about his shirt. Then, navigating his way through the thick cloud of exhaust fumes that enveloped Jack s rusty yellow Triumph Dolomite, he locate the passenger side window, climbed in, and found his father already in silent prayer, eyes tight shut, head nodding in time with his unintelligible chanting.
The magazine cuttings of the Dalai Lama, Mother Teresa, and Buddha taped to the sun visor, Toby had seen before, but there was a new addition to Jack s little good luck shrine behind the small wooden cross which he hadn t seen before.
Who s that? Toby said, gesturing in the direction of Jack s most recent acquisition.
Gandhi, Jack said, as he continued to, as he called it, maintain his inner focus, which in essence meant that he just kept his eyes closed, and thought about all of the good things which he wanted to come his way.
Is he gonna make you lucky dad?
I hope so son, cause we need all the luck we can get at the moment. And I reckon havin a great man like that on your side can t do any harm.
Why was he so great dad? Toby said, scrutinizing the clipping.
I don t know son-just what I heard. And to be honest I can t think why meself. I mean, he only made the one film.
When they reached the petrol station, Jack took out his emaciated wallet, and checked its contents. There was a twenty pound note, the last of his dole money until the following week.
A fiver s worth should get us to Weston Super Mare , Jack thought, as he opened the driver s door, which dropped its usual six inches, then got out.
He noticed that the girl in the shop, Lisa, was watching him from her perch behind the counter. He d had his eye on her for some time now, and had been waiting for the right moment to ask her out. He winked, and smiled at her, lifting the car door back into place, and slamming it shut with his skinny rear end, but Lisa just stared back at him, her expression as vacant as her brain.
As he began putting the petrol in, Jack started to drift off into a daydream, imagining himself on the front page of the newspaper, a sign above his head, reading National Lottery , and some TV star handing him a cheque for twenty million pounds.
Dad, Toby said, raising his voice, on this, his second attempt to snap Jack out of his trance, you said only four pounds worth-
Oh, sod it! Jack said, as he noticed the amount on the digital display on the pump, and released the trigger. Tobes, that s four an a half quid now. I told you to-
I tried to tell you dad, but-
But you forgot, Jack said, pulling the trigger enough to maintain a controllable flow, as he kept his eye on the display screen. Never mind-if I make it a fivers worth it ll keep grand mama happy.
Sorry dad.
Ah, it s done now. Anyway, what do you think we ought to buy when we win? The very first thing-and I don t mean like the idiots on TV who say they d get a helicopter.
A new car I suppose, Toby said, reclining his seat. A two seater.
What s wrong with this one? Jack said, running a hand over the fading paintwork. With that much money we could have this one done up. Stick in a new engine, spray job, suspension-
Toby laughed a little. Empty the ashtray.
Let s not get too carried away son, Jack said lifting the nozzle out, and screwing the petrol cap back on. This car holds a lot happy of memories.
And that was true. Toby had been born on the back seat. Jack and Kathy had spent their honeymoon in Devon in it when they hadn t been able to afford a hotel. And there were also sad memories. Kathy had died in it, on an icy December night, driving to the police station after Jack had been caught naked in a telephone box, blind drunk.
Jack started to feel pangs of guilt, and would have broken down in tears right there and then, were it not for the thought of getting his lottery tickets. So, after replacing the nozzle on the pump, he smiled to himself, and headed toward the shop, running a hand over his car s black leather effect roof covering, as he went.
Alright, Lisa said, as Jack approached the counter.
Give us ten scratch cards, Jack said, as he bumped into the counter, grabbed a pencil, and started filling in his national lottery numbers beginning with birthdays.
That s five pounds on number two, ten scratch cards, and another five for the lottery. That s-twenty pounds, Lisa said, pressing the total button on the till.
Jack reached for his wallet, but his back pocket was empty, causing panic to set in. He checked all of his other pockets, smiling as he did so, then started toward the door. I must have left me wallet in the car.
Lisa was on the telephone in an instant. Got another runner.
The manager, Mr. Thompson, a six foot seven former rugby captain, came rushing out from the stock room, his face screwed up like Pit bull terrier, clutching a baseball bat.
That s him, Lisa said, pointing the telephone receiver at Jack.
Mr. Thompson didn t waste any time as he leapt over the counter, ready, and willing to not let this one get away.
But Jack stood his ground, as he was from the school of hard knocks, and didn t scare that easily.
Within seconds, the bottom of the bat was being waved around in front of Jack s face, as accusations flew that he was trying to leave without paying.
What do ya think you re gonna do with that ? Jack said, swiping the bat away, and moving in until he was standing face to chest with the veritable Goliath.
Call the police Lisa, Mr. Thompson said, taking a step back, and raising the bat.
Jack s fist was cocked, as was the bat, high above Mr. Thompson s head, both weapons ready to be unleashed, and to hell with the consequences.
As Mr. Thompson tightened his grip on the bat, signaling that he was about to strike, Toby came in holding Jack s wallet, saying, You left this in the car dad.
Sorry for the slight misunderstanding. Mr. Thompson said, tucking the baseball bat under his massive arm, then turned, and headed off to finish altering the sell by dates on the sandwiches, pies and pasties.
When they were back in the car, Jack held all ten scratch cards out in front of Toby, and smiled. You were a good boy findin dad s wallet. Go on, pick one.
As soon as Toby took a card, Jack got to work with his lucky coin, scratching away until his shirt and jeans were covered with tiny silver specks, and the ashtray was full of torn up cards, then started cursing under his breath, and slammed a hand down on the dashboard, a clear indication to Toby, that the car wouldn t be getting a makeover any time soon.
That Mr. Gandhi didn t help you then dad?
No son-I guess he had somebody more important to help out, like in Hollywood or whatever. Anyway, I ll get there some day. So how did you do?
Well, I don t know. I ve got two Captain Picards, a bulldog smoking a cigar, and three Marilyn Monroes.
Jack was confused. The scratch cards he d bought were a new type, famous pe