The Faint Taint of Deceit #2

October 26, 2011

Dear Reader,
Welcome back to this exclusive serialisaition of my new novel ‘The Faint Taint of Deceit’. When we left John Garrison last, he had his massive gun cocked and pointed at a foreign diplomat who was smoking in a café, only for said diplomat to inform Garrison that he could smoke anywhere he liked, because he had diplomatic immunity…

Chapter Two: ‘Terminal Nostalgia’

“So if you don’t mind, Officer” chuckled the fat diplomat “I’d like to get back to my breakfast.” Sandra put a gentle hand on Garrison’s shoulder. “Come on, John. Let’s go.” Garrison lowered his gun and turned away. “I think I saw someone double parked down the street.” the diplomat sneered as Garrison walked away. “Run along and write them up a ticket.” he sniggered as he took a long deep drag of his cigarette. BANG! Before Sandra could stop him, Garrison had turned and fired. “What have you done?!” she screeched. The bullet had entered the cigarette, completely obliterating it (it also hit a waitress in the leg but she was OK). The diplomat rose with angry all over his face. “You insolent dog!” He moved fast for a grossly obese man and had Garrison round the neck before he could react.

They grappled. It was fat against fit, the irresistible force versus the immoveable object, good against evil. The diplomat tossed Garrison onto a nearby table. “Breakfast is served.” the fat man rasped. But Garrison mustn’t have heard him say this because he used the exact same quip when he flung a plate of scrambled egg back at him. Garrison flung himself at the diplomat and the pair tumbled backwards, through the café’s front window. It exploded in an exciting mess as they tumbled out onto the street. Garrison landed on his feet, like a maverick cat and had his gun trained on the diplomat in the blink of an eye. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that smoking will kill you?” he smiled as he cocked his gun. The fat diplomat raised his hand limply and started blubbering like a little girl. Garrison looked at this big pathetic lump, begging for his life and asked himself what he was doing it all for? And that’s when it hit him. Garrison was so busy soul searching that he hadn’t realised that he was standing in the middle of the road. The taxi hit Garrison at 60 miles an hour and he was sent flying. All that was left now… was black.

Garrison lifted himself up off the ground, gripping his neck. He looked down at the body he thought he would never inhabit again. He was alive. He’d never been so happy. From this day forward he would change his ways. He would learn to relax, learn to do things by the book. He was going to live for the moment and to hell with the past. He would find Sandra and kiss her, square on the mouth. That’s right, today was the first day of the rest of his… but Garrison didn’t recognise where he was. He looked around and saw that he was surrounded by men in suits and hats, with thin little ties and old newspapers under their arms. Only they seemed like new old newspapers. “Are you OK?” they asked him. “Yeah, I just…” The more Garrison tried to get his bearings, the more disorientated he became. Everything looked so different. “Where am I?” he asked one of the men who had come to his aid. “West 29th Street… in the year 1957, why?” he replied. “1957?” Garrison thought. “1957?! What the hell is going on?!”


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