the
        slug

                             A NOVEL By jm mcCANN

 
       
Women's

commercial

fiction:


 
Lust


Bitterness


Revenge


Escape.


     
The sexier 

you are, the 

harder life 

can be.




          the
          slug
                BY  JM Mccann      

 

 

'A most thrilling, absorbing and attractive read, very well written, that will for sure captivate a wide audience. A nuanced and compelling plot, well-conceived and developed, and built and sustained by a fascinating cast of characters that are brought to life through their credible motivations and believable dialogue. None more so than the protagonist Gina, who presents a relatable, investable and strong lead, whose character arc demonstrates passionate poise within a narrative of conflict and internal battles.'

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'The story is very well structured, allowing it to build progressively and leaving the reader satisfied with a rewarding and resolute conclusion. The prose style is engaging and well-suited for the genre, demonstrating a keen awareness of the intended market. This story is highly engrossing.'

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AUSTIN MACAULEY PUBLISHERS

LONDON

ENGLAND

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'There is a lot to like about this story. I found the writing well-paced and the characters original, well-depicted and easy to empathise with.'     

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JULIE CRISP, LITERARY AGENT,

JULIE CRISP LITERARY AGENCY,

LONDON,

ENGLAND.

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'A great story. You've captured the essence of the USA well. I can visualise it as a film.'

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VICKI LASKEY, 

BOOK EDITING, DESIGN

& MARKETING

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PLUM MEDIA NOW,

RUTLAND, 

ENGLAND.

 

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USA, 1996:

 

New York investment banking 'king' Maynard Timms, aka 'The Slug', has a pass politely rejected, then an attempted rape repelled, by attractive young bank newcomer Gina Towers. A bitter Timms frames Gina, seeing her go to prison for ten years. Following her release, the Yale graduate is surviving through prostitution. Hell-bent on tracking Timms down, she is saved financial outlay when, having left banking, the multi-billionaire unwittingly books her during a business visit to the city. Gina murders Timms and his wife Linda, as well as a deranged subway-dwelling woman obstruction her escape from the city, and heads for the Rocky Mountains via a lift on a truck. The driver, Vivienne Henshaw, is on to her, but secretly sympathises due to a disturbing period in her family's past, coincidentally involving Timms. By arrival in the Rockies, Gina has a substantial bounty on her head, but also an offer of guaranteed silence and a blind eye being turned to her presence, by a corrupt senior district police detective, in return for her services being rendered free of charge. There follows an astonishing final scene plot-twist, with Gina emerging knowing the detective's telephone number and the world's oldest profession are the keys to her freedom.

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© Copyright 2021-2024 John Batty

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EXTRACT​

 

Novice investment banker Gina Towers heads for the New York subway, having murdered her boss Maynard Timms and his wife Linda a matter of hours earlier. She must escape the city with the bare essentials and cash in external pockets on a roll-along case.

 

 

Head down, quick march. She’d got the rain cover over the case, which allowed access to one or two pockets.

 

‘Grrrr! She growled through clenched teeth – the persistent fine drizzle wasn’t letting up. She was relieved it wasn’t late – as at this time, the weirdos on the subway were avoided. Stares didn’t bother Gina – but people who started talking to you like a best buddy, then walking with you, were best avoided. Although she was tall and relatively streetwise, even a short person could be intimidating if persistent. Like in many cities, they tended to head for subways when the weather caved in – the entrance areas, escalators, platforms and the trains themselves. They approached anyone well-dressed, or whom they considered attractive, or both. Into which category she fell at that time, she was unsure. The hood being up probably helped a bit.

 

There was an all-night diner not far from the bank. She’d make for that once clear of the trains.

 

She had a hassle-free ride, getting off the train at Johnson Street – lifting her roller-case onto the platform and started along it. The train pulled away. A couple of large groups had got off nearer the escalator. She had about fifty metres ahead of her, before it.

 

‘Well!! Abracadabra!! Hello gorgeous!!’ Gina, hood still up, glanced down to her right, as the source of the voice joined her just below shoulder height. Pale with blue eyes, short nose and shoulder-length, damp, straggly ginger hair. She was wearing an army-style combat jacket, well-worn fading blue denim jeans and black trainers with white graphics.

 

‘Us red-heads gotta stick together, it’s tough out therel; and don’t be embarrassed by your hair – get that hood down, and let the world see what beauty exists.’ As she said this, she reached up for the hood, but Gina increased her speed and the hand missed it’s target. She pulled the case handle with her right hand, so being right-handed, felt slightly vulnerable. Gina placed her in her mid to late twenties.

 

‘Awwww bless! Shy too huh? Bit like me at high school – but it ain’t no more than a phase – and I’m  gonna help you conquer it. She walked very fast, and peered around the front and up into Gina’s face, somehow blindly keeping a straight line, and avoiding the case.

 

‘Oh, I clean forgot ma manners,’ she continued, ‘I’m Clementine,’ hastily adding enthusiastically, ‘just like the song!’ She started singin; ‘Oh ma darlin’, oh ma darlin’, oh ma darlin’ Clementine…’ She paused for breath, with her eyes still fixed on Gina’s face, and still somehow walking without causing platform carnage. Gina was close to a jog now, and couldn’t believe her company wasn’t running herself, as Gina had a longer stride.

 

She was straining to look around the front of Gina to continue looking at her face, and managed another song line. ‘You are lost and gone forever, oh ma darlin’ Clementine…. You must know it – all folk know it.’

 

They’d covered about twenty-five metres of the platform. Gina was calm, but knew this could be a difficult splinter to remove. ‘I bet you got a voice to match your looks ain’t ya?! Come on now, sing it with me….. Oh ma darlin’, oh ma darlin’, oh…. Hey!! You ain’t singin’ it… don’t disappoint me now – I’m tryin’ to help you, remember?’ She started singing slower, thinking it would help Gina. ‘Oh ma darlin’, oh… ‘ her intended student was still looking straight ahead, poker-faced, needing the end of the platform.

 

‘Hey!! Now you ain’t even tryin’. ‘I guess you ain’t sung it for a while and plain forgot it, didn’t you now? Well… hey, you ain’t told me your name yet did you?! I sure reckon it’s somethin’ real pretty, like…….’ She struggled for a name. Then, ‘Mary Ellen! Or, Darcy!’ For what seemed like the first time, she suddenly looked ahead.

 

There were about fifteen metres before the escalator – and a bottleneck at it. ‘Great.’ Gina thought to herself.

 

‘You sure are shy ain’t ya?! Well don’t be worryin’ one little bit, cos Clementine knows just what you’re goin’ through, and is gonna help you.

 

They arrived at the bottleneck at the escalator. ‘Clementine’ started up again, looking into Gina’s face. ‘In a cavern, in a canyon excavatin’ for a mine, dwelt a miner forty niner, and his daughter Clementine. Light she was and like a fairy, and her shoes were number nine, herrin’ boxes without topses, sandals were for Clementine.’ She was attracting some glances now, as she didn’t sing quietly. She stopped briefly, then said ‘You do the chorus now – c’mon.’ When she received no response from Gina, who was looking straight ahead still, to avoid eye contact – her mood darkened. ‘Well fuckin’ damnit! Here am I doin’ my very best to help you outa your shyness, and you ain’t even gonna try a little bit. Nothin’, and I mean nothin’, annoys me more than a lack of effort – shame on you! Now, I’m gonna help you get this case up there,’ she pointed towards the escalator, but Gina continued avoiding eye contact. ‘and my God you’re gonna show some gratitude at the top. You’re gonna learn all nine verses of my delightful song – and woe betide you if you continue your fuckin’ attitude.’

 

The woman in front stepped onto the escalator. Gina moved forward, pulling her case to the metal base. Then she felt the handle move to the horizontal position, and the weight disappeared. ‘Ok, we’re set to go.’  The woman was behind her on her right, holding the case, a hand on each handle, just below stomach height. Gina figured she must

be strong, as the case was full. ‘Please put it down, I can handle it.’ said Gina, speaking to her for the first time, not wanting a fight for the case.

 

‘You can talk, you fuckin’ bitch!!  There’s me startin’ to think you were a mute an’ all.’ She showed no sign of putting the case down. ‘Please, put the case down, I’m getting on now.’ She thought of the cash in the case pockets. ‘Don’t be worryin’ – I told you I’m gonna help you.’ Gina stepped on, conscious of the queue behind them. She held on to the handle and the woman stepped on three steps below, still holding the case at the same height.  ‘Best put it down, could give you problems on here – it’s heavy.’ said Gina.  ‘Nonsense….look, I’m real good with it.’ came the reply.

 

‘Ruby lips above the water, blowin’ bubbles soft and fine, but alas I was no swimmer, so I lost my Clementine…’ was sung towards Gina, although she had her back to the woman now and was thinking where this was going to go once they were off the escalator.

 

Did she learn a verse, and sing it with her? Maybe that would give her some sense of accomplishment, like a teacher, and she’d leave her alone then. But it might also encourage the woman and she could struggle to shake her off.

 

‘Hey, sister…. you still ain’t told me your name…  I’m gonna start at ‘A’, be sure to tell me when I say it – I just love games. Here I go…… Anne, Annie, Anna, Aneka, Angela, Alexandra – don’t forget to holler when I got it right? Angelina, Alice, Angelica, Audrey, Anastasia, Aloise, Annabel…’ ‘You got it.’ Gina jumped in, glancing down at her. She’d had a bellyfull already, and had to stop the torture.

 

‘What? Annabel? I knew you’d have a gorgeous name –I’m gonna call you ‘Bel.’

 

Gina waited for a moment’s silence from her, before stealing another look downwards. The woman was looking over the case now, she’d lifted part of the rain cover and her eyes lingered unhealthily on one of the  external zip pockets. Should she start singing to her to distract her? Surely she’d be unable to use one hand to unzip the pocket, as the case was too heavy to be held up by just the other. She’d need to put it down. Bing bong…. A station announcement,

‘A reminder to all passengers to please keep your belongings in sight at all times, and please report any unattended bags.’

 

‘Bel, you sure gotta load in this case – where ya headin’?’ Looking up the escalator, Gina pretended not to hear, to buy a second or two to think of an answer. ‘Beellll…. Earth to Beellll… where ya headed to?’ She remained silent. Where would this loon least like the sound of? What would deter her? Somewhere overseas for sure – she had to be a homebird, hanging around the subway and trains. Gina hoped she hadn’t gained in confidence too much after latching on to her. ‘Beellll…. sure hope ya ain’t ignorin’ me…  …kind’a ruuude…..’

 

‘Hey, yeah, sorry.’ started Gina, ‘Saudi Arabia…got a brother working in engineering out there – promised I’d visit, haven’t seen him for a few years – was just trying to think of a present to take for him.’

 

‘Heeey wooow….coooool. I heard it’s all sunny days out there, so always nice and warm…. Or is that Spain?’ said the woman. ‘Well, I don’t want to go,’ continued Gina, ‘only going because my brother’s there. It’s a woman-hating shit-hole – an absolute sewer of a country. All women have to wrap up – hide their faces, just their eyes peering out. They’re embarrassed about their women.’ said Gina. ‘Most of the time the women are seen as an inconvenience too them.’

‘Well shame on that God-awful country!. But don’t you be worryin’ about nothin’, ‘cos Clementine’s comin’ with you – two’s company.’ She then held up a wad of bills. ‘Look, I’ll pay ma way too…  safety in pairs is the way forward.’ She’d obviously got into a case pocket. ‘Shit!!’ thought Gina, who knew the other pockets would be raided too.

 

‘We’re just gonna have to show those freaks how to behave proper towards

their womenfolk, ain’t we now… it’ll be real nice meetin’ your brother too – bet he’s not as shy as you though.’

 

They were about twenty metres from the top now. The woman was still holding the case up in front of her body. She must’ve put it on a step briefly to get at the pockets. But surely Gina would’ve felt the handle move in her hand. Well, if she hadn’t put the case down, she was obviously deceptively strong.

 

‘Think.’ Gina instructed herself. She had no idea whether she was going in the

right direction for JFK airport. ‘Very probably not.’ She hoped the woman wasn’t too geographically smart. She’d have to make up a reason for not going there straight away, which would just encourage the woman to stick with her. Pretending to get that present might work for now.

 

Nic, nic, nic, nic. Her mental clock hammered her brain again, ticking towards the release of a description.

 

‘Is she concealing a knife or some other weapon?’ Gina thought to herself. Judging by her strength with the case,

she probably didn’t need a weapon – just her bare hands. She could be ex-military, but anybody could buy a combat jacket. Whatever, this average-looking woman was trouble.

 

Top of the escalator. Gina stepped off, and walked straight ahead -– until the handle jerked backwards after a few paces. She turned around. The woman had stopped, still holding the case.

 

Rremember now Bel,  you were gonna sing me some Clementine, but I gotta teach you it first.’ She nodded towards a corner of a shopping mall nearby, ‘We’ll be teacher and student right over there.’ The corner already had residents in the  form of a few thirty-something bums, two of whose eyes were simply not from this planet.

 

Gina spoke to the woman’s face. ‘Listen….Clementine…. I sure appreciate your help with my case, you can put it down now. And I’d love to sing your song, it’s real moving. Thing is, I‘ve got to do something before I go to the airport, and ….’ ‘C’mon, we’re gonna start with the first verse, just like you promised me.’

 

She carried the case towards the corner and it’s inhabitants. Gina felt very odd constantly walking ahead holding the extended case handle. They must’ve looked like two kids, each refusing to let go of part of a new toy. ‘To let go, or not to let go of the handle…’ If she did, was she handing over psychological ownership to the woman? she wondered.

 

The woman then stood alongside Gina, still the length of the case handle apart.

 

‘Hi y’all…’ she said to the bums as a group. ’I’m Clementine, just like the song, remember? Course y’all do. Well, this is my friend Bel, and I’m teachin’ her that georgeous song. Now then, Bel, first verse. I’ll sing it first, then you’re gonna sing it with me.’

 

‘It’ll be easier for you if you put the case down, then you can put all your energy into the song.’ suggested Gina. She briefly considered a grab and run, but changed her mind immediately, knowing she wouldn’t get five metres before the woman caught up with her – and God knows what she might do then. ‘I want you tryin’ real hard, you hear? Not only am I givin’ you my time, you got an audience too. Just one moment…’

 

She finally put the case down –  a metre or so to her left side, and not far from their audience.

 

She returned to stand close to Gina again.

 

‘In a ca-vern, in a can-yon, ex-cavatin’ for a mine, dwelt a mi-ner for-ty ni-ner, and his daugh-ter Clemen-tine.’ It was sung to her much slower this time, and from about a metre away, as though it was being taught to a class of infants.

 

Nc, nic, nic, nic. Her mental clock again. 

 

Gina knew she was going to have to go through with this, for the time being at least.

 

She repeated the first verse, looking skywards for a second to retrieve words - but didn’t do it twice.

 

‘Hey!! Always look at my face when you’re singin’ my fuckin’ song – understand me?!!’ ‘Sure…’ Gina replied, staying calm. She finished the opening verse, and was about to start the chorus. ‘Right, first verse, once more, with feelin’ and passion to my face this time.’

 

After plenty of exaggerated expressions, Gina’s first verse met with approval. ‘Chorus now, and no excuses for stumblin’ anywhere with this. To my face, with passion and expression in every word – remember you’re singin’ my song. She emphasised the word ‘my’ loudly. Gina repeated the task, with one small cough, probably surfacing due to a lack of singing practice. She’d never seen hell in a pair of such blue eyes before, but there it was, right in front of her now.

 

‘What did you do with ‘gone forever?’ What did you fuckin’ do?’ she demanded loudly.

 

‘Look, I haven’t sung since high school, and a little cough turned up.’

 

‘Bel, that’s so weak, tryin’ lame excuses cos you fucked up my chorus.’ As she spoke, Gina noticed one third of their audience moving in the direction of the case. He was on hands and knees, in a naïve effort to go undetected.

 

‘Now, another verse – I’ll go through it for you, just like last time.’

 

‘My case Glementine.’ Gina nodded  towards it, as the bum closed in. The weather cover had already been lifted up so the underneath was still a little exposed, and the other zip pockets  vulnerable.

 

The woman looked over, and sighed loudly. She walked over, to within inches of the inquisitor’s left hand. As she arrived she swung her right leg forward very fast and hard, her training shoe coming up under the bum’s chin,  his head momentarily jerking upwards. Gina thought she heard a cracking sound. His arms gave, and he dropped flat onto his front, remaining motionless.

‘Real sorry bud, ain’t nothin’ in there for you.’ She reached for the handle, and pulled the case back towards where they were stood, and parked it, handle vertical, in front of her, between them.

 

There was an indecipherable muttering coming from the other bums. One of them moved to stand up, but thought better of it when he saw the woman looking over at him briefly.

 

‘Now, where  were we? Of course….next verse.’ she picked up again. ‘Light she was and like a fai-ry, and her sh-oes were num-ber nine, herr-in’ box-es with-out top-ses, san-dals were for Clem-en-tine…’

 

‘Sing it to me, perfect now.’

 

Nic, nic, nic, nic.

 

Priceless time was passing, and anytime now, the stores’ TVs would be showing some news network or other, which would be broadcasting either a photofit or artist’s impression of a suspect.

Gina reminded herself that the woman only reached her shoulders. She was on the thin side of average build. ‘Could I take her?’ she thought to herself. ‘Get close enough to k.o. her with a punch? It’d have to land square on her jaw – no margin for error whatsoever. She’s a loon, and what if the remaining audience join in? What could they be concealing?’

 

Yet she just couldn’t shake off this nutter that had joined her – this demonstrably violent headcase. Gina had experienced her verbal anger, but was aware that

much worse was one wrong move, or sentence away.

 

‘I’m fuckin’ waitin’ for the next verse you owe me, An-na-bel!! Oh, I ain’t taught you it yet did I – listen good…’

 

‘Drove she duck-lin’s to the wa-ter, every mor-nin’ just at ni-ne, hit a foot a-gainst a splin-ter, fell in-to the foa-min’ brine.’

 

She was now less than a metre from Gina’s face, staring upwards into the

front of the hood. Anybody walking past must’ve wondered what in God’s name was happening, although they were about five metres from passers-by, it must’ve resembled some sort of mobile theatre.

 

Gina got to the word ‘splinter’ and coughed again.

 

The blue-eyed hell spoke quietly to her this time. ‘Ahhh… bless - you ain’t just shy – you’re a shy fuckin’ retard. I can see you’re gonna be my special project.’

 

‘Fuck this,’ she said, quieter again, ‘I need time-out from your incompetence. But you got six more beautiful verses to learn later, with the chorus separatin’ each one – don’t forget now.’ The

woman took hold of the case handle and started to walk off. ‘I’m out’a here, where’s the exit?!’

 

The bum still lay prostrate, face to the floor. A thin dark red line had worked it’s way from the left corner of his mouth, down his jaw and neck and inside his shirt. The other bums swigged at cans, trying to delete the scene they’d just witnessed from what was left of their minds.

 

Gina walked quickly to catch up with the woman and the case. Arriving on her right, the case hand. She decided to try something to regain control of it.

 

‘Clementine, thanks again for  helping with my case,’ she said, taking hold of

the shaft below the handle, I can manage  now, thank-you.’ But the woman’s right hand remained  clamped to the handle.

 

‘Kind’a strange time to be goin’ for a flight.’ she remarked, as they arrived at a direction sign. ‘Johnson Street’  first left exit.  ‘It’s a night-flight, but like I said , I’ve got something to do around here first.’

‘Well, by the time we take off we should be ready for a nice sleep.’ was the reply.

 

‘Clementine, there’s only one seat booked – for me. I was real lucky to get it, and that was months ago. I was warned those flights get booked up in no time. I’m real sorry, but sadly you’re not going to get on it.’ Bel, bel…. Who gave you such a pessimistic outlook on life? We gotta keep the faith and be positive. We’ll have a shot at getting a cancellation – someone might be sick and unable to fly. Or…  you can try for an upgrade, which’ll free up your seat for me. Don’t forget, I got money.’

 

Gina wondered if she’d rifled the cash from the other pockets yet.

 

There were all-night diners spread over the city, and Gina knew there’d be one someplace not far away. She also knew there was no God damn way she was spending a night, anywhere, with this loon.  

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© COPYRIGHT JOHN BATTY 2021-2024

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J M McCANN  is an (unpublished) English author, born and raised in Oxfordshire, England.. From a weekend job cleaning baking trays at 14, and full-time warehouse work in London, on leaving college, to BBC Sport, then managing corporate data, John has worked with people from a variety of backgrounds, putting great value on his life experiences. Having lost the sight in his right eye at 21,  and a passionate creative at Heart, he took up semi-professional video camera operation, and later professional stills photography, specialising in sport, freelancing for several national titles.  However, having also lost most of the sight in his left eye, in 2015,  and becoming registered Severely Sight-Impaired (blind) in 2016, John was forced to stop driving, and applied his creative spark to writing. He started writing 'The Slug' while taking breaks from caring for his father, an Alzheimer's disease sufferer.  'The Slug' is his first project, with work on a second project imminent. 

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