Hell on the Hoe Street: Volume 4 (Nicky Burkett, Band 4) - Softcover

Cameron, Jeremy

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1908446463 ISBN 13: 9781908446466

Verlag: Hope Road, 2017

Inhaltsangabe

The fourth fast-paced novel in the Nicky Burkett series, "Hell on Hoe Street" keeps up the page-turning action and deadpan humor in a multicultural tale of loyalty and revenge. All Nicky wants is a quiet life in his London district of Walthamstow. But the peace is shattered when he learns that a good friend, Kamran, has disappeared under suspicious circumstances in Pakistan. A true friend to the last, Nicky takes off on an international journey, only to discover that while Pakistan is certainly hotter than London, other aspects are frustratingly similar: everyone still wants to shoot him, the food s the same, and the women are just as indifferent to his charms. But that won t stop him from saving Kamran, leading to adventures in Pakistan and back in Walthamstow, where on Hoe Street, an action-packed finale threatens to tear the borough apart."

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Jeremy Cameron (1947-2023) was a writer, walker, probation officer, sportsman, and Union official. He was born in Norfolk, and returned to his beloved West Acre upon his retirement from the Probation Service in Walthamstow, North East London.He is best known for his crime fiction books, including It Was An Accident, the second book in the Nicky Burkett series, which was adapted into a film starring Chiwetel Ejiofor and Thandiwe Newton.Throughout his life, Jeremy embarked on some very, very long walks. Most notable in recent years was his walk (at the age of 62 and suffering from a heart condition) from Hook of Holland to Istanbul, which he wrote about in Never Again. In his words, never again would he "do anything quite so stupid." After which he set off to walk around all the places in England beginning with the letter Q.Jeremy died in 2023 - it was an accident.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Hell on Hoe Street

By Jeremy Cameron

HopeRoad Publishing

Copyright © 2002 Jeremy Cameron
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-908446-46-6

CHAPTER 1

Bleeding desert everywhere.

Train standing still, middle of the desert, taking a rest. Maybe it died. Maybe we were there permanent, got to settle, build an igloo.

'Train stop,' went the old geezer by me.

'True words mate,' I goes.

'Chapati,' went his missis.

They carried on feeding me up. Nothing else to be doing, get bored and feed up the foreigner. She gave over the chapati.

'Missis,' I turned round and said, 'appreciate your feelings don't get me wrong only you give me any more nosh and I might do us all a mischief you get my meaning?'

'Chai,' she went.

'Now you're talking.'

They got out the flask again. Tea never as hot as it was when they made it ten days ago only you never want it too hot when you got air about four thousand degrees coming in the window.

'Cheers lady.' She never spoke any English only we understood each other like we went out clubbing together. Except they never did a lot of clubbing up Pakistan how I heard it.

New geezer came in the door to our compartment. Fuck knows where he sprung out of. Seemed to reckon we were undercrowded in there, needed his company. Feller was creased like he lived under a camel.

He clocked me up and down same as an eye test. Then he gave it thinking. Then he made his announcement.

'English,' he went.

'Walthamstow mate no problem.'

'David Beckham,' he went.

'Yeah Becks,' I goes. 'Comes from Chingford innit?' I hated geezers from Chingford. Except David's dad Ted was all right as it goes.

'You David Beckham?' he goes.

'No mate. Hard telling us apart mind. Both got good- looking birds.'

They all gave me the eye test. Sure I was David.

'Inswinging free kick,' goes the creased geezer. Spoke five words of English and we just went through them. Seven when you count David Beckham. Nine when you count train and stop.

'West Ham got ten good as him,' I told him. They all looked puzzled. Some reason seemed they never heard of West Ham.

'Speak English bad,' he goes. Two more words.

'Don't you worry about it mate. My Urdu ain't none too bleedin' clever neither. No problem geezer eh?'

'No problem geezer eh?' He just learned some more. I ought to give out lessons.

Train started off again. We all clapped.

There I was, stuck on a chuffer half a day past the middle of nowhere. Bit of a surprise. Not what you expect Monday, wake up normal in El7, reckon on Wednesday you got desert all round.

Time for the introductions, spot of foreign relations after they gave me a ten course dinner.

'Nicky,' I went, sticking out my mitt.

'Pakora,' went the old biddy putting some grub in it.

'No no mate,' I went desperate. 'My name's Nicky. Got a gaff up Howard Road up Walthamstow. Mum lives up Priory Court. Went to school McEntee. One GCSE. Plus Art only that don't count.'

'You have wife?' went the new arrival. Kind of sudden.

'No I ain't,' I turned round and said. 'Never got one of them.'

Started a shock wave. Lot of chat all round, plenty muttering and gasping. Old lady burst into tears. 'No wife,' went the geezer.

'I got my bird,' I goes. 'Name of Noreen. That do?'

'Pakora,' went the old biddy again. 'Chai. Chapati.' She made signs with her mitts like fatten me up. 'Wife,' she goes.

Reckoned I'd try for staying thin.

All started Monday night. Put it down to Noreen cooking.

Last time Noreen cooked they got an eruption at Krakatoa. Bit like her cooking as it goes. This time the eruption was what she planned for my week ahead. All a bit of a shaker.

She belled me dinner time.

'All right Nicky?' she turned round and said. 'You just cleaning them toilets?'

'Stretched out by the gas fire with four birds and a Pernod,' I went. 'Now you mention it. Naked like.'

'Make me proud Nicky. Tell all my mates my man cleans the toilets. All of them wanting to meet you.'

'Yeah right.'

'Nicky I'm cooking tonight.'

'Noreen you want a trank? You got brain fever? Whip you up the quack?'

'And I'm bringing my friend home.'

'Now you're talking. Meaning you never wanting for your mate reckon your geezer does the cooking, innit?'

'Course it ain't, Nicky.'

'Yeah course it ain't. On the pope's bollocks.'

'She got a problem.'

'The pope?'

'Nicky shut it one moment. Now you get down the High Street please and you buy the following. You with me?'

I got ginger and lemon and sweet potatoes and red peppers for the soup and then a spiced bun to go with it. Keep her mate hot.

Two years back I came out of nick and my mates got me this gaff on Howard Rd. I managed all quite nice on my tod for a start off. They doshed the landlord the upfront then we got it sorted for Housing Benefit. Noreen came calling, only the fittest sexiest bit of stuff this side of Canvey Island. So I got a gaff for chilling, I got little Danny my boy visiting, I got no agg off the Old Bill. I got the sweetest tastiest chick in the borough two or three times a week. Life was what they call perfect.

Then Noreen stopped calling two or three times a week on account of she moved right in.

'Mens is better suited to cleaning toilets,' went Noreen. 'And anyway their smells is always worse than girls'. Innit Nicky?'

I drank my tea and watched her bits moving in that shirt. She was verocious was Noreen.

'So who this mate we got coming then?' I turned round and said. 'Queen of Sheba or what?'

'My friend Alia from work Nicky. She got a problem.'

'She a looker then this Alia? She a hot bird?'

'Nicky never you mind winding me up, you never get past the front porch with Alia. Muslim innit?'

'Oh Gawd. Never were ravers them Muslim birds. Never goers.'

'Exactly.'

'You know what you're doing on that soup Noreen? You want any advice?'

'Shut it Nicky.'

'So how she got a problem?'

'Tell you herself Nicky. Be here in a few minutes. Lives round Queen's Rd, we get the tube together.'

'Never turned round and told me you got the tube with some bird.'

'You never asked Nicky.'

Women.

'Know what? You want to put some garlic in that soup Noreen.'

'Shut it Nicky.'

Fair enough. Let her make her play.

'Now you just stir it Nicky while I get in the bath, all right?'

'Never come and watch you? Want your bits rubbed?'

'Just stir the soup Nicky. Rub my bits later.' She gave a little smirk and she was gone.

Then no sooner she got in the bath than the doorbell rang.

I went to the window. Generally we chucked the key down. This time I took one peek at what was stood standing on the ground and I went down for opening the door myself.

She was one fit bird Alia.

'Jesus,' I goes. 'You're one fit bird and that Alia.'

'You must be Nicky. I have heard such a lot about you from Noreen. Thank you for inviting me into your home. Is Noreen there? May I come in?'

They creased me up, Asian birds. Best fucking bodies in London. Politest gobs in the world. All passed about fourteen A-levels. You got as near them as Christmas after next. More likely I come off the dole than put it up an Asian bird.

Reading from the top, Alia got black black hair half length wavy. She got a boat race creamy and shapy. She got mince pies dark and beamy. She got a conk right short with a turn-up. She got teeth for chewing you up with. Down below she got all the bits in the right places. Figure like a weather...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Hope Road
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2017
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1908446463
• ISBN 13: 9781908446466
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 206
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: The University of Chicago Press; https://press.uchicago.edu/index.html; ; 5801 S. Ellis Avenue; Chicago; IL; 60637; USA
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland