Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
The MadNeSS of TiiMo nOOdLepiP: P9...
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
The MadNeSS of TiiMo nOOdLepiP: P8...
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
The MadNeSS of TiiMo nOOdLepiP: P7...
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Monday, 28 March 2011
The MadNeSS of TiiMo nOOdLepiP: P6...
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
The MadNeSS of TiiMo nOOdLepiP: P5...
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Saturday, 26 March 2011
The MadNeSS of TiiMo nOOdLepiP: P4...
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Friday, 25 March 2011
The MadNeSS of TiiMo nOOdLepiP: P3...
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Thursday, 24 March 2011
The MadNeSS of TiiMo nOOdLepiP: P2...
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
The MadNeSS of TiiMo nOOdLepiP: P1...
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
The MadNeSS of TiiMo nOOdLepiP...
Unless you know me personally, you probably aren't aware that I have a brother.
Not that you need to know me all that personally - it's not like I keep him locked-up in an attic or anything, chained to the wall and begging for a love and understanding that will never fall in to his deformed arms - in fact, you might even know him and not me. Now there's a worrying thought.
Tim - or Tiimo Noodlepip, as I like to call him - is something of a reluctant artist. He would object to the label, but that doesn't stop him from doodling whenever I'm not around and leaving small drawings, poems or passages of text around for me as messages.
Over time I have collected these drawings and stored them without him knowing. Most are violently offensive - despite being genuinely hilarious - but every so often, a piece suitable for mass consumption comes along and it would be a shame to withhold such genius/madness.
Over the next four days I will be posting some of favourites. Keep your eyes peeled - there will be more to come.
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Not that you need to know me all that personally - it's not like I keep him locked-up in an attic or anything, chained to the wall and begging for a love and understanding that will never fall in to his deformed arms - in fact, you might even know him and not me. Now there's a worrying thought.
Tim - or Tiimo Noodlepip, as I like to call him - is something of a reluctant artist. He would object to the label, but that doesn't stop him from doodling whenever I'm not around and leaving small drawings, poems or passages of text around for me as messages.
Over time I have collected these drawings and stored them without him knowing. Most are violently offensive - despite being genuinely hilarious - but every so often, a piece suitable for mass consumption comes along and it would be a shame to withhold such genius/madness.
Over the next four days I will be posting some of favourites. Keep your eyes peeled - there will be more to come.
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Monday, 21 March 2011
The Unfortunate Bear...
Here is a picture of a most unfortunate bear, who has just experienced a roughing-up at the hands of a randy seal.
Enjoy, x
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Sunday, 20 March 2011
The Adventures of Pedge Pederson...
A couple of years back, while working for BNY Mellon, my friend Rob G Smith and I started up this little circular about a guy named Pedge.
We would right anything from a line to the page developing the story or characters and send it back to each other to continue. Now, the orignal document is colour-coded, but blogger doesn't allow that luxury, so all of my posts will be italisied.
The story never finished - where will Pedge end up? If you have any ideas, or would like to add to it, message me and I will repost with your additions until we get him through this mystery and safely home to bed.
Enjoy!
R. Jay Nudds x
Pedge wasn't a complicated man. He had been bought up by kind parents who had given him the time and respect needed to grow into truly decent human being, only they weren't here now and he was left pondering what would they do in this situation. His job had brought him to a...
Disused warehouse on the outskirts of town. Dusk was falling, but his cheap, no-nonsense wristwatch read 4:30pm.
"Winter's closing in," he muttered to himself as he locked up his car with trembling keys. Stuffing his clipboard under his arm, and wrapping his scarf around his thin neck he...
let out a heavy sigh and stepped into the building. The smell was one of slow decay. Pedge almost gagged as he spotted a cockroach scurrying towards a rotting palette board. He reached into his breast pocket and took out his pills. His mantra played in his head. "One for the money..." He popped the pill and continued on towards the...
blood encrusted sack laying against the far wall of the warehouse. The pillars supporting the derelict building cast lengthy shadows across the concrete floor as Pedge cautiously wandered forward. Taking his Stanley knife from his jacket pocket he made a small incision in the bulking woollen bag. A cows horn burst throw the newly made hole and Pedge jumped backwards, dropping his clipboard. He knelt next to the decaying beast and on closer inspection of the deceased bovine he noticed…
A tag hanging from its yellowed horn. From the stench that rose from the carrion as steam rises from fresh manure on a frosty autumn morning, he could tell that the beast had been dead for some time, but the inked name on the paper tag looked fresh; so fresh in fact that it was still glistening under the dull hum of the flickering strip lights overhead. His hands shaking, possibly from the cold, he...
pulled the sack back over the beast and left the crumbling warehouse. He climbed into his car, and lit a cigarette without opening the window. Every drag brought the events of the last week into sharper focus. He flipped through the pages on his clipboard. A single underlined passage jumped out at him. 'Lights in the sky keep calling my name. Calling my name. I think they're coming for me.' He ....
looked down at the tag he had cut from the horn and studied the name intently. 'Scarlet Hornsby' was written in thick black ink. Above the underlined passage he saw the warehouse's address scribbled in the same thick block handwriting as the name tag. Flicking back through the rest of the pages Pedge realised he was getting nowhere it was time to dial the number he was now so accustomed to ringing. She answered immediately and said in her usual manner...
"Pederson’s detective agency." Her voice was worn and tattered, and was the sole characteristic that gave away the grisly nature of her work. Otherwise, Caroline Finley was as delicately beautiful and culturally refined a woman as one was likely to meet. Single and driven, she had worked alongside Pedge for over a decade, helping him run illegal background checks on his patients, and occasionally offering him a warm bed, and welcoming bosom.
"It's Pedge," he said. "We got another exhibit A - for - Awful down here."
"Another one?" Caroline's voice was strained by concern.
"Yeah. And this one is worse than the last. I'm gonna head back to town. I need to speak to Carter. He's crazy as Hell but either he knows what going on..." Pedge tailed off as he took another drag.
"Or what?"
"Or he's the one responsible."
"Do you need to speak to Reg?" Caroline asked in a voice which implied she already knew the answer.
"I guess I do," Pedge replied, "am I seeing you tonight?" He tried desperately hard to hide the eagerness from his voice.
"If you're lucky, now be a good boy and speak to your Daddy." Pedge heard a clunk, a ring and then his father's voice. It was an old voice and yet boomed like a jet plane engine.
"What do you want boy?" He enquired in his most belittling tone possible, "I'm a busy man." Pedge sighed and took another drag from his cigarette. He composed himself and began to speak as civilly as he could muster.
" Does the name Scarlet Hornsby mean anything to you Boss?
"I told you not to call me that, I am your father," Reg was riled but eased as he tried to access the information somewhere at the back of his brain, "Scarlet? Sure I know her. She...was a friend of your mother's, way back. Surprised she ain't one of you loonies!"
"Don't call them that, dad. Funny you should say that though: I've just been to Porter's Warehouse: one of my patients," he hung on the word so Reg got the message, "Told me there'd be something of interest there. Sure enough: a dead cow with Scarlet Hornsby's name attached."
"That's odd."
"Very. Any idea what it means?" There was a pause, full of tacit expectation and then:
"None whatsoever. Now get your arse over here so we can sort this puzzle out," came the anticlimactic, though rousing reply. Pedge hung up; there was no need for trivial formalities with a man as toughened and immovable as his father. He finished his smoke and flicked the butt end out of the slightly open window.
The street lamps twinkled in the obfuscating twilight as he sped across town to the office. he hoped he'd be able to make some sense of this riddle before it was time to turn in, but more than that he hoped...
he might actually get some sleep tonight. Don't bet on it, he thought, and took another pill. "Two for the show..."
Several miles south, in a rancid apartment, Clifton Carter sat drawing a UFO with a children's crayon set. He ran a hand through his filthy, scraggly hair, and wiped the resulting grease below the crudely drawn craft, giving the impression of heat distortion. Satisfied, he pinned the drawing to the wall. The phone rang.
"Yes?" said Carter.
"It's Caroline. Pedge is sniffing around again. Keep quiet if he visits. The Boss has got it all worked out."
The line went dead. Carter was convinced ......
he could still hear voices on the line and he listened intently. Very soon though he got bored and went to look at his alien artwork. As he stared at the spacecraft in front of him a frown cracked his face. Angry eyes stared at the grease stained paper and Carter smashed his huge fist through the picture and the wall. Not acknowledging any pain, he sat back down on a worn mustard yellow sofa and sobbed. If Pedge was coming here he was in trouble, he had to call Scarlet quickly to find out...
If she had spoken to anyone about their 'arrangement'. She had been useful to him. and the operation, but dangerous. It was rare for Clifton Carter to consider anyone but himself as dangerous, but whereas he was a killer; an unhinged genius-lunatic, Scarlet Hornsby was nothing but loose in tongue and morals. She was an emotional beast whose pretty, over-lipsticked head was governed by her fervent and impulsive heart.
He scratched his unshaven chin, thoughtfully, picked up his cell phone and walked to the window. Through the smeared glass he could see the street below. The light from the streetlamps split into pools of amber on the dirty pane, obscuring his view. He raised the ringing phone to his ear, but the line went dead after two rings. Across the street he could make out her shadowy form. She gave a skittish, half-embarassed wave, and pleaded with those deep, swirling, mocha-brown eyes, for sanctuary, he sighed and...
went to open his front door.
Pedge continued to drive cautiously across town to his father's office. He had always been a confident and skilled driver but there was no rush, Reg Pederson never left his own building. Though he didn't like his father much, he respected his ability to solve an investigation with so little evidence or clues. Pedge had only met his real father twelve years ago at the funeral of his mother and step-father. Up until that point Pedge had never even know that Ronald Evergreen wasn't his biological father, but looking into the eyes of the man he now knew to be his father, the truth was irrefutable. Pedge was a young Reg Pederson, in looks at least but Pedge knew he was a better person than his father but for some reason he always wanted to impress him. The thoughts mulled through his mind as he pulled up outside his father's office building, it was...
Tall and oddly ramshackle for this end of town, but functional and recognisable nonetheless. He parked up beneath a streetlight, and hopped out of the car. Thoughts swirled through his head and masked the background noise of the city: dogs howling, hobos fighting, hookers hooking, all paled into nothingness in lieu of the consuming hum of his mind.
Scarlet Hornsby stood on the threshold of Clifton's apartment.
"I suppose you'd better come in," he said grudgingly. His tone clearly hurt her and her pretty, if slightly deranged features, contorted sadly.
"Why'd you talk to me like that, honey?" she said, throwing off her shawl and dumping her bag next to the sofa, "I only came here because I cared."
"Well I don't want you to care about me: I want you to care about the job. Pedge is sniffing around, Caroline told me. You know what that means don't you?"
She started to tremble: she knew exactly what that meant, but Carter wasn't taking any chances:
"It means you talked Scar; it means you talked to...
one of DeAngelo's lot." His voice sounded more disappointed than angry. "Which one was it Scar? Who did you flap your gums to?" He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, raised it to his mouth, leaving a plain white stick in his mouth. Scarlet didn't know where to look or what to say, her brain didn't work that fast. Lies wouldn't come quick enough to her mouth and in the end she slouched back on to the sofa in defeat.
"It was Billy," she said solemnly, "He told me he wanted in, he wanted to leave DeAngelo and help us. Then he left laughing." she said, unable to look him in the eye. "You know I don't think so good, Carter." The domineering man stood above her puffing away, trying to take in the information being told to him.
"It's a good job your so damn cute then isn't it?" Was his reply, he then innocently enquired, "You didn't mention me though did you?" There was an awkward pause where the beautiful Scarlet stayed quiet, still not daring to lock eyes with the powerful, wildly erratic man. "There was no reason to mention me was there?" For the first time, his voice had a touch of nervous anger about it.
"He said I needed to tell him who I was working with before he would help, he told me he needed to know, Carter!" Scarlet's reply was desperate and full of sorrow, she knew she'd done bad and there was little she could do to fix it. Carter stood, wide eyed in shock, and didn't notice the long column of ash drop from his cigarette to the floor.
"Then it seems I need to speak with our friend Pedge my dear Scar."
"Do you have to Carter?" she pleaded. He ground his teeth together, struggling with the inner demons that made him such a ferociously unpredictable character. He was an anomaly: part criminal genius, part adolescent. His was a mind that although capable of genius, had somehow neglected to foster the development of morals or adult interests. He understood sex, but only because it was the culmination of a natural urge and nothing more. The concept of love was dead to him. His adulthood, in all its minimal facets, was a robotic existence; a series of events that held no thrall over him. Washing, cleaning, eating, sleeping, fucking: they were all the same, each no more interesting or captivating than breathing fresh air.
Smoking and drawing, he enjoyed. Spending time in his room, sometimes for hours, all alone, carving a new licentious plan to bring the world down around him.
It was fun, and that was all that mattered.
His latest 'prank' had involved a massive drug shipment being delivered to NY city. His aims were modestly anarchic, and he hoped only to instigate chaos, not to gain any significant wealth from his illegal activities.
Other than Scarlet, who was an untrustworthy, but annoyingly essential go-between, many others were involved. He had his fingers in many pies, included the piping-hot pastry of Pederson’s detective agency, where Reg and Caroline supplemented their incomes by remaining on his books.
His only worry now was their pesky associate, Pedge. He, a psychiatrist for the NYPD, had unlimited access to some incredibly knowledgeable players in his game. If he got too close, and Scarlet got too sloppy, all hell could break loose.
Pedge climbed the stair to his father's office. The elevator had been broken for as long as he remembered and he wasn't even sure it had ever worked. He reached the 5th floor and opened a loosely hinged wooden door. Sat behind her desk was Caroline in all her glory. Her skin was mocha and she had dyed her hair white. She reminded Pedge of Storm from the X-Men magazines he had read as a kid. She wasn't stunning but there was just something that attracted him to her and always made him slightly lose his concentration when she was around. Her eyes greeted his warmly and she smiled that smile.
"I'm not sure what you said to him hon, but he's been shuffling around more than ever," She stood up floated across the wooden floor in her long flowing pearlescent white skirt and hugged Pedge, kissing him on the cheek, “it’s good to see you again Peter.' Pedge could feel the blood rushing to his face and tried not to show Caroline as he walked towards his Father's door.
"Just another brick in the wall Caz, you know he loves all this shit." He knocked on the frosted window and opened the door immediately not waiting for his father's response. Inside the plush office his father had papers everywhere. Reg was clearly searching for something and by the speed the old man was moving at it was a safe bet to say he hadn't as yet discovered it. Reg spotted him come and frowned.
"Peter, there you are," he briefly paused from his shuffling, "I need to tell you something, I want you to know that I won't be able to help you with your investigation into the Carter matter."
"What? But dad, we know he is guilty of something. We've been so close, so many times. Why won't you let me nail him?"
"It's not our place, son. Especially not yours. You're a Psychiatrist for God's sake. What're you doing messing around in this?"
"I can't just let these things go, dad. You know that. Whenever my patients give me leads I'm obliged to follow them up."
"You're not obliged, peter: you're compelled. You've got a sick fascination with the unexplained. If we let you slip off topic for a second you start sounding like Fox Mulder, for God's sake. These things your loonies talk about-"
"Patients, dad."
"Whatever the hell you wanna call them; they're crazies to me. Whatever they talk about is trash, garbage, tripe. Ignore it, Peter, or you'll end up like them."
"But dad, something's up. Scarlet; you know Scarlet?"
"Yeah, you're mother's friend. What about her?"
"She works as a nurse at the Psych ward. used to be a patient herself, you see. She talks to the inmates. They trust her, you know? You know what that means don't you?"
"I haven't the foggiest, Peter, but I'm sure you're going to tell me." The rambunctious old man sat down in the chair over which he had been hovering since Pedge 's entrance. He picked up a half smoked cigar and lit it.
"It means that she talks to DeAngelo Petrino's gang! They are all in the ward! Dad, he only recruits criminals with a mental illness: it makes them harder to convict and even harder to pin anything on him. He's smart, but sick. It's an abuse of humanity, but worse than that, he's forcing these ill people to commit crimes."
"Proof?" said Reg curtly.
"Well, none, other than one patient's testimony. The same testimony that had me travel to Porter's yard this afternoon."
"And there you found a dead cow with Scarlet's name on it," he said, unimpressed.
"Yeah."
"And now you're convinced that Clifton Carter has something to do with it?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Why?"
"I recognised his handwriting on the tag from an interview I conducted with him last year. Because its the sort of sick joke he would be involved in. Who leaves a dead animal lying around? Carter's up to something; you know how he plays the game. He wants me to come looking for him. He's too good to just commit a crime. he wants everyone to know he did it, and more importantly got away with it."
"Elaborate."
"Typical Carter," smiled Pedge, rueful of his helplessness, but respectful of his adversaries talents.
Reg just remained sat in his chair staring over his son's shoulder, clearly trying to come to some sort of conclusion but he looked troubled. It wasn't an expression Pedge was used to seeing on his old man's face. Confusion didn't suit Reg Pederson. He took a long drag of the cigar and exhaled.
"Right then," he finally said now looking Pedge in the eye, "you have every right to be suspicious, but don't be surprised if what you find you don't like." He stood up once again and walked to the filing cabinet that must have once housed the numerous papers lying around his office. He took out a folder and handed it to Pedge. Before he let it go he stopped and stared at his son.
"I told you son, you are not going to like what you find." Pedge took the folder and opened it. The name at the top of the page read Clifton Carter.
"Dad, you said you had burned this?" Pedge said never taking his eyes off the pages, "You said you had lost this over a year ago." Reg sat himself down once more a dejected man.
"I didn't want you getting in too deep, Carter is a dangerous man, more pies than his fingers can enter..." Pedge had stopped listening, something on the page had caught his eye. On the right hand side of the page read the words:
'Name: Clifton Socrates Carter
Age: 39
Blood Type: O
Children: 1 Daughter - Scarlet Cleopatra Hornsby' Age 19'
Known spouse: Maria Pederson (nee Blaycock) (deceased)
"What the?" said Pedge, dumbfounded as he gazed down at his mother's maiden name.
"Sit down son," said Reg, massaging his temples. Pedge did as he was told and slipped noiselessly into the vacant chair that faced his father.
"Your mother never told you this, I know, but while we were married she had an affair: an affair with one Clifton Socrates Carter." he tapped the sheet that was still held erect in Pedge's frozen hands, ruefully. "You were almost three at the time. I lost my head and kicked her out, but she always blamed me and my marriage to my work for the reason our marriage broke down, and after a prolonged, acrimonious split, she decided it'd be best if you never knew a man like me as a part of your life. Just after we split, she got pregnant by Carter. I heard of it through the grapevine. Pissed me off, but hell, what could I do? She was a free woman, though still using my name back then. Anyways, it wasn't long before she realised life with Carter was no bed of roses, and his abuse of Scarlet, both physical and mental, was too much for Maria to bear." Reg's eyes misted up as he thought of the woman he had once loved in pain, then his mind turned to her death along with her second husband; Pedge's adoptive father, and the anger and frustration returned. "She left him, but not before social services took Scarlet away. I guess it was tough for her: that sort of thing's tough for any mother, but she decided to leave Scarlet where she was. She never went back for her. Her surname was changed from Carter to Hornsby when she was eventually adopted, and it took me years of digging to find that out, I can tell you!"
"Why did you care?" said Pedge quietly. "Why did you give a damn?"
"Even your old man can feel sometimes, Peter."
"So what; you felt some kind of debt to mum? Like by finding Scarlet you could make up for the husband you were?" Tears welled in Reg's eyes, but it was unlike the craggy old gent to break down so he composed himself and nodded.
"Yeah, something like that."
"And what about Carter? Does he even know that Scarlet Hornsby is his daughter?"
Carter lay on his unkempt bed smoking a cigarette with his arm around Scarlet who sat topless against the headboard. The paint was chipped and the plasterboard almost demolished where the bed must have met the wall on numerous occasions. Clifton Carter didn't look smug or happy, just restless, dark thoughts clearly on his mind. Scarlet however seemed almost satisfied, possibly because in her head she may have made up, even just a little bit, for the huge mistake she had made telling Billy.
"I was expecting Pedge to have called by now," Carter said either concerned or elated, Scarlet couldn't quite decide on his tone.
"Maybe he doesn't think it's that big a deal," came Scarlet's innocent reply. Carter looked at her in disgust.
"Don't be stupid girl, of course he knows how big this is." He arose from his bed naked and grabbed a stained blue dressing gown. He went to the window and looked down into the dimly lit alley behind his apartment. Scarlet was just getting comfy resting her head on a once white pillow when she saw Carter begin to panic. Grabbing his trousers and shoes he turned to the young girl in his bed.
"Shit its....Caroline."
He pulled his pants on, hopping on one foot, dancing on the cold, draughty floorboards.
"Put some clothes on, you tramp," he barked at Scarlet who felt that her recent favours were all but extinguished by the sight of Caroline Finley. Scarlet searched for her discarded thong, and found it hanging from a clear-plastic desk lamp. The light, which was on, shone through the lacy material of her jettisoned undergarments. They were white, or at least had been once upon a time, but had faded, as had their wearer's optimism, to a murky grey, prettied-up by a couple of lacklustre pink bows that sat on her bony, emaciated hips.
"Get dressed," he snapped, breezing past the skeletal girl, and storming to the front door, swinging it open and blocking the ingress with his massive frame just as Caroline's petite fist fell on his chest which was heaving where the door should have been. He grabbed it and squeezed it so tightly that her hand went white in an instant.
"Ouch, Carter, let me go."
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I was just at the office; Pedge came by before coming over here, and I was eavesdropping on his and Reg's conversation. He has a file on you Carter: the file you thought he destroyed years ago."
"What?"
"He knows everything, Carter. I heard him telling Pedge all about the stunts you've pulled over time, and the names of the pigeons that'll squawk if squeezed hard enough."
"You're lying," he said, turning redder and redder as her fist turned a glacial white.
"Why would I lie, I..." but she stopped short; her protestation cut off by the sight of a t-shirted Scarlet Hornsby; ignorant offspring of her unsanitary lover, drifting in a wraithlike fashion towards the door. Carter sensed her presence behind him and span round, releasing Caroline's trembling wrist and laying his suddenly free hand on an ashtray and hurling it at his fuckbunny's head. She ducked, but got the message and scampered back to the bedroom.
He whirled round in a flustered rage. Caroline was dumbfounded. Unlike Carter, she knew who Hornsby was, and it sickened her.
"Listen, Carter, I've got to go," she said. he seemed too exhausted to stop her as she hurried away from the incestuous scene and out onto the sidewalk where she coughed back her own disgusted vomit and dialled the familiar number in her cell phone with shaking fingers.
"Simon? It's me Caroline."
"Ah, Agent Spinelli, good to hear from you. We thought your leads had gone cold: been so long since we've heard anything," came the friendly reply of Simon Austin, FBI analyst and colleague of Caroline Spinelli: woman undercover.
Pedge got back into his car, his head crammed full of information that was hard to swallow. Mum was with Carter? She cheated on Dad? How could she not tell me? He didn't know whether to pity her or rage with fury. Right now he felt a bit of both. Either way he had to see Carter, not only was he the main player in this game, he now had to answer for the way he had treated Maria Pederson and of course Scarlet Hornsby, but that could wait till tomorrow. He had spent hours in his father's office, learning everything there was to know about Clifton Carter's sordid past. Reg had opened up to him in a way he didn't think his father was capable of and for the first time since his mother's funeral they had embraced, his father's leathery sallow hand patting his son's back. Pedge left his Dad sipping a bourbon over ice, mulling his way through old newspaper cuttings and time stained pages from the numerous files laying around the office, he really did never leave that office. Caroline had shut down and diverted the phones hours ago and now Pedge had mustered up the courage to go and see her. He had called asking her to meet him at O'Malleys Bar on Harlow Street, their usual. He was already late and there was no time to change. His clothes smelt of the day but he needed female company, and Caroline was the closest thing he'd had to a girlfriend since Sally Garcia some five years ago, way before any of this Clifton Carter nonsence had shown its face. Pulling into the bar parking lot Pedge couldn't help but notice...
A slight blurirng of his vision. He shook his head and groaned. The inertia of the drive had brought the nausea back. He fumbled in his pocket with trembling hands and popped a couple of pills, just to be on the safe side. He flipped down the sunscreen and checked his appearance in the mirror. Dabbing a few beads of telltale sweat from his temple, he opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. Instantly he felt refreshed and optimistic. He strode with confidence across the lot, over the road and into O'Malley's. The doorman, one Seamus O'Malley, eldest son of Padraig, the bar's owner, nodded a familiar greeting to the regular drinker. Pedge smiled warmly, but didn't stop to chat. He had spotted his date across the bustling floor, and within seconds he was by her side, a pre-ordered drink in his hand. He kissed her on the cheek.
"Good day?"
"Interesting," she said, trying to smile. This bothered Pedge. For one, it was odd to see Caroline anything less than cheery, and secondly it was even odder to see her anything but herself. Tonight she was neither. Her forced good-humour did not wash with the man who had seen her highest highs and lowest lows, and her desperate attempts to conceal her deeper contemplations were failing miserably. Now, Pedge averred it was likely she, as all the omen he had ever known had been, was adept at projecting an emotion that was not natural, and he assumed that like many of her sex she could do so regularly without thought or effort, and remain forever undetected by the ignorant male. But her performance tonight was more than shoddy; it was transparent and soulless. She was clearly rattled and had something on her mind: something big.
"Caroline, honey. What is it? What's wrong?"
Caroline realising her error shuffled in her seat and sat up straight. The smile Pedge had come to love span across her lovely face and she went to take a sip of her beverage before realising it was empty.
"Oh, don't worry yourself Peter, its nothing a Gin and Tonic won't fix," she lied hoping to lead to conversation away from her momentary lapse of concentration. Working undercover was a performance, an act and one she longed to have an understudy for right now. Pedge wasn't buying into her claim, she could see from his reaction but in all fairness to him, he turned to the barman and ordered Caroline's G&T.
"I haven't seen you like this since you started working for my Dad, what is it? What's bothering you?" Pedge asked, sincerely concerned, "You said you wrre enjoying working for my old man, has he done something?" Pedge didnt really know what he was asking, they just happened to be the words that spilled out, but they had given Caroline the break she needed.
"Its hard to talk to you about work stuff you know Peter," she said with a new found spark in her voice, "he is your Dad after all." She wouldn't break her stare, Pedge needed to see that there were no lies on her face. She had been trained to do this, she just had to keep it up. Pedge was agitated but didn't look away. She had him.
"What has he done?" Pedge said forcefully, "He hasn't touch..." He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before Caroline cut in.
"No, don't be silly. Reg is a sweetheart," she reassured him, "he knows I am out of bounds, I am worried about him." Her mind had already made the story, now she just had to follow the script.
"He isn't as young as he used to be Peter, his health is getting worse, those damn cigars he won't put down." she paused to sip her drink. "I think you should leave him out of this new Carter investigation." She left the statement hanging to try and gauge his reaction.
"But it's his job, I can't do this without him," Pedge said not really wanting to accept what Caroline was saying.
"You have been doing it without him the last 3 years Pedge, this new stuff is running him down, he has the knowledge but he's slowing down, mentally and physically, the other day he took a bit of a tumble in his office. I wasn't going to say anything. I didn't want you to worry. I'm just worried he's been drinking a lot."
"Dad always drinks a lot."
"A lot, a lot, Peter," she said, honest pain blurring her features. "I think being so close to the Carter case is bad for him. You know how it drags up old memories."
Pedge nodded slowly in agreement. He could certainly sympathise with his father. Having past infidelities bandied around was no fun thing. His own experiences with women had taught him that. He was about to concede that caroline was right, and that maybe his father was too close to this case for comfort, when something struck out of the blue, and knocked him for six.
His sudden shock was apparent to Caroline, who had imagined her flawless, oscar-winning performance had passed to rave reviews. It wasn't that she didn't trust Pedge; far from it; she genuinely loved him, it was just that her job required absolute confidentiality if it was to be a success. But something in her lover's eyes disarmed her, and in a moment of weakness she flinched, and he had all the proof he needed to voice his accusation:
"How do you know about Dad's history with Carter? I only found out today. He keeps all that information locked up in his personal cabinet. No one but him has a key. Caroline...what's going on?"She was a beaten woman she knew. Only truths or half truths at least would save her now.
"I'm not just a receptionist for you father," she conceded, a frustrated and flustered Pedge staring right at her, "I used to be a cop, I had to spend an awful lot of time on a drugs racket against Carter a few years back," Just Carter's name made Pedge feel on edge and could feel anger bubbling up inside him, showing on his face. "Well I got too involved, dug too deep, found more stuff about Clifton Carter than anyone wants to know." Caroline slumped on her stool, "It consumed me, and I couldn't let it lie, even when the boss told me to back off, I just kept digging." She wasn't looking at Pedge anymore, she was looking at the floor, remembering what she had been through. That at least was what Pedge as a psychiatrist, used to dealing with liars, cheats and criminals everyday was reading from her. If she was lying she was lying well.
"Tell me Caz, what the hell happened so that you ended up working for my father?" Pedge wasn't one hundred percent sure he wanted to know the truth, if everything was a lie, then perhaps he was being played worse than his father.
"He has done some terrible things Peter, terrible. Well I got kicked off the force, I was a mess and wouldn't just walk away. That man has fingers in so..." she paused,"so many pies, it was inevitable that a pork pie was one of them. The chief of police ordered me to stop and I didn't," Pedge felt nervous hearing all this but he had to know the truth, "I quit the force and started up on my own, private investigator, but I never had the business know how, and I already had the only case I wanted and couldn't pay myself." She now sat with her head in her hands tears swelling in her eyes. If she was lying she was very convincing Pedge thought.
"So you thought you would go to the best private investigator in town and use his resource's instead?" Pedge suggested referring to his father.
"Pretty much, your father a decade ago put away Rory Gabonni, before my time, but it's still talked about in the force. The police had nothing, the FBI had nothing and yet when your father brought him in he had a case file that every judge would sell their right arm for, a multi million pound drugs and arms trader and the trial was concluded before lunch." Pedge wasn't sure why but he felt a sense of pride hearing the story again, of course he had heard it from his father a number of times but coming from Caroline's mouth made it that little bit sweeter.
"You got the job as secretary and have been following the Carter story ever since," Pedge pretty much had it worked out now.
"I bugged his office on the first day I arrived," she looked back up at him, "you know, just in case I wasn't a very good receptionist," Pedge believed her, it was impossible not to. He looked at her and felt closer to Caroline more than ever, she had confided in him and he knew that it had taken a lot out of her. Something was niggling at him though, but he pushed it to one side.
"Caz, what about... I mean," he was uncomfortable asking and she could tell so she cut in.
"We were real Peter, that I can swear to you." She stood and hugged him. He felt a warmth smother him and the niggling that still didn't quite sit right in his head melted away.
She stood up off her stool and took his hand.
"Come on let's get out of here."
"But I..."
"For goodness sake, Peter. There's plenty of beer at my apartment. Now come on," she said, her forced assertiveness a brilliant foil for her half-truth revelation, "Get your coat. We're leaving."
***
The sun rolled over the jagged crest of the New York cityscape, and flooded Caroline's bedroom with a warm orange glow. The sunlight crept across the thin white sheet that separated her and Pedge's entwined naked bodies from the cold air, and caressed her bare shoulder, stirring her from a deep sleep.
"Mmm," she groaned, satisfied with herself and her man. She may not have told him everything about her past, but he knew enough now to help her. they were on the same side after all; the side of justice.
***
Across town Clifton Carter chewed on a crayon. It tasted like crap; he knew that, but he was edgy and restless. Scarlet was naked but for a green and white Jets jersey that Carter had own in his youth. The throwback shirt hung just below Scarlet's hips, but as she bent over to pick up the remote it rode up, revealing her naked behind to her crazed lover. He mubled in aroused approval, but his mind was elsewhere. His eyes tracked her as she hopped onto the sofa, flicked the TV set on and turned to MTV. He glared at her back, wondering if it was okay to find her even more attractive because she was wearing a Joe Nameth jersey. She lay back and propped her perfect pins on the back of the sofa. From his vantage point in the open plan kitchen that, on paper at least, made the flat sound modern and stylish, he had a restricted view of her right hand, which by the angle of her lean and quivevering of her svelte, teenage body, seemed to have found a home between her legs.
The girl just never quit. Must have some abandonment issues or something like that, he thought. She craved attention, physical love on a basis that made Carter feel like an old man. He wasn't: he was still young and feared by those who knew him. He was powerful, but he was flawed, and his flaws would grow and grow until he spiralled out of control.
He knew it. he knew he was doomed to breakdown eventually. Like a car with half a tank of petrol, his long journey brought with it so many twists and turns there was no feasible way he would make it to his desired destination. So he figured he should stop at as many interesting points along the way.
***
"Billy Rogers, please," said Pedge.
"I'm sorry," said Lucy, the receptionist at the psych ward, "Peter, you know I can't let her in to see him. He's under restriction."
"Lucy," Pedge pleaded, using his most charming voice, and perfected, intimate lean, "She's a friend of my father's. She's got some information that could help get Billy out of here, but we need to talk to him. You know he's a good kid. Got mixed up with the wrong crowd, but who hasn't once in a while? Come on, Lucy. Let us help him. We'll only be five minutes, I promise."
"You know the rules, Dr Pederson, she'll have to wait here." Lucy clearly wanted to help Pedge but her sense of duty outranked their friendship. Pedge glanced at Caroline and knew she understood. They had discussed what they needed to find out from Billy on the way over. The meet was scripted, just a few blanks needed filling in.
"I'll be back in about ten minutes Caz, twenty tops." Pedge explained to Caroline who had taken a seat next to Lucy's desk.
"It was five a second ago," Lucy butted in.
"Don't worry Peter, I'll see you in a bit," Caroline replied and that smile swept across her face. Pedge heard the buzzer sound and opened the heavy white door. On the other side he nodded to Gerry, one of the ward guards he had got to know well over the years. It was Gerry's birthday next week and his daughter had just had a baby. 'I must remember to get him a card,' Pedge thought as they traded welcomes. Walking down the halogen lit corridor Pedge found himself in front of the patient's lounge and in his regular seat in the far corner of the room he saw Billy, watching television as he had been every other time Pedge made a visit. Billy was a weasel of a man, it was the only word that entered Pedge's head the first time he had met him and still floated in his conscious every time he laid his eyes on him. His face was thin and pointed, his hair balding with a large diamond tuft sticking out from his hair line. He had lost weight since being in the ward which only made his face look more gaunt and hollow than his slim frame had been when he was admitted. His eyes were narrow and he squinted when he talked, his nose was long and hooked underlined by a fuzzy black moustache. Billy Rogers was not an attractive man, but hell could he talk.
Pedge entered the room and he heard the scuffle of patients turning in their chairs in anticipation. 'Haven't been many visitors recently,' Pedge thought, 'That or Billy's been flapping his gums again and my names been mentioned.' Pedge's eyes locked onto Billy's and the weasel smiled. Pedge took a step towards Billy's corner when a hand touched his shoulder. Caroline stood in the doorway behind him. Pedge's look of confusion must have been obvious.
"Natural charm Pedge," she smiled, "He has to be the weasel." She said as she left a dumfounded Pedge standing in the doorway as she strode towards Billy.
"Counting cards, counting cards," Billy stuttered, his face jolting to the side in reply to what ever Caroline had said.
"It wasn't funny the first time Billy, and is still isn't," Pedge replied and Billy smiled his weasel smile once again.
"Good to see you too Doc, whose your..." he paused to look her up and down, "friend?" He didn't look at Pedge once.
"This is a colleague, you don't need to know who she is," Pedge replied, "Now what have you been saying Billy?"
"Oh Doc, why am I still here? You know I'm not mental like the rest of 'em," Billy pleaded, the narrow slits of his eyes widening.
"Lose the puppy dogs Billy, you're in here because...
We would right anything from a line to the page developing the story or characters and send it back to each other to continue. Now, the orignal document is colour-coded, but blogger doesn't allow that luxury, so all of my posts will be italisied.
The story never finished - where will Pedge end up? If you have any ideas, or would like to add to it, message me and I will repost with your additions until we get him through this mystery and safely home to bed.
Enjoy!
R. Jay Nudds x
Pedge wasn't a complicated man. He had been bought up by kind parents who had given him the time and respect needed to grow into truly decent human being, only they weren't here now and he was left pondering what would they do in this situation. His job had brought him to a...
Disused warehouse on the outskirts of town. Dusk was falling, but his cheap, no-nonsense wristwatch read 4:30pm.
"Winter's closing in," he muttered to himself as he locked up his car with trembling keys. Stuffing his clipboard under his arm, and wrapping his scarf around his thin neck he...
let out a heavy sigh and stepped into the building. The smell was one of slow decay. Pedge almost gagged as he spotted a cockroach scurrying towards a rotting palette board. He reached into his breast pocket and took out his pills. His mantra played in his head. "One for the money..." He popped the pill and continued on towards the...
blood encrusted sack laying against the far wall of the warehouse. The pillars supporting the derelict building cast lengthy shadows across the concrete floor as Pedge cautiously wandered forward. Taking his Stanley knife from his jacket pocket he made a small incision in the bulking woollen bag. A cows horn burst throw the newly made hole and Pedge jumped backwards, dropping his clipboard. He knelt next to the decaying beast and on closer inspection of the deceased bovine he noticed…
A tag hanging from its yellowed horn. From the stench that rose from the carrion as steam rises from fresh manure on a frosty autumn morning, he could tell that the beast had been dead for some time, but the inked name on the paper tag looked fresh; so fresh in fact that it was still glistening under the dull hum of the flickering strip lights overhead. His hands shaking, possibly from the cold, he...
pulled the sack back over the beast and left the crumbling warehouse. He climbed into his car, and lit a cigarette without opening the window. Every drag brought the events of the last week into sharper focus. He flipped through the pages on his clipboard. A single underlined passage jumped out at him. 'Lights in the sky keep calling my name. Calling my name. I think they're coming for me.' He ....
looked down at the tag he had cut from the horn and studied the name intently. 'Scarlet Hornsby' was written in thick black ink. Above the underlined passage he saw the warehouse's address scribbled in the same thick block handwriting as the name tag. Flicking back through the rest of the pages Pedge realised he was getting nowhere it was time to dial the number he was now so accustomed to ringing. She answered immediately and said in her usual manner...
"Pederson’s detective agency." Her voice was worn and tattered, and was the sole characteristic that gave away the grisly nature of her work. Otherwise, Caroline Finley was as delicately beautiful and culturally refined a woman as one was likely to meet. Single and driven, she had worked alongside Pedge for over a decade, helping him run illegal background checks on his patients, and occasionally offering him a warm bed, and welcoming bosom.
"It's Pedge," he said. "We got another exhibit A - for - Awful down here."
"Another one?" Caroline's voice was strained by concern.
"Yeah. And this one is worse than the last. I'm gonna head back to town. I need to speak to Carter. He's crazy as Hell but either he knows what going on..." Pedge tailed off as he took another drag.
"Or what?"
"Or he's the one responsible."
"Do you need to speak to Reg?" Caroline asked in a voice which implied she already knew the answer.
"I guess I do," Pedge replied, "am I seeing you tonight?" He tried desperately hard to hide the eagerness from his voice.
"If you're lucky, now be a good boy and speak to your Daddy." Pedge heard a clunk, a ring and then his father's voice. It was an old voice and yet boomed like a jet plane engine.
"What do you want boy?" He enquired in his most belittling tone possible, "I'm a busy man." Pedge sighed and took another drag from his cigarette. He composed himself and began to speak as civilly as he could muster.
" Does the name Scarlet Hornsby mean anything to you Boss?
"I told you not to call me that, I am your father," Reg was riled but eased as he tried to access the information somewhere at the back of his brain, "Scarlet? Sure I know her. She...was a friend of your mother's, way back. Surprised she ain't one of you loonies!"
"Don't call them that, dad. Funny you should say that though: I've just been to Porter's Warehouse: one of my patients," he hung on the word so Reg got the message, "Told me there'd be something of interest there. Sure enough: a dead cow with Scarlet Hornsby's name attached."
"That's odd."
"Very. Any idea what it means?" There was a pause, full of tacit expectation and then:
"None whatsoever. Now get your arse over here so we can sort this puzzle out," came the anticlimactic, though rousing reply. Pedge hung up; there was no need for trivial formalities with a man as toughened and immovable as his father. He finished his smoke and flicked the butt end out of the slightly open window.
The street lamps twinkled in the obfuscating twilight as he sped across town to the office. he hoped he'd be able to make some sense of this riddle before it was time to turn in, but more than that he hoped...
he might actually get some sleep tonight. Don't bet on it, he thought, and took another pill. "Two for the show..."
Several miles south, in a rancid apartment, Clifton Carter sat drawing a UFO with a children's crayon set. He ran a hand through his filthy, scraggly hair, and wiped the resulting grease below the crudely drawn craft, giving the impression of heat distortion. Satisfied, he pinned the drawing to the wall. The phone rang.
"Yes?" said Carter.
"It's Caroline. Pedge is sniffing around again. Keep quiet if he visits. The Boss has got it all worked out."
The line went dead. Carter was convinced ......
he could still hear voices on the line and he listened intently. Very soon though he got bored and went to look at his alien artwork. As he stared at the spacecraft in front of him a frown cracked his face. Angry eyes stared at the grease stained paper and Carter smashed his huge fist through the picture and the wall. Not acknowledging any pain, he sat back down on a worn mustard yellow sofa and sobbed. If Pedge was coming here he was in trouble, he had to call Scarlet quickly to find out...
If she had spoken to anyone about their 'arrangement'. She had been useful to him. and the operation, but dangerous. It was rare for Clifton Carter to consider anyone but himself as dangerous, but whereas he was a killer; an unhinged genius-lunatic, Scarlet Hornsby was nothing but loose in tongue and morals. She was an emotional beast whose pretty, over-lipsticked head was governed by her fervent and impulsive heart.
He scratched his unshaven chin, thoughtfully, picked up his cell phone and walked to the window. Through the smeared glass he could see the street below. The light from the streetlamps split into pools of amber on the dirty pane, obscuring his view. He raised the ringing phone to his ear, but the line went dead after two rings. Across the street he could make out her shadowy form. She gave a skittish, half-embarassed wave, and pleaded with those deep, swirling, mocha-brown eyes, for sanctuary, he sighed and...
went to open his front door.
Pedge continued to drive cautiously across town to his father's office. He had always been a confident and skilled driver but there was no rush, Reg Pederson never left his own building. Though he didn't like his father much, he respected his ability to solve an investigation with so little evidence or clues. Pedge had only met his real father twelve years ago at the funeral of his mother and step-father. Up until that point Pedge had never even know that Ronald Evergreen wasn't his biological father, but looking into the eyes of the man he now knew to be his father, the truth was irrefutable. Pedge was a young Reg Pederson, in looks at least but Pedge knew he was a better person than his father but for some reason he always wanted to impress him. The thoughts mulled through his mind as he pulled up outside his father's office building, it was...
Tall and oddly ramshackle for this end of town, but functional and recognisable nonetheless. He parked up beneath a streetlight, and hopped out of the car. Thoughts swirled through his head and masked the background noise of the city: dogs howling, hobos fighting, hookers hooking, all paled into nothingness in lieu of the consuming hum of his mind.
Scarlet Hornsby stood on the threshold of Clifton's apartment.
"I suppose you'd better come in," he said grudgingly. His tone clearly hurt her and her pretty, if slightly deranged features, contorted sadly.
"Why'd you talk to me like that, honey?" she said, throwing off her shawl and dumping her bag next to the sofa, "I only came here because I cared."
"Well I don't want you to care about me: I want you to care about the job. Pedge is sniffing around, Caroline told me. You know what that means don't you?"
She started to tremble: she knew exactly what that meant, but Carter wasn't taking any chances:
"It means you talked Scar; it means you talked to...
one of DeAngelo's lot." His voice sounded more disappointed than angry. "Which one was it Scar? Who did you flap your gums to?" He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, raised it to his mouth, leaving a plain white stick in his mouth. Scarlet didn't know where to look or what to say, her brain didn't work that fast. Lies wouldn't come quick enough to her mouth and in the end she slouched back on to the sofa in defeat.
"It was Billy," she said solemnly, "He told me he wanted in, he wanted to leave DeAngelo and help us. Then he left laughing." she said, unable to look him in the eye. "You know I don't think so good, Carter." The domineering man stood above her puffing away, trying to take in the information being told to him.
"It's a good job your so damn cute then isn't it?" Was his reply, he then innocently enquired, "You didn't mention me though did you?" There was an awkward pause where the beautiful Scarlet stayed quiet, still not daring to lock eyes with the powerful, wildly erratic man. "There was no reason to mention me was there?" For the first time, his voice had a touch of nervous anger about it.
"He said I needed to tell him who I was working with before he would help, he told me he needed to know, Carter!" Scarlet's reply was desperate and full of sorrow, she knew she'd done bad and there was little she could do to fix it. Carter stood, wide eyed in shock, and didn't notice the long column of ash drop from his cigarette to the floor.
"Then it seems I need to speak with our friend Pedge my dear Scar."
"Do you have to Carter?" she pleaded. He ground his teeth together, struggling with the inner demons that made him such a ferociously unpredictable character. He was an anomaly: part criminal genius, part adolescent. His was a mind that although capable of genius, had somehow neglected to foster the development of morals or adult interests. He understood sex, but only because it was the culmination of a natural urge and nothing more. The concept of love was dead to him. His adulthood, in all its minimal facets, was a robotic existence; a series of events that held no thrall over him. Washing, cleaning, eating, sleeping, fucking: they were all the same, each no more interesting or captivating than breathing fresh air.
Smoking and drawing, he enjoyed. Spending time in his room, sometimes for hours, all alone, carving a new licentious plan to bring the world down around him.
It was fun, and that was all that mattered.
His latest 'prank' had involved a massive drug shipment being delivered to NY city. His aims were modestly anarchic, and he hoped only to instigate chaos, not to gain any significant wealth from his illegal activities.
Other than Scarlet, who was an untrustworthy, but annoyingly essential go-between, many others were involved. He had his fingers in many pies, included the piping-hot pastry of Pederson’s detective agency, where Reg and Caroline supplemented their incomes by remaining on his books.
His only worry now was their pesky associate, Pedge. He, a psychiatrist for the NYPD, had unlimited access to some incredibly knowledgeable players in his game. If he got too close, and Scarlet got too sloppy, all hell could break loose.
Pedge climbed the stair to his father's office. The elevator had been broken for as long as he remembered and he wasn't even sure it had ever worked. He reached the 5th floor and opened a loosely hinged wooden door. Sat behind her desk was Caroline in all her glory. Her skin was mocha and she had dyed her hair white. She reminded Pedge of Storm from the X-Men magazines he had read as a kid. She wasn't stunning but there was just something that attracted him to her and always made him slightly lose his concentration when she was around. Her eyes greeted his warmly and she smiled that smile.
"I'm not sure what you said to him hon, but he's been shuffling around more than ever," She stood up floated across the wooden floor in her long flowing pearlescent white skirt and hugged Pedge, kissing him on the cheek, “it’s good to see you again Peter.' Pedge could feel the blood rushing to his face and tried not to show Caroline as he walked towards his Father's door.
"Just another brick in the wall Caz, you know he loves all this shit." He knocked on the frosted window and opened the door immediately not waiting for his father's response. Inside the plush office his father had papers everywhere. Reg was clearly searching for something and by the speed the old man was moving at it was a safe bet to say he hadn't as yet discovered it. Reg spotted him come and frowned.
"Peter, there you are," he briefly paused from his shuffling, "I need to tell you something, I want you to know that I won't be able to help you with your investigation into the Carter matter."
"What? But dad, we know he is guilty of something. We've been so close, so many times. Why won't you let me nail him?"
"It's not our place, son. Especially not yours. You're a Psychiatrist for God's sake. What're you doing messing around in this?"
"I can't just let these things go, dad. You know that. Whenever my patients give me leads I'm obliged to follow them up."
"You're not obliged, peter: you're compelled. You've got a sick fascination with the unexplained. If we let you slip off topic for a second you start sounding like Fox Mulder, for God's sake. These things your loonies talk about-"
"Patients, dad."
"Whatever the hell you wanna call them; they're crazies to me. Whatever they talk about is trash, garbage, tripe. Ignore it, Peter, or you'll end up like them."
"But dad, something's up. Scarlet; you know Scarlet?"
"Yeah, you're mother's friend. What about her?"
"She works as a nurse at the Psych ward. used to be a patient herself, you see. She talks to the inmates. They trust her, you know? You know what that means don't you?"
"I haven't the foggiest, Peter, but I'm sure you're going to tell me." The rambunctious old man sat down in the chair over which he had been hovering since Pedge 's entrance. He picked up a half smoked cigar and lit it.
"It means that she talks to DeAngelo Petrino's gang! They are all in the ward! Dad, he only recruits criminals with a mental illness: it makes them harder to convict and even harder to pin anything on him. He's smart, but sick. It's an abuse of humanity, but worse than that, he's forcing these ill people to commit crimes."
"Proof?" said Reg curtly.
"Well, none, other than one patient's testimony. The same testimony that had me travel to Porter's yard this afternoon."
"And there you found a dead cow with Scarlet's name on it," he said, unimpressed.
"Yeah."
"And now you're convinced that Clifton Carter has something to do with it?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Why?"
"I recognised his handwriting on the tag from an interview I conducted with him last year. Because its the sort of sick joke he would be involved in. Who leaves a dead animal lying around? Carter's up to something; you know how he plays the game. He wants me to come looking for him. He's too good to just commit a crime. he wants everyone to know he did it, and more importantly got away with it."
"Elaborate."
"Typical Carter," smiled Pedge, rueful of his helplessness, but respectful of his adversaries talents.
Reg just remained sat in his chair staring over his son's shoulder, clearly trying to come to some sort of conclusion but he looked troubled. It wasn't an expression Pedge was used to seeing on his old man's face. Confusion didn't suit Reg Pederson. He took a long drag of the cigar and exhaled.
"Right then," he finally said now looking Pedge in the eye, "you have every right to be suspicious, but don't be surprised if what you find you don't like." He stood up once again and walked to the filing cabinet that must have once housed the numerous papers lying around his office. He took out a folder and handed it to Pedge. Before he let it go he stopped and stared at his son.
"I told you son, you are not going to like what you find." Pedge took the folder and opened it. The name at the top of the page read Clifton Carter.
"Dad, you said you had burned this?" Pedge said never taking his eyes off the pages, "You said you had lost this over a year ago." Reg sat himself down once more a dejected man.
"I didn't want you getting in too deep, Carter is a dangerous man, more pies than his fingers can enter..." Pedge had stopped listening, something on the page had caught his eye. On the right hand side of the page read the words:
'Name: Clifton Socrates Carter
Age: 39
Blood Type: O
Children: 1 Daughter - Scarlet Cleopatra Hornsby' Age 19'
Known spouse: Maria Pederson (nee Blaycock) (deceased)
"What the?" said Pedge, dumbfounded as he gazed down at his mother's maiden name.
"Sit down son," said Reg, massaging his temples. Pedge did as he was told and slipped noiselessly into the vacant chair that faced his father.
"Your mother never told you this, I know, but while we were married she had an affair: an affair with one Clifton Socrates Carter." he tapped the sheet that was still held erect in Pedge's frozen hands, ruefully. "You were almost three at the time. I lost my head and kicked her out, but she always blamed me and my marriage to my work for the reason our marriage broke down, and after a prolonged, acrimonious split, she decided it'd be best if you never knew a man like me as a part of your life. Just after we split, she got pregnant by Carter. I heard of it through the grapevine. Pissed me off, but hell, what could I do? She was a free woman, though still using my name back then. Anyways, it wasn't long before she realised life with Carter was no bed of roses, and his abuse of Scarlet, both physical and mental, was too much for Maria to bear." Reg's eyes misted up as he thought of the woman he had once loved in pain, then his mind turned to her death along with her second husband; Pedge's adoptive father, and the anger and frustration returned. "She left him, but not before social services took Scarlet away. I guess it was tough for her: that sort of thing's tough for any mother, but she decided to leave Scarlet where she was. She never went back for her. Her surname was changed from Carter to Hornsby when she was eventually adopted, and it took me years of digging to find that out, I can tell you!"
"Why did you care?" said Pedge quietly. "Why did you give a damn?"
"Even your old man can feel sometimes, Peter."
"So what; you felt some kind of debt to mum? Like by finding Scarlet you could make up for the husband you were?" Tears welled in Reg's eyes, but it was unlike the craggy old gent to break down so he composed himself and nodded.
"Yeah, something like that."
"And what about Carter? Does he even know that Scarlet Hornsby is his daughter?"
Carter lay on his unkempt bed smoking a cigarette with his arm around Scarlet who sat topless against the headboard. The paint was chipped and the plasterboard almost demolished where the bed must have met the wall on numerous occasions. Clifton Carter didn't look smug or happy, just restless, dark thoughts clearly on his mind. Scarlet however seemed almost satisfied, possibly because in her head she may have made up, even just a little bit, for the huge mistake she had made telling Billy.
"I was expecting Pedge to have called by now," Carter said either concerned or elated, Scarlet couldn't quite decide on his tone.
"Maybe he doesn't think it's that big a deal," came Scarlet's innocent reply. Carter looked at her in disgust.
"Don't be stupid girl, of course he knows how big this is." He arose from his bed naked and grabbed a stained blue dressing gown. He went to the window and looked down into the dimly lit alley behind his apartment. Scarlet was just getting comfy resting her head on a once white pillow when she saw Carter begin to panic. Grabbing his trousers and shoes he turned to the young girl in his bed.
"Shit its....Caroline."
He pulled his pants on, hopping on one foot, dancing on the cold, draughty floorboards.
"Put some clothes on, you tramp," he barked at Scarlet who felt that her recent favours were all but extinguished by the sight of Caroline Finley. Scarlet searched for her discarded thong, and found it hanging from a clear-plastic desk lamp. The light, which was on, shone through the lacy material of her jettisoned undergarments. They were white, or at least had been once upon a time, but had faded, as had their wearer's optimism, to a murky grey, prettied-up by a couple of lacklustre pink bows that sat on her bony, emaciated hips.
"Get dressed," he snapped, breezing past the skeletal girl, and storming to the front door, swinging it open and blocking the ingress with his massive frame just as Caroline's petite fist fell on his chest which was heaving where the door should have been. He grabbed it and squeezed it so tightly that her hand went white in an instant.
"Ouch, Carter, let me go."
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I was just at the office; Pedge came by before coming over here, and I was eavesdropping on his and Reg's conversation. He has a file on you Carter: the file you thought he destroyed years ago."
"What?"
"He knows everything, Carter. I heard him telling Pedge all about the stunts you've pulled over time, and the names of the pigeons that'll squawk if squeezed hard enough."
"You're lying," he said, turning redder and redder as her fist turned a glacial white.
"Why would I lie, I..." but she stopped short; her protestation cut off by the sight of a t-shirted Scarlet Hornsby; ignorant offspring of her unsanitary lover, drifting in a wraithlike fashion towards the door. Carter sensed her presence behind him and span round, releasing Caroline's trembling wrist and laying his suddenly free hand on an ashtray and hurling it at his fuckbunny's head. She ducked, but got the message and scampered back to the bedroom.
He whirled round in a flustered rage. Caroline was dumbfounded. Unlike Carter, she knew who Hornsby was, and it sickened her.
"Listen, Carter, I've got to go," she said. he seemed too exhausted to stop her as she hurried away from the incestuous scene and out onto the sidewalk where she coughed back her own disgusted vomit and dialled the familiar number in her cell phone with shaking fingers.
"Simon? It's me Caroline."
"Ah, Agent Spinelli, good to hear from you. We thought your leads had gone cold: been so long since we've heard anything," came the friendly reply of Simon Austin, FBI analyst and colleague of Caroline Spinelli: woman undercover.
Pedge got back into his car, his head crammed full of information that was hard to swallow. Mum was with Carter? She cheated on Dad? How could she not tell me? He didn't know whether to pity her or rage with fury. Right now he felt a bit of both. Either way he had to see Carter, not only was he the main player in this game, he now had to answer for the way he had treated Maria Pederson and of course Scarlet Hornsby, but that could wait till tomorrow. He had spent hours in his father's office, learning everything there was to know about Clifton Carter's sordid past. Reg had opened up to him in a way he didn't think his father was capable of and for the first time since his mother's funeral they had embraced, his father's leathery sallow hand patting his son's back. Pedge left his Dad sipping a bourbon over ice, mulling his way through old newspaper cuttings and time stained pages from the numerous files laying around the office, he really did never leave that office. Caroline had shut down and diverted the phones hours ago and now Pedge had mustered up the courage to go and see her. He had called asking her to meet him at O'Malleys Bar on Harlow Street, their usual. He was already late and there was no time to change. His clothes smelt of the day but he needed female company, and Caroline was the closest thing he'd had to a girlfriend since Sally Garcia some five years ago, way before any of this Clifton Carter nonsence had shown its face. Pulling into the bar parking lot Pedge couldn't help but notice...
A slight blurirng of his vision. He shook his head and groaned. The inertia of the drive had brought the nausea back. He fumbled in his pocket with trembling hands and popped a couple of pills, just to be on the safe side. He flipped down the sunscreen and checked his appearance in the mirror. Dabbing a few beads of telltale sweat from his temple, he opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. Instantly he felt refreshed and optimistic. He strode with confidence across the lot, over the road and into O'Malley's. The doorman, one Seamus O'Malley, eldest son of Padraig, the bar's owner, nodded a familiar greeting to the regular drinker. Pedge smiled warmly, but didn't stop to chat. He had spotted his date across the bustling floor, and within seconds he was by her side, a pre-ordered drink in his hand. He kissed her on the cheek.
"Good day?"
"Interesting," she said, trying to smile. This bothered Pedge. For one, it was odd to see Caroline anything less than cheery, and secondly it was even odder to see her anything but herself. Tonight she was neither. Her forced good-humour did not wash with the man who had seen her highest highs and lowest lows, and her desperate attempts to conceal her deeper contemplations were failing miserably. Now, Pedge averred it was likely she, as all the omen he had ever known had been, was adept at projecting an emotion that was not natural, and he assumed that like many of her sex she could do so regularly without thought or effort, and remain forever undetected by the ignorant male. But her performance tonight was more than shoddy; it was transparent and soulless. She was clearly rattled and had something on her mind: something big.
"Caroline, honey. What is it? What's wrong?"
Caroline realising her error shuffled in her seat and sat up straight. The smile Pedge had come to love span across her lovely face and she went to take a sip of her beverage before realising it was empty.
"Oh, don't worry yourself Peter, its nothing a Gin and Tonic won't fix," she lied hoping to lead to conversation away from her momentary lapse of concentration. Working undercover was a performance, an act and one she longed to have an understudy for right now. Pedge wasn't buying into her claim, she could see from his reaction but in all fairness to him, he turned to the barman and ordered Caroline's G&T.
"I haven't seen you like this since you started working for my Dad, what is it? What's bothering you?" Pedge asked, sincerely concerned, "You said you wrre enjoying working for my old man, has he done something?" Pedge didnt really know what he was asking, they just happened to be the words that spilled out, but they had given Caroline the break she needed.
"Its hard to talk to you about work stuff you know Peter," she said with a new found spark in her voice, "he is your Dad after all." She wouldn't break her stare, Pedge needed to see that there were no lies on her face. She had been trained to do this, she just had to keep it up. Pedge was agitated but didn't look away. She had him.
"What has he done?" Pedge said forcefully, "He hasn't touch..." He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before Caroline cut in.
"No, don't be silly. Reg is a sweetheart," she reassured him, "he knows I am out of bounds, I am worried about him." Her mind had already made the story, now she just had to follow the script.
"He isn't as young as he used to be Peter, his health is getting worse, those damn cigars he won't put down." she paused to sip her drink. "I think you should leave him out of this new Carter investigation." She left the statement hanging to try and gauge his reaction.
"But it's his job, I can't do this without him," Pedge said not really wanting to accept what Caroline was saying.
"You have been doing it without him the last 3 years Pedge, this new stuff is running him down, he has the knowledge but he's slowing down, mentally and physically, the other day he took a bit of a tumble in his office. I wasn't going to say anything. I didn't want you to worry. I'm just worried he's been drinking a lot."
"Dad always drinks a lot."
"A lot, a lot, Peter," she said, honest pain blurring her features. "I think being so close to the Carter case is bad for him. You know how it drags up old memories."
Pedge nodded slowly in agreement. He could certainly sympathise with his father. Having past infidelities bandied around was no fun thing. His own experiences with women had taught him that. He was about to concede that caroline was right, and that maybe his father was too close to this case for comfort, when something struck out of the blue, and knocked him for six.
His sudden shock was apparent to Caroline, who had imagined her flawless, oscar-winning performance had passed to rave reviews. It wasn't that she didn't trust Pedge; far from it; she genuinely loved him, it was just that her job required absolute confidentiality if it was to be a success. But something in her lover's eyes disarmed her, and in a moment of weakness she flinched, and he had all the proof he needed to voice his accusation:
"How do you know about Dad's history with Carter? I only found out today. He keeps all that information locked up in his personal cabinet. No one but him has a key. Caroline...what's going on?"She was a beaten woman she knew. Only truths or half truths at least would save her now.
"I'm not just a receptionist for you father," she conceded, a frustrated and flustered Pedge staring right at her, "I used to be a cop, I had to spend an awful lot of time on a drugs racket against Carter a few years back," Just Carter's name made Pedge feel on edge and could feel anger bubbling up inside him, showing on his face. "Well I got too involved, dug too deep, found more stuff about Clifton Carter than anyone wants to know." Caroline slumped on her stool, "It consumed me, and I couldn't let it lie, even when the boss told me to back off, I just kept digging." She wasn't looking at Pedge anymore, she was looking at the floor, remembering what she had been through. That at least was what Pedge as a psychiatrist, used to dealing with liars, cheats and criminals everyday was reading from her. If she was lying she was lying well.
"Tell me Caz, what the hell happened so that you ended up working for my father?" Pedge wasn't one hundred percent sure he wanted to know the truth, if everything was a lie, then perhaps he was being played worse than his father.
"He has done some terrible things Peter, terrible. Well I got kicked off the force, I was a mess and wouldn't just walk away. That man has fingers in so..." she paused,"so many pies, it was inevitable that a pork pie was one of them. The chief of police ordered me to stop and I didn't," Pedge felt nervous hearing all this but he had to know the truth, "I quit the force and started up on my own, private investigator, but I never had the business know how, and I already had the only case I wanted and couldn't pay myself." She now sat with her head in her hands tears swelling in her eyes. If she was lying she was very convincing Pedge thought.
"So you thought you would go to the best private investigator in town and use his resource's instead?" Pedge suggested referring to his father.
"Pretty much, your father a decade ago put away Rory Gabonni, before my time, but it's still talked about in the force. The police had nothing, the FBI had nothing and yet when your father brought him in he had a case file that every judge would sell their right arm for, a multi million pound drugs and arms trader and the trial was concluded before lunch." Pedge wasn't sure why but he felt a sense of pride hearing the story again, of course he had heard it from his father a number of times but coming from Caroline's mouth made it that little bit sweeter.
"You got the job as secretary and have been following the Carter story ever since," Pedge pretty much had it worked out now.
"I bugged his office on the first day I arrived," she looked back up at him, "you know, just in case I wasn't a very good receptionist," Pedge believed her, it was impossible not to. He looked at her and felt closer to Caroline more than ever, she had confided in him and he knew that it had taken a lot out of her. Something was niggling at him though, but he pushed it to one side.
"Caz, what about... I mean," he was uncomfortable asking and she could tell so she cut in.
"We were real Peter, that I can swear to you." She stood and hugged him. He felt a warmth smother him and the niggling that still didn't quite sit right in his head melted away.
She stood up off her stool and took his hand.
"Come on let's get out of here."
"But I..."
"For goodness sake, Peter. There's plenty of beer at my apartment. Now come on," she said, her forced assertiveness a brilliant foil for her half-truth revelation, "Get your coat. We're leaving."
***
The sun rolled over the jagged crest of the New York cityscape, and flooded Caroline's bedroom with a warm orange glow. The sunlight crept across the thin white sheet that separated her and Pedge's entwined naked bodies from the cold air, and caressed her bare shoulder, stirring her from a deep sleep.
"Mmm," she groaned, satisfied with herself and her man. She may not have told him everything about her past, but he knew enough now to help her. they were on the same side after all; the side of justice.
***
Across town Clifton Carter chewed on a crayon. It tasted like crap; he knew that, but he was edgy and restless. Scarlet was naked but for a green and white Jets jersey that Carter had own in his youth. The throwback shirt hung just below Scarlet's hips, but as she bent over to pick up the remote it rode up, revealing her naked behind to her crazed lover. He mubled in aroused approval, but his mind was elsewhere. His eyes tracked her as she hopped onto the sofa, flicked the TV set on and turned to MTV. He glared at her back, wondering if it was okay to find her even more attractive because she was wearing a Joe Nameth jersey. She lay back and propped her perfect pins on the back of the sofa. From his vantage point in the open plan kitchen that, on paper at least, made the flat sound modern and stylish, he had a restricted view of her right hand, which by the angle of her lean and quivevering of her svelte, teenage body, seemed to have found a home between her legs.
The girl just never quit. Must have some abandonment issues or something like that, he thought. She craved attention, physical love on a basis that made Carter feel like an old man. He wasn't: he was still young and feared by those who knew him. He was powerful, but he was flawed, and his flaws would grow and grow until he spiralled out of control.
He knew it. he knew he was doomed to breakdown eventually. Like a car with half a tank of petrol, his long journey brought with it so many twists and turns there was no feasible way he would make it to his desired destination. So he figured he should stop at as many interesting points along the way.
***
"Billy Rogers, please," said Pedge.
"I'm sorry," said Lucy, the receptionist at the psych ward, "Peter, you know I can't let her in to see him. He's under restriction."
"Lucy," Pedge pleaded, using his most charming voice, and perfected, intimate lean, "She's a friend of my father's. She's got some information that could help get Billy out of here, but we need to talk to him. You know he's a good kid. Got mixed up with the wrong crowd, but who hasn't once in a while? Come on, Lucy. Let us help him. We'll only be five minutes, I promise."
"You know the rules, Dr Pederson, she'll have to wait here." Lucy clearly wanted to help Pedge but her sense of duty outranked their friendship. Pedge glanced at Caroline and knew she understood. They had discussed what they needed to find out from Billy on the way over. The meet was scripted, just a few blanks needed filling in.
"I'll be back in about ten minutes Caz, twenty tops." Pedge explained to Caroline who had taken a seat next to Lucy's desk.
"It was five a second ago," Lucy butted in.
"Don't worry Peter, I'll see you in a bit," Caroline replied and that smile swept across her face. Pedge heard the buzzer sound and opened the heavy white door. On the other side he nodded to Gerry, one of the ward guards he had got to know well over the years. It was Gerry's birthday next week and his daughter had just had a baby. 'I must remember to get him a card,' Pedge thought as they traded welcomes. Walking down the halogen lit corridor Pedge found himself in front of the patient's lounge and in his regular seat in the far corner of the room he saw Billy, watching television as he had been every other time Pedge made a visit. Billy was a weasel of a man, it was the only word that entered Pedge's head the first time he had met him and still floated in his conscious every time he laid his eyes on him. His face was thin and pointed, his hair balding with a large diamond tuft sticking out from his hair line. He had lost weight since being in the ward which only made his face look more gaunt and hollow than his slim frame had been when he was admitted. His eyes were narrow and he squinted when he talked, his nose was long and hooked underlined by a fuzzy black moustache. Billy Rogers was not an attractive man, but hell could he talk.
Pedge entered the room and he heard the scuffle of patients turning in their chairs in anticipation. 'Haven't been many visitors recently,' Pedge thought, 'That or Billy's been flapping his gums again and my names been mentioned.' Pedge's eyes locked onto Billy's and the weasel smiled. Pedge took a step towards Billy's corner when a hand touched his shoulder. Caroline stood in the doorway behind him. Pedge's look of confusion must have been obvious.
"Natural charm Pedge," she smiled, "He has to be the weasel." She said as she left a dumfounded Pedge standing in the doorway as she strode towards Billy.
"Counting cards, counting cards," Billy stuttered, his face jolting to the side in reply to what ever Caroline had said.
"It wasn't funny the first time Billy, and is still isn't," Pedge replied and Billy smiled his weasel smile once again.
"Good to see you too Doc, whose your..." he paused to look her up and down, "friend?" He didn't look at Pedge once.
"This is a colleague, you don't need to know who she is," Pedge replied, "Now what have you been saying Billy?"
"Oh Doc, why am I still here? You know I'm not mental like the rest of 'em," Billy pleaded, the narrow slits of his eyes widening.
"Lose the puppy dogs Billy, you're in here because...
Saturday, 19 March 2011
The Mad Pheasant of Chatsworth House
Need I say More...
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Friday, 18 March 2011
Ace of Diamonds III by Lynn Chadwick
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Thursday, 17 March 2011
St. Patrick's Day...
Pious legend credits Patrick with banishing snakes from the island[51] , though all evidence suggests that post-glacial Ireland never had snakes;[52] one suggestion is that snakes referred to the serpent symbolism of the Druids of that time and place, as shown for instance on coins minted in Gaul (see Carnutes), or that it could have referred to beliefs such as Pelagianism, symbolised as “serpents”.[citation needed][when?] Legend also credits Patrick with teaching the Irish about the concept of the Trinity by showing people the shamrock, a 3-leaved clover, using it to highlight the Christian belief of 'three divine persons in the one God' (as opposed to the Arian belief that was popular in Patrick's time).[when?]
Some Irish legends involve the Oilliphéist, the Caoránach, and the Copóg Phádraig. During his evangelising journey back to Ireland from his parent's home at Birdoswald, he is understood to have carried with him an ash wood walking stick or staff. He thrust this stick into the ground wherever he was evangelising and at the place now known as Aspatria (ash of Patrick) the message of the dogma took so long to get through to the people there that the stick had taken root by the time he was ready to move on.
The 12th century work Acallam na Senórach tells of Patrick being met by two ancient warriors, Caílte mac Rónáin and Oisín, during his evangelical travels. The two were once members of Fionn mac Cumhaill's warrior band the Fianna, and somehow survived to Patrick's time. They traveled with the saint and told him their stories[citation needed].
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Some Irish legends involve the Oilliphéist, the Caoránach, and the Copóg Phádraig. During his evangelising journey back to Ireland from his parent's home at Birdoswald, he is understood to have carried with him an ash wood walking stick or staff. He thrust this stick into the ground wherever he was evangelising and at the place now known as Aspatria (ash of Patrick) the message of the dogma took so long to get through to the people there that the stick had taken root by the time he was ready to move on.
The 12th century work Acallam na Senórach tells of Patrick being met by two ancient warriors, Caílte mac Rónáin and Oisín, during his evangelical travels. The two were once members of Fionn mac Cumhaill's warrior band the Fianna, and somehow survived to Patrick's time. They traveled with the saint and told him their stories[citation needed].
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Wednesday, 16 March 2011
Visitor by David Breuer-Weil
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Tuesday, 15 March 2011
Stairs by Lynn Chadwick
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Monday, 14 March 2011
High Wind IV by Lynn Chadwick
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Sunday, 13 March 2011
Cubo I Arnaldo Pomodoro
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Saturday, 12 March 2011
Butterflies by Manolo Valdes
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Friday, 11 March 2011
The Engine of Evolution by Marc Quinn
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Thursday, 10 March 2011
Leftover by Zadok Ben-David
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Wednesday, 9 March 2011
Gurutziek I by Eduardo Chillida
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Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Swimming by Jiu Ming
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Monday, 7 March 2011
Why Does Strange Fruit Always Look so Sweet by John Creten
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Sunday, 6 March 2011
Three Elektras by Lynn Chadwick
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Saturday, 5 March 2011
Le Diabolo by Germaine Richier
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Friday, 4 March 2011
Contemporary Terracotta Warriors by Yue Minjun
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Thursday, 3 March 2011
Draft Camp 1: Newton's Cradle...
It’s that time of year again. Without the Pro Bowl to look forward to, the post Super Bowl lull felt more like a plummet this year, and all we have to soften the blow is the looming draft.
Ouch, sometimes the draft feels more like a brick wall in the face than the cushion we require after braking from such speed! The last season was a rollercoaster – one of the best. And going from the Super Bowl hype to studying pages of stats and vital statistics can be a gruelling shakedown.
But as the draft approaches, the memories of last season – nay, the thrall of such memories – begin to fade. We start to look forwards, not back, at what could happen next year. Who will go from worst to first? Who will pick-up a steal? Which of these fresh-faced rookies will be snapped-up by the team that is unknowingly heading towards Super Bowl glory? No one knows, but one draft class will be wearing rings by the end of their first campaign, and that is something to get excited about.
So which of these youngsters can contribute right away? Who fills a gaping need for the teams that took a battering last year? This is not a draft chart (I will produce one in April, but not yet), this is simply a player by player evaluation of who might have the minerals to satisfy one of the more beleaguered coaches.
As always, many teams have questions at QB, so let’s start with the most intriguing prospect the draft has to offer: Cam Newton.
In the run-up to the combine, Cam Newton was the name on every scout’s lips. He is the classic buzz-generator: he has off-the-chart vitals; an army-levelling cannon for an arm; athleticism of which Carl Lewis would approve; the glittering college career that so often misleads…
But he’s another one of those freaks like JaMarcus Russell and Vince Young – huge, mobile guys that have been the pivot around which a flimsy college offence has turned. They are not pro-style players; they are projects. Every so often, one of these diamonds in the rough gets cut well and the best results are garnered (think Big Ben Roethlisberger of the Pittsburgh Steelers). But more often than not, a flawed facet runs too deep to be rectified. The drafter is forced to break up the diamond and flog it for what he can get – no longer the glitzy prospect it was, but some guys are willing to buy something untested in the hope they strike it rich.
Blaine Gabbert is now viewed as the best draft package and suitable for immediate deployment in a pro-style offence.
Newton’s inexperience in the professional style of game, lack of practice with progressions and questionable off-field temperament mean his stock will slide, BUT this could be good, nay great news, for a mid-range team with all the components but a QB.
Where the Auburn product may have gone number 1 in past years, enormous busts at this position may encourage owners to play it safe with a more mature prospect such as Gabbert.
I see Newton falling from the top spot for sure (and will at least be the second QB taken), but he may not fall far because here are my top picks to snap him up:
1: Arizona (pick number 5): This team could be a great fit for Newton. Coach Ken Whisenhunt needs a franchise QB of his own after shipping former Heisman winner, Matt Leinart, and having limited success with one-time third stringer, Max Hall.
Furthermore, Whisenhunt made a huge success out of Roethlisberger, turning him from a rough project into a game-breaking winner. He could do the same with Newton, and I’m sure his off-field issues will not be a problem for Coach Ken to handle. One of the criticisms of Newton’s throwing is his accuracy. With one of the league’s best ‘jump ball’ guys in Larry Fitzgerald, being able to get the ball high and deep is enough to give your man the better chance of coming down with the rock.
For those reasons (the coach, excusable throwing weaknesses due to tall, talented receivers, mobility) I think Cam fits in AZ.
2: Carolina (pick number 1): Taking Newton top would be a huge gamble when Gabbert is on the board. Furthermore, the Panthers don’t figure to be a bad team for long – they had a rough ride last season, but look pretty solid returning. The last thing they need is a green QB playing in their division. They already have last year’s second round snatch, Jimmy Clausen, and I think they should prevail with him. They are only on this list because I think they should get rid of the first pick and trade down in the first round, and try to pick up a mid-second and/or third/veteran as part of the deal. If they trade with someone mid-table (maybe Seattle, who could fancy drafting Gabbert to take over from Hasselbeck, bypassing Whitehurst) then Newton could become value. Worth having him on your roster? I think so. Pat White was a creative force and useful backup in Miami, and Newton could yet blossom into a fine young player.
3: Buffalo (pick number 3): With 2 top-ranked QBs in the draft and sitting third, behind Carolina (who likely won’t use their pick on a QB if they elect to hold onto it) and Denver (a team stacked with Quarterbacking potential), Buffalo must be rubbing their New York Mitts with glee.
For seasons the Bills have struggled to find a legitimate starter; maybe this draft can offer the answer? It is hard to say, but it seems likely the Bills will be tempted to take Gabbert (if available) or Newton and bench their long-time suffering QB carousel.
So that’s the Newton fiasco in a nutshell. He shouldn’t last beyond the top ten, but stranger things have happened. Stay tuned-in to this blog and NFL.com to track his progress through the evaluation process.
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Ouch, sometimes the draft feels more like a brick wall in the face than the cushion we require after braking from such speed! The last season was a rollercoaster – one of the best. And going from the Super Bowl hype to studying pages of stats and vital statistics can be a gruelling shakedown.
But as the draft approaches, the memories of last season – nay, the thrall of such memories – begin to fade. We start to look forwards, not back, at what could happen next year. Who will go from worst to first? Who will pick-up a steal? Which of these fresh-faced rookies will be snapped-up by the team that is unknowingly heading towards Super Bowl glory? No one knows, but one draft class will be wearing rings by the end of their first campaign, and that is something to get excited about.
So which of these youngsters can contribute right away? Who fills a gaping need for the teams that took a battering last year? This is not a draft chart (I will produce one in April, but not yet), this is simply a player by player evaluation of who might have the minerals to satisfy one of the more beleaguered coaches.
As always, many teams have questions at QB, so let’s start with the most intriguing prospect the draft has to offer: Cam Newton.
In the run-up to the combine, Cam Newton was the name on every scout’s lips. He is the classic buzz-generator: he has off-the-chart vitals; an army-levelling cannon for an arm; athleticism of which Carl Lewis would approve; the glittering college career that so often misleads…
But he’s another one of those freaks like JaMarcus Russell and Vince Young – huge, mobile guys that have been the pivot around which a flimsy college offence has turned. They are not pro-style players; they are projects. Every so often, one of these diamonds in the rough gets cut well and the best results are garnered (think Big Ben Roethlisberger of the Pittsburgh Steelers). But more often than not, a flawed facet runs too deep to be rectified. The drafter is forced to break up the diamond and flog it for what he can get – no longer the glitzy prospect it was, but some guys are willing to buy something untested in the hope they strike it rich.
Blaine Gabbert is now viewed as the best draft package and suitable for immediate deployment in a pro-style offence.
Newton’s inexperience in the professional style of game, lack of practice with progressions and questionable off-field temperament mean his stock will slide, BUT this could be good, nay great news, for a mid-range team with all the components but a QB.
Where the Auburn product may have gone number 1 in past years, enormous busts at this position may encourage owners to play it safe with a more mature prospect such as Gabbert.
I see Newton falling from the top spot for sure (and will at least be the second QB taken), but he may not fall far because here are my top picks to snap him up:
1: Arizona (pick number 5): This team could be a great fit for Newton. Coach Ken Whisenhunt needs a franchise QB of his own after shipping former Heisman winner, Matt Leinart, and having limited success with one-time third stringer, Max Hall.
Furthermore, Whisenhunt made a huge success out of Roethlisberger, turning him from a rough project into a game-breaking winner. He could do the same with Newton, and I’m sure his off-field issues will not be a problem for Coach Ken to handle. One of the criticisms of Newton’s throwing is his accuracy. With one of the league’s best ‘jump ball’ guys in Larry Fitzgerald, being able to get the ball high and deep is enough to give your man the better chance of coming down with the rock.
For those reasons (the coach, excusable throwing weaknesses due to tall, talented receivers, mobility) I think Cam fits in AZ.
2: Carolina (pick number 1): Taking Newton top would be a huge gamble when Gabbert is on the board. Furthermore, the Panthers don’t figure to be a bad team for long – they had a rough ride last season, but look pretty solid returning. The last thing they need is a green QB playing in their division. They already have last year’s second round snatch, Jimmy Clausen, and I think they should prevail with him. They are only on this list because I think they should get rid of the first pick and trade down in the first round, and try to pick up a mid-second and/or third/veteran as part of the deal. If they trade with someone mid-table (maybe Seattle, who could fancy drafting Gabbert to take over from Hasselbeck, bypassing Whitehurst) then Newton could become value. Worth having him on your roster? I think so. Pat White was a creative force and useful backup in Miami, and Newton could yet blossom into a fine young player.
3: Buffalo (pick number 3): With 2 top-ranked QBs in the draft and sitting third, behind Carolina (who likely won’t use their pick on a QB if they elect to hold onto it) and Denver (a team stacked with Quarterbacking potential), Buffalo must be rubbing their New York Mitts with glee.
For seasons the Bills have struggled to find a legitimate starter; maybe this draft can offer the answer? It is hard to say, but it seems likely the Bills will be tempted to take Gabbert (if available) or Newton and bench their long-time suffering QB carousel.
So that’s the Newton fiasco in a nutshell. He shouldn’t last beyond the top ten, but stranger things have happened. Stay tuned-in to this blog and NFL.com to track his progress through the evaluation process.
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Saint Bartholemew, Exquisite Pain by Damien Hirst
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
Tuesday, 1 March 2011
Large Mirror Nijinski by Barry Flanagan
Pick up THE HARE newspaper at Night and Day, Bar Centro, Font or Tiger Lounge in Manchester town centre, or the Oakwood in Glossop.
E-mail theharenewspaper@hotmail.co.uk with questions, comments or contributory pieces.
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