This is an excerpt from a draft of Dirty Town Under a Crooked Bridge. A novel by Jamie Gilcig.
Sorry for being late with this excerpt, but it’s been a crazy crazy last few weeks.
Please note that this material may not be suitable for children and certain tight asses.
The names have been changed to protect the guilty.
Enjoy and yes there will be a final version eventually which this may or may not be a part of.
Thank you for all of the support. I’m blown away by how many of you are looking forward to the final version and the charity print edition is officially sold out.
For more excerpts and snippets click the category for Dirty Town Under a Crooked Bridge. LINK
I’m actually scheduling more time to finish Dirty Town Under a Crooked Bridge and will have some more news and excerpts soon!
Good things come to all in good time.
Special kudos again to talented area artist Jay Schwartz for his two test covers.
Cheer and thanks, your humble author,
Budapest Hungary – Night
Peter Marks peers through the window of the vintage Lada taxi as it meanders through dimly lit streets that are hundreds of years old.
He’s had an amazing trip and secured the Paprika Distribution centre for Cornwall which could lead to as many as 8 or 9 part time jobs! A welcome boost to the economy and the chance for his wife to get the supervisor position with the new company.
He’d read about this place in those special magazines he subscribed to and kept hidden for those special moments.
The cab pulls up to a building with a red door. The cabbie turns to him reeking of garlic and Bulls Blood and waves his hand asking for money. He laughs at Peter Marks as he takes his crumpled US dollar bills.
I want something special.
He hands over a crinkled ad from one of his magazines. The older manager, Candida, lets out an ocean of Russian cigarette smoke into his face and starts speaking in Hungarian.
She then pulls him close and sticks her tongue down his throat. He pulls away in fear and loathing.
After much hand gesticulating and talking loudly in English; why do people think that the can be understood better if they talk louder; he’s led to a room with a tall poster bed.
Trixie and Zhusana are smoking and playing cards. When they see him Trixie pulls out a bull whip and with a flick of her wrist surrounds his waist and has him on the floor.
Zhusana plants her Russian made patent leather spiked combat boots on his head and presses down.
Dog! You dare disturb our card game!
Her accent is thick with spittle flying as she speaks. Zhusana runs her finger through her slight moustache while swigging some Bulls blood from a nearby bottle.
Did you bring us money and presents?
Zhusana rolls him over and takes out Peter Marks wallet. She starts to find things; his wife’s photo which she tosses aside; his membership card to the Cornwall Club which she tosses, snatches some assorted cash and finally comes to his credit cards.
What is theess? Cornvall? Cornvall? What’s a Cornvall?
It’s not enough!
She presses her heel into his thigh and he lets out a scream.
And I need cigarettes Mr. Cornvall. I need a carton and some visky! American Cigarettes. Marlboros!
You must go buy us some now if you want us to treat you like the dog you are!
But you have all my money!
Trixie flips him his City of Cornwall P card.
Take this and don’t take all night. We have to watch US cable shows soon.
Airport – Morning.
Peter Marks is battered and blue. He has welts on his face and a cigarette burn on his hand from where Zhusana burned him with her Marlboro. He smiles as the plane takes off.
This trip to Hungary was a complete success although he did go over budget.
He thinks to himself: Nobody will ever notice the charges on the City credit card and if they do I can just say I was buying gifts. Worst happens I reimburse the city! I did my job and we landed the Paprika distribution centre and those new jobs for Cornwall.
Surely Fuzzy will be off his back for a bit and Madame Mayor will finally be happy? He might even be in line for Fuzzy’s job one day…
Little did he know this was just the beginning and that he’d contracted a strange Hungarian venereal disease from sitting in the back seat of a dirty Lada…