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    Kill Clock
    Kill Clock
    Kill Clock
    Ebook96 pages1 hour

    Kill Clock

    By Allan Guthrie

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    Gordon Pearce is a nice enough sort of guy. Just as long as you don't get on his wrong side.

    One evening while he's taking his dog for a stroll, a double-crossing ex-girlfriend turns up out of the blue with a couple of scruffy toddlers and a tall tale involving loan sharks, death threats and something called a 'kill clock'. She begs Pearce for help. Claims he's her last resort. But he's convinced she's trying another one of her cons. Last time he saw her, she fleeced him good and proper, and he's not going to let that happen again.

    But as the night goes on, doubts start to creep in. Problem is, Pearce can't afford to believe her. Because if she's telling the truth, he has until midnight to rustle up twenty grand in cash or he'll have another death on his conscience.

    KILL CLOCK is a wild ride through the underbelly of Scotland's capital city by Allan Guthrie, the author of BYE BYE BABY, an Amazon Kindle Top 10 Bestseller.

    This 2013 edition is a revised and expanded version of the original 2007 novella, published by Barrington Stoke.

    Praise for KILL CLOCK

    "The extended edition of his novella Kill Clock had me laughing out loud and reminded me that the author, often cited for his chilling noir, is not just good at coming up with funny lines, but is a craftsman of the comic." Detectives Beyond Borders

    "a fine addition to any dark crime fan's library." Somebody Dies

    Praise for Allan Guthrie's BYE BYE BABY

    "A quick, taut thriller ... not a word is wasted." Ian Rankin

    "A terrific read and a great premise from an excellent writer." Stuart MacBride

    "The approach is so fresh that it makes the whole thing feel like the first time I've read a police story" Do Some Damage

    "...a purely original, funny, sharp piece of writing. It has a plot that develops in an unorthodox, non-linear fashion--hardly resembling many of the police procedurals I've read. It's often noted that Guthrie is one of the top working mystery writers, and he certainly lives up to that reputation..." Death By Killing

    "A story that moves quickly, in short chapters of crisp prose, with plenty of plot turns to hold the attention, and characters you can love and others you can hate... Like Guthrie's full-length novels, Bye Bye Baby is sly, noir as all hell (more noir than some, actually), and it just might bring a tear of pity to your eyes. It's a police procedural filled with incident and back story, and man, what an ending." Detectives Beyond Borders

    "...a dark, clever, funny and sad story which races along to reach a smart conclusion. A tough and lovely slice of the hard side of life." You Would Say That, Wouldn't You?

    About the author:

    Allan Guthrie is an award-winning Scottish crime writer. His debut novel, TWO-WAY SPLIT, was shortlisted for the CWA Debut Dagger award and went on to win the Theakston's Crime Novel Of The Year. He is the author of four other novels: KISS HER GOODBYE (nominated for an Edgar), BAD MEN (aka HARD MAN), SAVAGE NIGHT and SLAMMER and three novellas: KILL CLOCK , KILLING MUM and BYE BYE BABY, a Top Ten Kindle Bestseller. He's also co-founder of digital publishing company, Blasted Heath, and a literary agent with Jenny Brown Associates.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCriminal-E
    Release dateJun 25, 2013
    ISBN9781501414879
    Kill Clock

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      Book preview

      Kill Clock - Allan Guthrie

      Kill Clock

      (extended edition)

      by

      Allan Guthrie

      First published in 2007 by Barrington Stoke

      Revised and extended edition first published in 2013 by Criminal-E

      Copyright © Allan Guthrie, 2007, 2013

      Cover design: JT Lindroos

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission of the author.

      Allan Guthrie has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

      All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      Visit the author's website at:

      http://www.allanguthrie.co.uk

      Visit Criminal-E, Allan Guthrie's ebook crime fiction blog, at:

      http://criminal-e.blogspot.com

      Version 2-1-3

      6:30 pm

      The sea breeze nibbled at Pearce's bare arms as he crossed over the Prom towards Portobello beach, his dog hopping along beside him. Pearce never wore anything over his T-shirt unless the temperature dipped below zero. Sunbathing appealed to him about as much as tucking into a plate of vegetarian sausages.

      Luckily, it was a typical April evening, rain drizzling onto the empty tables in the sea-front pub's outdoor seating area. On the beach opposite, a couple of dog walkers trudged through the sand. One hardy soul in a wet suit kite-surfed in the shallows.

      Pearce was halfway across the road when this tosser backed out of a parking space right in front of him. The car jolted to a stop, the rear bumper less than a foot away from Hilda's nose. Pearce didn't know much about cars. Wouldn't have known the make of this one if he wasn't staring down at the words 'Hyundai' and 'Accent', silver against the black paintwork either side of the number plate.

      Hilda didn't seem to mind any of this, but Pearce did. The least he expected was an apology. But from the way the driver kept blasting his horn, there was cock-all chance of that.

      Get off the road, arsehole. The driver was leaning out of his window. Bald. Pointy head. Made you want to turn him upside down and plant him in the sand.

      Hilda tugged on the lead, muscles straining in his weasel-shaped body. Turned his head, big eyes looking sad as ever.

      Pearce stooped down. Gave the wee fella's chin a scratch. It's OK, pal. This won't take long.

      Hilda was named after Pearce's mother, who passed away a few years ago. He was still speaking to her long after her death, which he finally realised wasn't healthy. So he'd paid a visit to the local cat and dog home, leaving with a three-legged Dandie Dinmont terrier, one that happened to be male but somehow still looked like a Hilda. And of course, Pearce could speak to the dog without everyone thinking he was a loony. Most of the time, anyway.

      Move, you thick twat. Speaking of loonies, the bald guy wasn't going to let this rest. Want me to run you over? That it?

      Pearce stayed where he was, even though his mouth tasted bitter with all the exhaust fumes he was inhaling.

      Hilda stared up at him, the tips of his ears wet.

      The guy shook his head. Leaned on the horn.

      After a short while, two men came out of the pub, one looking heavily pregnant, the other with a crutch under his arm and his foot in plaster. They sparked up a couple of smokes and watched.

      The driver finally eased off the horn and yelled at Pearce. You've got ten seconds to get out of the way. He started counting. Ten … nine … eight …

      Pearce picked up Hilda and stood his ground, staring at the guy in the car.

      … three … two … one.

      Interesting. What was Baldie going to do now?

      He revved the engine. And then started to reverse.

      Pearce watched the car inch closer, wondering how far this knobhead was prepared to go. He found out when the bumper touched his shins.

      Well, well.

      He stepped to the side, set Hilda down and unclipped the lead. Go, be busy. Wee soul was desperate. The grassy area where he liked to do his business was a safe distance away.

      The car drew alongside Pearce. Good mind to take your stupid dog and shove it up your hole.

      Pearce could have reached through the open window and grabbed him, but that would have been no fun.

      The bald bastard blinked hard, then rolled up the window. Wanker, he mouthed, moving his wrist up and down for emphasis. Thought he was safe 'cos there was a pane of glass between them.

      Should have driven off while he had the chance.

      Pearce turned to the side, as if he was about to walk away, then swivelled, hammering the sole of his boot into the window.

      It exploded, glass spraying over the driver. He yelled. Sounded more surprised than scared.

      Other than a jagged fragment in the bottom corner, the window was gone.

      Pearce looked over at Hilda, who was squatting, back towards him as always. Until he'd got Hilda, he hadn't known that a dog could be shy about taking a dump. Made him laugh. Usually. Wasn't in a laughing mood right now though. Things to do.

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