ill tell you why, its hot, ill burn, ill sweat and then ill feel tired. anyways my miniture rant over. Chapther two and we have martin sommers a man who is in court for murder of a prostitute. we dont know if he has done it but thats up to you lot. thanks for the comments sandersons and i will take what you said into consideration but noone really said WHAT should happen nextso this is off of my head again. please leave your comments on what you think should happen in chapter 3.
Chapter 2
Martin was a tall man of thin stature and his seemingly mellow impression made him look like a stiff breeze could knock him over. Like all prisoners at the time his head was shaved and mysterious bruises started to appear from nowhere.
he had three days break before being sent back to court and inevitably prison and there was nothing he could really do about it. The only comfort he could find himself with was in the subtle overtones of alchohol from the bottle at his side. Not that it would help mind against the stress caused by an overcrowded prison and the constant deprivation on the steets. The country was at its knees and as a result everything slipped. Even the gravediggers are on strike which diddnt sit well with martin because he knew he was in for the death sentence, which meant he would be in a fridge as part of another pile of bodys waiting to be buried.
Martin diddnt live in the city and so he spent his time in some sort of B+B however it was more like a bed sit. The walls hadnt been cleaned since 2010 and the floor was covered with discarded cans.
"Look mate you wanna stay here? then itll be 50 a night no questions asked"
"50 is extortionate i have 20 for the three days its not like you have a quality institution"
"insult my institution means you insult me and that wont get you a room will it!"
The owner was a over 6'5 and built like a house, not surprising that when martin was put up against the wall he couldnt think straight for the next five minutes.
"Now listen here you lanky piece of crap, its 50 a night take it or leave it but you DONT disrepect my apartments? Is that clear?"
Martin just nodded. his face screwed up like a boy hu had just been smacked for stealing sweets. He payed that 50 a night and what it got him was a pile of springs for a bed and maggoty bread for the breakfast. That would have to do.
He sat on his bed not sleeping but thinking for the first night. what had happned was a mystery even for him, he couldnt even be sure he had killed her ...
"Yes, im out of prison for the moment.... yes i know its bad.... well i dont know thats the thing........ listen its not as bad as it sounds Mark... no i will have your money.... no the police diddnt get at it... and they dont know..... no Mark give me a week just a week and you will have it..... and the money yes....... no its not with me... but i know where it is... mark? mark?..........."
the phone was dead. Mark was a close associate of Martin and had been working with him for a while. The powder was his game, in these times even martin was involved. He was a brilliant accountant and when there is no honest men with accountancy to be done then the only money is with the dishonest ones.
and a hell of alot of it if you knew where to find it. Martin was an expert at it. the only problem with being so filthy rich is when everyone else isnt, they start to ask questions. A murder suspect with his hands in dirty money and powder = guilty and he knew it. so he was living off the 200 pounds he had snuck with him.
another problem is that when you work in the trade Martin worked in no money was yours. it was always your bosses. the money you did get was your running costs and nothing else. This meant that the £30,000 pounds he was carrying when he was about to be arrested would make him even more guilty and would mean that your boss was also hunting you down for it.
as it happens martin had hidden it in a bin. When covered in somone elses blood with the police after you it seems like the most sensible thing to do. as it happens it would still be there as the bin men were always on strike. But when your a suspected murderer people tend to follow you. Martin had decided to keep tight for the moment but the dealer, Mark was not so understanding on the phone and it wouldnt be long before there would be a bang at the door with Mark and two bull terriers behind it.
The only option he had was to sit and wait for the door to open. sit and wait for a feasible way out of this, whatever happened he needed that money.
Martin was a tall man of thin stature and his seemingly mellow impression made him look like a stiff breeze could knock him over. Like all prisoners at the time his head was shaved and mysterious bruises started to appear from nowhere.
he had three days break before being sent back to court and inevitably prison and there was nothing he could really do about it. The only comfort he could find himself with was in the subtle overtones of alchohol from the bottle at his side. Not that it would help mind against the stress caused by an overcrowded prison and the constant deprivation on the steets. The country was at its knees and as a result everything slipped. Even the gravediggers are on strike which diddnt sit well with martin because he knew he was in for the death sentence, which meant he would be in a fridge as part of another pile of bodys waiting to be buried.
Martin diddnt live in the city and so he spent his time in some sort of B+B however it was more like a bed sit. The walls hadnt been cleaned since 2010 and the floor was covered with discarded cans.
"Look mate you wanna stay here? then itll be 50 a night no questions asked"
"50 is extortionate i have 20 for the three days its not like you have a quality institution"
"insult my institution means you insult me and that wont get you a room will it!"
The owner was a over 6'5 and built like a house, not surprising that when martin was put up against the wall he couldnt think straight for the next five minutes.
"Now listen here you lanky piece of crap, its 50 a night take it or leave it but you DONT disrepect my apartments? Is that clear?"
Martin just nodded. his face screwed up like a boy hu had just been smacked for stealing sweets. He payed that 50 a night and what it got him was a pile of springs for a bed and maggoty bread for the breakfast. That would have to do.
He sat on his bed not sleeping but thinking for the first night. what had happned was a mystery even for him, he couldnt even be sure he had killed her ...
"Yes, im out of prison for the moment.... yes i know its bad.... well i dont know thats the thing........ listen its not as bad as it sounds Mark... no i will have your money.... no the police diddnt get at it... and they dont know..... no Mark give me a week just a week and you will have it..... and the money yes....... no its not with me... but i know where it is... mark? mark?..........."
the phone was dead. Mark was a close associate of Martin and had been working with him for a while. The powder was his game, in these times even martin was involved. He was a brilliant accountant and when there is no honest men with accountancy to be done then the only money is with the dishonest ones.
and a hell of alot of it if you knew where to find it. Martin was an expert at it. the only problem with being so filthy rich is when everyone else isnt, they start to ask questions. A murder suspect with his hands in dirty money and powder = guilty and he knew it. so he was living off the 200 pounds he had snuck with him.
another problem is that when you work in the trade Martin worked in no money was yours. it was always your bosses. the money you did get was your running costs and nothing else. This meant that the £30,000 pounds he was carrying when he was about to be arrested would make him even more guilty and would mean that your boss was also hunting you down for it.
as it happens martin had hidden it in a bin. When covered in somone elses blood with the police after you it seems like the most sensible thing to do. as it happens it would still be there as the bin men were always on strike. But when your a suspected murderer people tend to follow you. Martin had decided to keep tight for the moment but the dealer, Mark was not so understanding on the phone and it wouldnt be long before there would be a bang at the door with Mark and two bull terriers behind it.
The only option he had was to sit and wait for the door to open. sit and wait for a feasible way out of this, whatever happened he needed that money.
