Shoot

The Gumshoe’s Daughter

From Poland to Spain and the northeast of England, hitmen, private eyes, gangsters, corrupt cops, drunks, punks, and petty thieves stumble through a world of bad choices, sharp words, and darker consequences.

Paul D. Brazill’s The Gumshoe’s Daughter is a vivid collection of Brit Grit and international noir, packed with violent, blackly comic crime stories and characters who live close to the edge. With razor-sharp dialogue and a grim sense of humour, these stories offer a bruising look at life through a shot glass darkly.

Read The Gumshoe’s Daughter today.

Excerpt from the book

Rivulets of rain trailed ponderously down the car windscreen as Tiffany Stone watched Amber Knight stagger out of a taxi and tumble toward The Paradise Club’s blinking neon sign, attempting to fasten her black raincoat, which blew in the wind like a crow’s wings. Tiffany lit a cigarette as Amber headed down the club’s steps and opened its metal door. A blast of hard rock burst free for a moment.

Tiffany slowly smoked her cigarette. Smoke rings floated above her like halos. She felt frozen. Trapped like one of the wasps she used to catch in jam jars when she was a kid. She eventually got out of the car and opened the boot. She pulled out a biker jacket and put it on. She put on a black cap and put her knuckle-duster in her pocket, then slammed the boot closed.

The car park was covered with shattered glass that sparkled like jewels. As Tiffany walked toward The Paradise Club, she felt draped in a cloak of ennui. A sense of loss. She dragged open the club’s front door and walked in. The joint was crowded, sweltering. It smelt of booze, sweat and desperation. She pushed through the throng of drunks and wormed her way to the bar. Amber was there. She was dressed in a red leather dress and was clearly more than somewhat sozzled. A wiry, jaundiced skinhead had his arm around her and was whispering in her ear. Pinhead Parker was even creepier up close.

Tiffany scoped the room for security cameras and pulled the peak of her cap down before moving closer to Amber.

‘Amber,’ said Tiffany. ‘Amber. It’s Tiffany. Tiffany Stone. Your father has sent me to take you home.’

Amber turned and looked at her, puzzled, as if she were trying to work out a Magic Eye picture. Tiffany put a hand on her arm.

‘Please, come with me. Your family are waiting,’ she said.

Amber still looked spaced out. Pinhead grinned.

‘Oh, if it isn’t Tiffany bloody Stone. I ain’t seen you around for a long, long time,’ he said.

‘Have you missed me?’ said Tiffany.

‘No, darlin’, I wasn’t even aiming at you,’ he said, and started laughing.

‘I’m taking Amber home to her family,’ said Tiffany.

Pinhead sneered.

‘No, you’re not,’ he said. ‘My fiancée and I are having a little prenuptial celebration, like.’

Tiffany sighed.

‘The wedding’s off,’ she said.

She glanced at Amber, who was bent forward over the bar, struggling to stay upright.

Pinhead pushed himself closer to Tiffany.

‘Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?’ he said.

‘Yes, I often wonder that myself,’ she said, gripping the brass knuckle in her coat pocket.

She slammed Pinhead back against the bar and punched him in the throat. She kneed him in the groin and pushed him to the floor. A young couple glanced at Pinhead and turned away, but everyone else ignored him.

Tiffany put an arm around Amber’s waist and eased her through the crowd. Amber was smirking and humming a nursery rhyme.