Mrs Skinner rushed into my office in her hat and furs, pulled up a chair and sat down at my desk. “Have you got the pictures?” she said.
“Well, good morning to you, Mrs Skinner,” I responded.
“Never mind all that!” she snapped back. “Have you got the pictures?” She took off her hat and fur and slammed them on my desk.
“Have you got the money?”
I shook my head. “I need to know that you have the money before I show you the pictures.”
She looked at me and frowned. She grabbed her handbag and rummaged in it for her chequebook.
“How much was it again?” she asked, opening her chequebook and taking a pen out of her bag.
“Four hundred pounds,” I said. “And I want cash.”
She looked up, surprised. “You said three hundred and fifty.”
“The price has gone up.”
“Turns out there’s a bit more to your husband’s affair than meets the eye.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have the cash or not?”
Mrs Skinner replaced her chequebook and pen in her bag, took out her purse and started counting the money in it. “I have three hundred and fifty pounds,” she said, “as that’s what we agreed on. I can owe you the rest.”
She rolled her eyes in irritation, but she eventually took the notes out of her purse and laid them on the desk.
“Are you happy now, Mr Stone?” she said. “Do you think you can show me the pictures now?”
“I am, and I can.” I opened the desk drawer and retrieve the pictures. “I’ll show you the pictures now,” I said, opening the brown envelope, “but I should warn you, it’s not a pretty sight.”
“Just get on with it.”
I placed the pictures on the desk one by one and closely watched her face as I did so. It was rigid and emotionless.
“What’s this?” she said after I had placed the final picture on the desk. She was looking at me, frowning with confusion.
“That’s your husband,” I said.
“Who is that other person with him?”
“That is the man he’s been having an affair with.”
“That is not a man!”
“I think you’ll find he is.” I pointed at a certain part of Lenny’s anatomy.
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything.”
“Are you suggesting that my husband is a homosexual?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Mrs Skinner. I let the pictures do the speaking.” I picked up the photo of Skinner eagerly swallowing Lenny’s cock and placed it on top of the other ones.
“My husband is not a homosexual!” she said, jumping up from her chair. “He is the son of an Anglican priest! That picture is a fake! Where is the man’s head?”
“I cut his head off, Mrs Skinner. There’s no need for you to know who the man is.”
“I’m not paying for those pictures! They are not what I asked for!”
“That’s fine. Then I won’t give them to you.” I picked up the photos, slipped them back in the envelope and locked the envelope in my drawer.
Mrs Skinner remained standing over my desk. Her body trembled with rage and her face began to contort. Finally, the emotion became too much for her and she burst into tears. She sat back down and buried her head in her hands. I admit I did feel a tinge of pity for her. I pulled the handkerchief out of my breast pocket and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said softly and began drying her tears. “This is so humiliating! I should never have married him. My father warned me not to marry outside my faith. We’re Catholics. This would never have happened if I had married a Catholic.”
I didn’t say anything.
“You will have to burn the pictures,” she said. “No one must see what I’ve seen.”
“You can burn them yourself if you pay for them.”
“There!” She threw the bank notes at me. “There’s your cursed money!”
“What about the other fifty pounds you still owe me?”
“I’ll come back with it another day.”
“How can I be sure?”
She looked at me indignantly. “I think you can trust me, Mr Stone.”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
I looked at her earrings. “Are those real pearls?”
“My pearls?” She put her hands to her earrings and stared at me with shock. “Are you serious? You want my pearls? Don’t you think I’ve been humiliated enough?”
“Hey, lady, I’ve got a business to run here.”
She took off her earrings and flung them at me. “Have the blessed pearls, you hard-hearted swine!”
I picked up the earrings and put them in my pocket. Then I opened the drawer, took out the envelope and handed it to her. She yanked it out of my hands, picked up her hat and fur and jumped out of her chair. “I hope I never see you again!” She marched out of the office.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mrs Skinner,” I called after her, but she didn’t hear me.
Inspired by the pulp fiction novels of the 1940’s and 50’s, the novellas in this anthology emulate the dark, thrilling, sensational and taboo breaking stories of the post war era and gives them a gay twist.
1950’s London. Felix Stone is an openly gay P.I. He is approached by a mysterious woman who pays him to shadow her husband. What at first seems to be a run of the mill adultery case, soon turns out to be much more serious. When the people involved in the case suddenly start dying around him, Felix finds himself embroiled in the world of cold war espionage and his own life is put in danger.
1949. The East End of London is still recovering from the blitz. Fitzgerald O’Sullivan is a young man with romantic notions of living like an impoverished writer. In an attempt to escape his past, he abandons his life of privilege and rents a room in the East End. There he meets Roy Parker, a chirpy Cockney with a working-class charm. Roy asks Fitz to write a story about how he saved the lives of two Jewish ladies during the war. What follows is a far-fetched tale filled with lies and exaggerations. This is is a noir thriller where nothing is what it seems. A dark tale of love, bitterness and vengeance set in the chaotic aftermath of the Second World War
1950´s L.A. Sixteen year old Henry Blomqvist is the son of an aspiring actress and stepson of a millionaire businessman. He is an embarrasement to his parents, a useless layabout who is constantly getting arrested for cruising the parks. But his vices pale in comparison with the dark secrets in his parents´ lives. The kidnapping of Henry´s stepfather triggers a series of events which expose the skeletons in his parents´ closets and which finally give Henry the chance to step up to the mark and show what he´s really made of.
ebook link: (Releasing December 4th, 2018 via Amazon & FREE via Kindle Unlimited)
Paperback link: (Currently Available)
Olivier Bosman’s Bio:
Born to Dutch parents and raised in Colombia and England, I am a rootless wanderer with itchy feet. I’ve spent the last few years living and working in The Netherlands, Czech Republic, Sudan and Bulgaria, but I have every confidence that I will now finally be able to settle down among the olive groves of Andalucia.
I am an avid reader and film fan (in fact, my study is overflowing with my various dvd collections!)
I did an MA in creative writing for film and television at the University of Sheffield. After a failed attempt at making a carreer as a screenwriter, I turned to the theater and wrote and produced a play called ´Death Takes a Lover´ (which has since been turned into the first D.S.Billings Victorian Mystery). The play was performed on the London Fringe to great critical acclaim.
Currently living in Spain where I make ends meet by teaching English .