This is the first part of a longer piece of fiction set in London and entitled Dirty Old Town. I have written the second part of the story already but the rest is still in development. I have an idea where the characters journeys will take them and I can promise this, it will be eventful. I hope that you will join me in following the lives of the characters as they develop.
Part One - Rainfall
She tottered down the street. High-heeled staccato beat drumming through the mist in counterpoint to the hammering rain.
She hated this city with all its grimy pillared towers, its car horn stench, and the traffic hum resonance that stuttered in her thoughts as she walked.
A man huddled in a doorway, milk-stained upper lip stretched over brown teeth as he leered at her. She threw him a pity wink.
This poor fuck couldn't raise his middle finger in front of his nose straight let alone anything else, he’s no threat. If anything the addicts were like an early warning system, a free human alarm for when the pigs rolled through. It was like they had a sixth sense, as soon as you saw those poor bastards darting off towards the mouth of an alleyway you knew what was coming.
Her thighs chaffed as she pulled the hem of her skirt down, grating from the icy blast of the wind off the river. The rain plastered her hair to her face and she hugged her arms around herself to ward away the chill as she paced up and down the road, like an ostrich with its wings up. A car slowed on its approach, like a hyena circling. It pulled up next to her. As she bent forwards pushing together her cleavage, the man leaned across the steering wheel and stared up at her. A thick moustache tickled even thicker nostril hairs and a greasy brown mop hung across his eyes like a wet dishcloth. A tight smile pursed his lips as he eyed her. The man tilted his head to indicate that she should get in the passenger side as he glanced in the rear-view mirror.
As she sat down one hand darted down between her legs, his fingers lancing inside her as he pinched the front of her pubis, squeezing until he could feel her tense up inside. “Why didn’t you keep to the plan you bitch?” His other hand hove into her vision, a small bag of white powder grasped between thumb and forefinger.
She was frozen, she couldn’t move, “I’m sorry Terry, Carlos sent us down Brockwell, he said there was more money to be made down there at this time of year.”
Her body sagged as he eased the pressure on her and she slumped down into the seat. The man quickly put his other hand into his pocket depositing the bag of crushed crystal in his pocket. “None of that shit for you tonight then.”
His thick eyebrows wriggled as he frowned at her. “New plan. I need four arrests, so you’re to take three girls to Avon Court and set up shop there. When I pull up in the squad car you don’t even look at me funny, get it?” Fried egg eyes stared at her. “Just do what you’d normally do, right! Spit at me, swear whatever but if you look at me once like you know me I’ll make mincemeat of your insides and you’ll never work again, ok?”
She nodded again, a shudder running down her throat at the memory of his hand, bile rising in her belly.
“Play along and there’ll be a score in it for all you girls, easy-peasy.” He smiled as he spoke in that sing-song voice of his and the sickness rose up to engulf her as she stepped out onto the cobbles of the dirty old town.
To be continued...
art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics