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    13 Shots of Noir
    13 Shots of Noir
    13 Shots of Noir
    Ebook79 pages1 hour

    13 Shots of Noir

    By Paul D. Brazill

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    English writer Paul D Brazill's 13 Shots Of Noir is a collection of short stories in the vein of Roald Dahl, The Twilight Zone and Alfred Hitchcock Presents.The first story, "The Tut", was nominated for a 2010 Spinetingler Award, while the story "Anger Management" was chosen as one of the Predators and Editors top twenty crime stories.

    Crime, horror and dark fiction are contained within the pages of 13 Shots Of Noir.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherUntreed Reads
    Release dateNov 19, 2011
    ISBN9781611871807
    13 Shots of Noir

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      Book preview

      13 Shots of Noir - Paul D. Brazill

      13 Shots Of Noir

      By

      Paul D Brazill

      All material contained herein copyright © Paul D Brazill 2009 – 2010. All rights reserved.

      13 Shots Of Noir

      Contents

      The Tut

      Anger Management

      The Friend Catcher

      The Ballad Of The Kid

      The Man Behind The Curtain

      The Final Cut

      M

      Mr. Kiss & Tell

      Sins Of The Father

      Drunk On The Moon

      Everyday People

      Stamp Of A Vamp

      Thump

      Acknowledgments

      About the Author

      The Tut

      (Nominated for a 2010 Spinetingler Award)

      After enduring forty-five years of a marriage that was, at best, like wading through treacle, Oliver Robinson eventually had enough and smothered his wife with the beige corduroy cushion that he’d accidentally burned with a cigarette two fraught days before.

      Oliver had been, for most of his life, a temperate man and he had survived the sexless marriage—its colourless cuisine and half-hearted holidays—with a stoicism that bordered on indifference. But his patience had been stretched to the breaking point by Gloria’s constant disapproval of almost everything he did.

      And then there was the tut.

      The tut invariably accompanied Gloria’s scowl whenever Oliver poured himself an evening drink or smoked a cigarette. She would tut loudly if he spilled the salt. Or swore. Or stayed up late to watch the snooker. The tut, tut, tut was like the rattle of a machine gun that seemed to echo through their West London home from dusk till dawn until he reached the end of his tether.

      Wrapping his wife’s body in the fluffy white bedroom rug, Oliver supposed that he should have felt guilty, depressed or scared—but he didn’t. Far from it. In fact, he felt as free and as light as a multi-coloured helium balloon that had been set adrift to float above a brightly lit fun fair.

      Oliver fastened the rug with gaffer tape and dragged the corpse down the steps to the basement. As the head bounced from every step, it made a sound not unlike a tut and he had to fight the urge to say sorry.

      He’d done enough apologising.

      * * *

      Oliver poured himself a whisky—at eight o’clock in the morning!—and it tasted better than any whisky he had ever tasted before. Looking around his antiseptic home, the sofa still wrapped in the plastic coating that it came in, he smiled.

      Savouring the silence, he resisted the temptation to clean Gloria’s puke from the scarred cushion which had been the catalyst of her death. Taking a Marlborough full-strength from the secret supply that was hidden in a hollowed-out hardback copy of Jaws—Gloria didn’t approve of fiction and would never have found the stash there—he proceeded to burn holes in every cushion in the house.

      And then he started on the sofa.

      Oliver’s brief burst of pyromania was interrupted when he thought he heard a tut, tut, tut from the hallway. His heart seemed to skip a beat or two, but then he gave a relieved laugh when it was just the sound of the letter box, flapping in the wind.

      * * *

      Disposal of Gloria’s body proved much easier than Oliver would have expected. On a bright Sunday morning in April he hauled Gloria’s corpse into the back of his car, keeping an eye out for nosey neighbours, and drove towards Jed Bramble’s rundown farm, and the village of Innersmouth.

      Jed was an old school friend and fellow Territorial Army member whom Oliver occasionally used to meet for a sly drink in the Innersmouth Arms’ smoky, pokey snug. He was also a phenomenal lush. The plan was to get him comatose and then feed Gloria’s body to his pigs. Oliver knew the farm was on its last legs, along with most of the livestock, so he felt sure that the poor emaciated creatures would be more than happy to tuck in to Gloria’s cadaver.

      Perched on the passenger seat Oliver had a Sainsbury’s bag stuffed with six bottles of Grant’s Whisky. Just in case, he had a bottle of diazepam in his pocket, which he’d used to drug Gloria.

      Just outside Innersmouth it started to rain. Tut, tut went the rain on the windscreen. At first it was only a shower but then it fell down in sheets. Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut.

      Oliver switched

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