Molls Like It Hot

by Darren Dash

  ALSO BY DARREN DASH

  MIDSUMMER’S BOTTOM

  Order here: http://getbook.at/midsummersebook

  “A clever and kinky theatrical romp with a big heart.” Kirkus — a Recommended Read.

  “rude, naughty, outrageous, and very funny... a delight for the devotee of Shakespearean comedy.” Indie Reader .

  “I think I've found my favorite book of 2018. Midsummer's Bottom is Darren Dash at his best and most inventive form.” Scare Tissue.

  “Midsummer's Bottom is one of the most entertaining novels of the year. Light-hearted and humorous escapism doesn't get any better than this.” Rising Shadow.

  “Shakespeare fans in particular will find the atmosphere and humor exquisite. While they stay true to some of the Bard's ironic contentions and satirical approaches, they also add embellishments unique to Darren Dash's style and contemporary approach to Midsummer's spectacles.” Midwest Book Review.

  AN OTHER PLACE

  Order here: http://mybook.to/anotherplaceebook

  “An Other Place sees an imaginative writer at the top of his craft. 9/10 stars.” Starburst.

  “This is, by far, the best book of 2016. Possibly the best book of this decade. The bastard love child of Kafka and Rod Serling.” Kelly Smith Reviews.

  “Darren Dash has opened a new artery of terror… hints of The Twilight Zone, Pines, and Station Eleven.” The Literary Connoisseur.

  “Lewis Carroll, L. Frank Baum, and Brett Easton Ellis may have written some weird stuff, but An Other Place tops all of it in terms of re-readability and overall scope.” Dread Central.

  4/5 stars — SFX. A Recommended Read – Kirkus.

  THE EVIL AND THE PURE

  Order here: http://mybook.to/evilandpureebook

  “The book flaunts the grim panache of a London crime saga, and all the characters are engaging, no matter how despicable they are. Not for the faint of heart, but this novel’s character studies and ever shifting plot will excite fans of English noir.” Kirkus — a recommended read.

  “The Evil And The Pure is a deliciously dark delight; a gritty, realistic look at the depths of human depravity. The twists and turns have you reeling with shock. A glory to read.” Matthew R Bell's BookBlogBonanza.

  “I found myself brilliantly horrified and captivated as I read and was taken along on a dark journey with a range of dangerous, sick and even innocent characters.” Chase That Horizon.

  “An amazing read. It’s got the cast complexity of a Maeve Binchy novel as if written by a violent madman, and I mean that as a compliment!” Kelly Smith Reviews.

  SUNBURN

  Order here: http://mybook.to/sunburnebook

  “A well-written and disturbing piece of fiction. The plot reads like an international horror movie, enticing the reader with a series of detailed and comedic chapters before exploding into a vision of blood-chilling gore.” Books, Films & Random Lunacy.

  “This demonic masterpiece will not disappoint even the biggest of horror fans.” Crossing Pixies.

  “The elements of classic horror are very much present here. Sunburn held me firmly in the moment, demanding my full attention right to the very last page.” Thoughts Of An Overactive Imagination.

  “Like the Hostel films, they have a lot of set up and then shizzle hits the fan... and then hits it again for good measure!” Dark Readers.

  MOLLS LIKE IT HOT

  by

  DARREN DASH

  ONE — FIRST IMPRESSIONS

  London was a city submerged. We’d endured one of the worst weeks of rain I’d ever experienced. Liquid pellets that could blind you, hurled to earth in an almost constant fury. Gutters everywhere were overflowing and the narrow, twisting backstreets looked more like the canals of Venice. The deluge had eased this evening but dark clouds still mobbed together thickly overhead like the backdrop to a movie about Vikings, threatening more mayhem. Anyone with any sense had settled in for the night in front of their television or tablet, smartphone in hand, safe in the shelter of their warm, dry pad.

  I own an old-school TV, the kind that has actual depth, and I can access the internet on my phone if I really, really have to (the online translation services are a godsend when I get a passenger who can’t speak English), but except for watching a couple of DVDs on my player every week, I rarely spend much time on either. The distraction that so many people find in them has always eluded me.

  Work is my main way of putting the worries of the world to one side for those long, waking hours which can torment the troubled mind so wolfishly. The hours slip by sweetly when I’m on the streets in my cab, wending my way through the asphalt cobwebs of the city, hunting for fares and focusing on my routes. I tend not to think too much when I’m behind the wheel, and it’s been a long time since deep thoughts were any friend of mine.

  I’d picked up a couple of short rides within half an hour of clocking on, but not one in the three hours since. I’d known slow patches before but nothing like this. Deserted, flooded streets, nobody coming home early from a party, no hookers on their way to a hotel, no wayward tourists who’d taken a wrong turn on a self-guided Jack the Ripper walking tour, no shift workers eager to get home to a hot dinner and bed. I was starting to think I’d have to hit the West End. I hate it up there, way too congested for my liking. I almost never go touting for business around the perpetually thronged focal points of London, preferring the lonelier, lesser-known areas where a cabbie’s knowledge of his runs can be properly tested. But the night was darkening and closing in around me. This place was dead.

  Then the gunfire started.

  I was a little east of Shoreditch, cruising down the middle of the road, no traffic coming against me, trying to avoid the moats on either side. I slowed when I heard the shots and cautiously scoped the scene. Nobody in sight. Any other night, I’d have floored the accelerator and got the hell out of Dodge. But I was bored. I had a headache from staring out at rain through my windshield for a week. I was annoyed at having gone so long without a fare. And maybe (just maybe) I didn’t want to show fear. I can be dumb like that sometimes.

  Whatever the reason, I pulled up where I was (nothing was going to persuade me to brave the floods by the kerb) and hung about to see what happened.

  The gunfire buzzed closer. It sounded like several guns at first, blasting away in turn, but was down to two by the time a guy in filthy but flashy shoes burst out of an alleyway to my right, fell to his knees, turned and fired wildly into the shadows.

  He was dressed smartly but his suit, like his shoes, was in a sorry state, spattered with dirty water and muck, a hole in the left arm where he’d been caught, blood oozing from it and staining the material of the jacket. He got to one foot and fired off a few more measured shots. I saw a couple of bullets strike the pavement near him, and one hit a window across the street, triggering an alarm. A more gullible man might assume that meant the police or security guards would swiftly be on the scene, but given the weather, I reckoned Jesus Christ was more likely to put in an appearance first, perched atop his cross and using it as a canoe.

  The guy in the shoes stood, fired another two shots into the darkness, then relaxed his guard. Let his gun rest by his side. Wiped his forehead with a shaking hand and turned to see if there were any witnesses.

  He saw me.

  I turned off the FOR HIRE sign on my taxi and waited patiently. I watched the gun rise a little, then drop back into place. The guy wiped around his mouth with a sleeve, hitched up his trousers, examined his soiled, soaked shoes, shook his head glumly and went back into the alley. There was a shot a couple of seconds later, a pause, then one final retort. He re-emerged and waded through the floodwater to where I was poised, engine running.

  I rolled down the window and
studied him up-close. Brown hair, greying at the edges, a trim moustache. Thick around the middle, but he looked like he worked out regularly and had the fat under control. Expensive gear, especially the shoes. They looked like real snakeskin, studded with jewels across the toes and around the ankles. The gems glittered, even in the gloom and the rain.

  “Need a ride?” I asked.

  He looked at the gun in his hand, at the blood spreading from his wound, the alley, the floods, the car, finally at me.

  He laughed, not in a kind way.

  “Fucking mind reader we have here. Yes, I need a fucking ride.”

  He went to get in the back.

  “No,” I stopped him. “Not until you clean off.”

  “The fuck?” He squinted, gun rising again.

  “You’re covered in all kinds of shit,” I said. “And you’re bleeding. Brush off the worst of the dirt, dress your wound, then I’ll let you in.”

  He looked down at his clothes again, then at his bleeding arm. “Are you fucking with me?” he snapped.

  “I don’t own the car,” I explained. “I drive it nights but it belongs to a friend. If I take it back to him in the morning, seats ruined with filth and blood, how’s he going to react?”

  The guy stepped back and bent to peer into the cab. Gripped the lowered glass with his left hand. Pointed the gun at me with his right. “Friend,” he hissed, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve a situation on our hands. Two dead bodies in that alley, more in the streets behind. An alarm blaring. The police will swarm us any second now. I’m holding a gun that’s hotter than hell. So quit acting the clown and –”

  “We’ve got time,” I interrupted, “if you hurry and don’t stand there telling me things I already know.”

  The guy cocked his head. Held my gaze a long moment. I didn’t flinch, just pointed at the meter, which was running. He smiled thinly, stepped back and shrugged off his jacket. I tossed him one of the plastic bags that I keep by my feet for cleaning up after my messier clients. He folded the jacket and stuck it in. Took off his shirt – he was wearing a white T-shirt beneath – and ripped it into strips. Cleaned around the wound in his arm as best he could. It looked like the bullet had passed through. A flesh wound. Lucky him. He wrapped it tight to stop the blood. Brushed down his trousers. Wiped his shoes. Offered himself for my approval and treated me to a sarcastic twirl.

  “Do I pass muster?” he asked fake-sweetly.

  “Good as gold,” I said and let him in. As soon as the door shut, I moved off. Drove steadily, as if this was an average punter. I knew it was madness picking him up, but I didn’t give a damn. With business as bad as it had been for the last week, a fare was a fare.

  “You pick up shooters like me often?” the guy asked.

  He’d settled in and got his breath back. I was heading further east, putting distance between us and the bodies. I hadn’t waited for him to name a destination. He could do that later. For the time being I was calling the shots.

  “You’re lucky,” I told him. “It’s like a morgue out there tonight. You were the only fare I could find.”

  “You’re very relaxed about this,” he noted.

  “You complaining?”

  “No,” he smiled. “It’s just, most guys in your place would have sped up and drove on. I sure as hell wouldn’t have stopped.”

  I shrugged. “Way I saw it, I’d stumbled into the middle of a street war. If I’d tried to take off, maybe you’d have panicked, pegged me as a witness who could testify against you, and shot me through the back of my head. But if I presented myself as a willing accomplice… well, you’d have to be crazy not to see me as the good thing that I am, accept the ride and tip damn well when I drop you off.”

  “I could just shoot you and dump the car,” the guy said.

  I shook my head. “Why complicate matters? I don’t care who you are or what your business is. I’m not looking to extort you. I just want to be paid for the ride.”

  “How do you know I’ll be that level-headed?” the guy challenged me.

  “Survival of the fittest,” I sniffed. “A showdown like that, the guy who walks away is the one with the steadiest nerves. He’ll consider his options, make the right and reasoned call.”

  The guy mulled over my words as I ferried him ever further to safety, staring at me coldly, eyes narrowing. “You’re awful worldly for a cabbie.”

  “You see everything there is to see when you drive around in one of these long enough,” I replied.

  He held up his gun and looked at me questioningly. I probably should have feigned ignorance, but that dumb part of me wanted to show off.

  “A Walther P99.”

  He chuckled. “If it’s good enough for the Germans, it’s good enough for me. I haven’t bothered with anything else in a long time.”

  “I’m Hi-Power all the way,” I said.

  He grunted. “Browning make a good handgun, there’s no arguing with that. Popular with the Army boys.”

  I grunted back at him and said nothing more.

  He lowered the gun and looked out at the rain, which was picking up again. “You got a name, friend?” he asked after a while. He could have just read it off my driver display card, but I guess he wanted to be sociable.

  “Eyrie Brown.”

  The guy blinked. “Eerie as in ghosts and weird shit?”

  “Eyrie as in where falcons nest,” I corrected him. “Had an uncle who was a twitcher. He suggested it as a joke but it caught my mother’s fancy.”

  “Eyrie Brown.” The guy thought for a few seconds. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “No reason why it should. I’m just a cabbie.”

  “Oh really?”

  I looked in the mirror. He was still facing the rain, but I knew he was seeing me regardless. Trying to see into me, finding it hard to believe my appearance at such a delicate moment could be a mere coincidence.

  “Really,” I said softly.

  “Just luck you were in the right spot to pick me up tonight?”

  “Just luck,” I confirmed.

  He gave it a long, dangerous few seconds, then sniffed. “I guess I got no other choice but to believe you. So, where you heading?”

  “Right now I’m just driving, waiting for you to direct me.”

  He took a moment, eyes half closed, trying to map his way to a safe house. “South to Deptford. I don’t want to go home. Might be some nasty surprises lying in store, know what I mean?”

  “No. Don’t want to, either.”

  “Because you’re just a cabbie, right?” His eyes twinkled.

  “Right.” My eyes stayed flat.

  “I’m Lewis Brue,” he told me, leaning forward to shake hands while I was stopped for a red light. I think he expected a reaction but I hadn’t heard of him. Didn’t want to admit as much, so instead I asked if his arm was OK. He grimaced. “Hurts like a bitch, but the bullet passed through, so it should be easy to patch up. You ever take a bullet?”

  “Always managed to avoid them.”

  “Lucky man.” The light changed and I eased on. “So, Eyrie Brown,” he said, “you always been a driver?”

  “Been doing it for a couple of years now.”

  “What were you before?”

  I thought about lying or ignoring the question, but I gave too much away when we were talking about guns. Like he said, all the Army boys love a Hi-Power.

  “I was in the Forces.” I kept it as vague as possible. The past a closed book for me, as the old saying goes.

  “I figured,” he smirked. “See any action?” I shot an irritated look his way and he winced. “Not the sort of question I’m supposed to ask, huh?”

  “It was a long time ago,” I said neutrally.

  He took the hint and left it at that, which I appreciated.

  I drove in silence for a time. He didn’t like it when we hit a busy road, drew back into the shadows, so I stuck to the darker areas as best I could, which was fine by me, as I preferred the
darkness too.

  “You married?” he asked suddenly.

  “No.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Kids?”

  “You want to write my biography?”

  “Just making small talk. I have a wife, but we separated years ago. Three kids. The oldest’s nearly seventeen. Sharp as a scalpel. Wants to be a doctor.”

  “Good money.”

  He pulled a face. “Not as much as I make, but he’s not cut out for a life like mine. The youngest – they’re all boys – maybe he has a chance. Not sure if I want that for him or not, but I won’t stand in his way if he sets his heart on it.”

  I didn’t ask what Lewis Brue did for a living. Didn’t really need to. I wasn’t naïve.

  “How old are you, Brown?” he asked. “Early thirties?”

  “Thereabouts.”

  “If you don’t mind a bit of advice from an older guy who’s been there and done it, I’d suggest you crack on and sow your seed. Don’t want to be too old to see the kids grow up. Didn’t work out for me and the missus, but I’m glad I went into action when I did. I got to enjoy the boys. Might get to have fun with the grandkids too if I stay fit and keep dodging the bullets.”

  “We’re getting close to Deptford,” I said. “Want to start giving me directions?”

  He looked over my shoulder. Clocked the name of the street. “Hang a right.” He smiled ruefully at me. “Did you ask that just to shut me up about the kids?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed, not offended. “Fair enough. Your car.”

  “My friend’s.”

  “Oh yeah.” He scratched an ear. “Want me to buy it for you?”

  I frowned. “I wasn’t expecting that big a tip.”

  “Hey, you work for me, the sky’s the limit.”