Shark

By Michael T Ashgillian

Gary Bowler enjoys his life as he grows wealthy off the vulnerable in society. But can life get any better when he discovers the perfect victim? One of six short stories also published in an anthology by the author under the title 'Pieces of Fate'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Cap Publishing
• Release date: Apr 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9780956885722

Michael T Ashgillian

David P Elliot was born in Reading in the UK and, apart from 8 years in the Police Service in the 1970s, he spent almost 30 years in the IT industry before leaving to concentrate on his first love, writing. His debut novel ‘CLAN’, to which ‘The Gathering’ is a sequel, is a historical, supernatural thriller, first published in December 2008 and so far has sold in 16 countries, as well as being translated into German and can be downloaded as an audio book in MP3 or iPod formats narrated by the author. He has 3 grown up children and 3 grandchildren one of which inspired the novel. He now lives in Faringdon UK, with his partner Monika, a native of Munich. ‘Pieces of Fate’ his second book is an anthology of short stories in the ‘Tales of the Unexpected’ mode and is available in paperback or as an e-book, with the individual stories available only in e-book form. He is also working on developing ‘Clan’ as a feature film. You can find out more at www.davidpelliot.com

Book preview

Part of the ‘Pieces of Fate’ Series

RED CAP PUBLISHING

Red Cap Publishing

SHARK

David P Elliot

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © David P Elliot 2010, 2011

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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This is a work of fiction. The characters, events and places are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used totally fictitiously.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.

Cover Artwork by DARE

Shark

ONE

Gary Bowler considered himself a very lucky man.

He had his own business and he was doing very nicely, thank you.

True, he did have to spend a good proportion of his time dealing with clowns, but then he made a lot of money out of them, and even the clowns could be entertaining in their own way.

He looked at his watch, a beautiful gold Rolex, and realised he had an hour or so to kill before seeing his next client.

Sharon Porter was one of his better punters, and having given her an ultimatum to come up with a 100 quid by 8.00 pm this evening, he didn’t want to be unfair to her by turning up early.

Besides which, he understood the power of the fear he induced in the punters, and the terror Sharon would be feeling right at this moment fed him in a tangible way. It really was like food and drink to him, and he felt that familiar warm glow in the pit of his stomach, knowing the respect through fear she would be feeling for him right now. Fear was good for business.

He stood by his black 6 series BMW which glimmered brightly under the street lights in this derelict area of London’s East End.

The amber lights flashed and the alarm beeped briefly, in response to the pressing of the remote door lock on his car key fob and he pulled open the driver’s door. He stood for a moment, looking across at the welcoming lights of the Butcher’s Arms pub across the street. He looked again at his watch - yes, he had time for a quick one before he needed to leave to see Sharon Porter. He slammed the car door shut again, reactivated the alarm and strode across the road into the Butcher’s Arms.

It was early, so there were only a few of the more hardened drinkers in the bar. They looked up as Bowler walked in and he smiled to himself as they recognised him and immediately turned their eyes away. Yes, he thought, fear was certainly good for business.

The barman poured him a large single malt, no ice, and placed it in front of Bowler, nodding politely and making no attempt to ask for payment as he immediately returned to the corner of the bar where he had previously been engaged in conversation with one of the drinkers, resuming the conversation and pointedly trying not to look in Bowler’s direction.

He sipped the whisky appreciatively as he scanned the room,