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Bravo Jubilee by Charlie Owen

By Charlie Owen

Summer time 1977: It’s no vacation within the solar in Handstead New city, a north Manchester overspill. recognized to the neighborhood police officers as Horse’s Arse, it’s getting ready to have a good time the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. yet lob-in soccer violence, rampant police hooliganism, and an increasing LSD market—there’ll be a insurrection happening. neighborhood gangster Sercan Ozdemir has underestimated DCI Harrison, head of the CID; blood at the ground in an interview room is all in a day’s paintings for him. And Ozdemir is familiar with that if his crime kin discovers he’s been doing his personal factor, they’ll pull his face off. in the meantime the uniform police officers, Psycho, Pizza, the Brothers, best friend, and the others hurl the rule of thumb e-book out of the window and proceed to carry the tide of felony scum at bay for so long as they could in a city they despise.

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You can walk round a corner and smell the cigarette that someone was smoking ten minutes earlier. You can see their footprints disappearing in the frost or damp. Just stand still and listen outside a house - you can hear someone turning over in bed. You're so alive. ' 'I think it was Napoleon who said that the bravest acts are the ones done in the early hours, when generally you're at your lowest ebb, and he was right. When you walk, alone, into a dark and apparently deserted car park at three in the morning, I swear you can hear the place breathing.

Four when I was there, including a couple of right young ones,' he leered. Allan was horrified. The thought of his idiot deputy being able to winch one up and poking one of his toms was awful. 'You better not have shagged them, Joe,' he warned. 'No way I'm following you in. ' Even Aldrin understood the word exclusive. 'Exclusive? But they're prostitutes, Rod. ' 'Did you shag any of them? ' 'No,' insisted Aldrin, sounding a little aggrieved but not wishing to make a scene. ' 'Fucking hope so, son, I fucking hope so for your sake.

The Dobermann's huge head popped neatly through the loop and as its momentum carried it past Young, the loop tightened round its bulging neck. The animal landed with an enormous crash on the bare lino floor and for a split second lay stunned. It was the opportunity Young needed. Recovering his composure quickly, he grabbed the aluminium pole and pulled the noose tight. 'One hundred and eighty,' chanted Young happily. But then things went pear-shaped. The Dobermann quickly recovered from its fall, saw its intended prey again and went for it in a flurry of gnashing teeth and scrabbling claws.

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