This is the first part of a fiction serial, in 790 words.
I bumped into Nicky again that Friday night in a Bermondsey pub that I liked to hang out in occasionally. Between girlfriends, most mates married or shacked-up, it was nice to be able to go for a drink where people knew your name, and you had more than a few nodding acquaintances propping up the bar.
He was playing the records in the corner, on two decks. Not exactly an official DJ, but he knew what people liked, and the owner slipped him a few quid for his trouble. He grinned as he saw me, and I bought him a beer and took it over. Same old Nicky, slim to the extent of having no spare flesh, and that nervy way of moving that was just shy of a twitch. He was called Nicky because his surname was Nicola. His dad had come over from Cyprus, and he had that black hair and sallow complexion from his genes.
Nobody ever called him anything but Nicky. To be honest, I don’t think any of us knew his first name.
For over a year, I had been working the cabs in South London. Unlicensed taxis, pre-booked only. One of my other mates had got me into it, when I saw how much money could be made, and you could work when you liked. Pay the boss of the cab company a fixed fee to have the radio in your car, show him your taxi insurance and driving licence, and that was it. Everything else you earned was yours, in cash. You got a number that was your callsign to use on the two-way radio, and anytime you wanted to work, you just booked on. I bought myself a new Hillman Hunter, and the next day I was a cabbie.
Despite the music, it wasn’t busy in the pub that night. Tony the owner was upstairs in the flat, leaving the bar to his wife. I managed to have a chat to Nicky when he took a break, and he finished playing the records just before the official closing time of eleven. There was going to be some after-time drinking and card playing, but I didn’t have the money to lose on Three-Card Brag. So when Nicky’s cab failed to turn up, I offered to give him a lift to his place in Thamesmead. It wasn’t exactly out of my way, as I had gone back to living at home, and my parents’ house was in a more genteel suburb a few miles further on.
On the way, Nicky didn’t stop talking. He seemed wired, and I felt sure he had been snorting coke in the pub toilet. When we stopped outside his block on the estate, he was adamant I should go in with him for a drink. “Patsy will love to see you, Paul, and you have never seen little Suzy, she’s two now”.
Up in the flat, you could be forgiven for thinking you were anywhere but Thamesmead. The interior was nothing like you might expect to find in that huge social housing complex on the edges of South London, just inside the Borough of Greenwich. Everything was first rate, from the latest fridge-freezer, to a state of the art TV. Patsy was pleased to see me, and I was able to not look too doe-eyed at the woman I had a terrible crush on. Her mum Janey was there too, and despite the late hour, both the kids were up playing. Little Suzy (with a Z) and five year-old Marky.
It struck me as I sat there with my beer that I was the only person in the flat whose name didn’t end in Y.
Once the kids were in bed, and Janey had gone home to her flat in the same block, I was sat there chatting with Nicky and Patsy, when he suddenly put a proposition to me.
“Look, Paul. You know I’m banned from driving, and it is really affecting my business. I have things to do most weeknights, and I just can’t rely on cabs being available. How about you drive me around instead? I will pay the cab fare, whatever it comes to, cash every night. You can come and have dinner with me and Patsy about six, then drive me around during the night while I do my thing. What do you say?”
Thinking it over, I knew for sure that whatever Nicky’s thing was, it would be illegal. I told him I lived a very straight life, and couldn’t afford to get nicked by the police. He nodded frantically as I spoke, his mouth ready with the answer as soon as I stopped talking.
“But you will only be the cabbie. Just the driver”.
It is a good start, and it seems to become another tensioned novel. Thanks in advance, Pete! xx Michael
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Thank you, Michael.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Reblogged this on NEW BLOG HERE >> https:/BOOKS.ESLARN-NET.DE.
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Watch out, Paul! I’m glad you’re writing a new serial, Pete. You know I won’t miss an episode.
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Thanks, Jennie. I had this prepared in a notebook earlier this year, and finally decided to start writing it up properly.
Best wishes, Pete.
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You knew when it was time. Best to you, Pete.
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Just about read the other two parts Pete, glad you have got back into it again. Good luck for todayxx
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Thanks very much, Lorraine.
Best wishes, Pete. x
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Okay, I’m in with this one, Pete. Your serials are always great. It usually depends on whether I have the time to read the daily episodes.
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Thanks, Pete. Happy to have you on board.
Best wishes, Pete.
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good to see you back on the serial train!
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Thanks, Beth. Not writing fiction wasn’t really helping me with all the rest gong on in my head, so I might just as well start again.
Best wishes, Pete.
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And why not? No contract to sign)
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Great to see your serials back, Pete 😃
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I had the outline of this in a notebook for some months, Chris. I decided to start writing again, hoping that the daily discipline might shake off my gloomy mood. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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Let’s hope it works, Pete 😃
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This had a ring of familiarity about it, but I see that it’s actually a new serial…
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It might be the car photo, reminding you of the serial about the Cortina, and the man who used it for a taxi? This is a different story, in a different era and setting. I had the idea for it in a notebook for months.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Yes, that’s it….the green Cortina!
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This tale is about London criminals in the 1970s. 🙂
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Yes, I can see where it’s heading, and looking forward to seeing how it pans out….
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People I knew, some names altered. 🙂
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😊
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Glad you seem to have your mojo back 👍
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Just trying to break through the gloom, Jude. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete. x
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Run, Paul, run! Run away now!
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He might enjoy being around Patsy, Liz.
Best wishes, Pete.
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It’s wait-and-see time!
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Normally I wait until the whole series is finished so I can read it all at once BUT I was so excited to see you are writing your fictions again, so I just had to read it. 😁😁 Can’t wait to read more. 😁
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Part 2 tomorrow, Christina. I had this one as an idea in a notebook, and thought it was time to get back to serials. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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“Only!” Somehow, I doubt that. Warmest regards, Theo
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Thanks, Theo.
Time will tell. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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Maybe a few dead bodies in our future? Great start Pete 💕C
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Dead bodies? In one of my serials? 🙂
Best wishes, Pete. x
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He seems seduced by the steady work and blind to the notion of abetting in a crime. Looks promising.
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He is also seduced by the idea of being around Nicky’s wife, Elizabeth. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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(1) Shouldn’t someone from Cyprus have an emerald green complexion instead of a sallow one? Or maybe I’m just barking up the wrong tree…
(2) Bad citation: “Pay the boss of the cab company a fixed fee to have the radio in your car, show him your taxi insurance, and the driving licence you got renewed after passing an eye exam in Fakenham.”
(3) Whenever Robin Hood (a green-attired hill man who at times frequented the plains) went hunting for deer, he always drew a Rootes Arrow out of his quiver.
(4) Bad citation: “On the way, Nicky didn’t stop talking. He seemed wired like any other android, and I felt sure he had been smoking electro-lights with the other smokers in the pub toilet.”
(5) Marky? Mark my word! He was playing rap music! (Riddle: What do you get when you cross a stone[d] wahl with an iceberg?)
(6) It occurred to Pauly Shore that everyone in the flat had a name that ended in Y.
(7) I’ll bet a nickel that Nicky will get Paul nicked by the London bobbies!
(8) Bad citation: “Look, Paul. You know I’m banned from driving, even though I don’t live in Beetley. Can you take me to Fakenham on Friday?”
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Mark Wahlberg, and lots of cross-references to my forthcoming eye test.
Well done, David.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Things falling off the back of a cab instead of the proverbial lorry, lol.
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Yes, that is likely to happen soon. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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I can see trouble coming for the poor guy. I like this story.
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Thanks, Molly. Glad to see you are ‘thinking ahead’.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Oh oh….got to watch those Cypriot types….
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He was only half-Cypriot. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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Oh well then. Dare I inquire after the other half?
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A lady from London. 🙂
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She’s the one to look out for and he has a crush already…oh oh…
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No, you are getting confused. Nicky is married to a Londoner, (Patsy) and it is her that Paul has a crush on. But it was his father who was from Cyprus, and he married an English woman, Nicky’s mother.
Got it now? 🙂 🙂
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Sorry…I’m a bit dense!
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I know you are not dense at all, just a little confused about his heritage. 🙂
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Good to find you’ve started – keep going!!
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Thanks, Janet. I have had the notes for this in my notebook for months now. I decided it was time for a new serial.
Best wishes, Pete.
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A new serial: great! 😀 Cheers, Jon.
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Thanks, Jon. One I had started in a notebook. I decided to run with it.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Don’t do it Paul!! Or do really or there’ll be no story! 🤣
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He did it! Part two tomorrow.
Best wishes, Pete.
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