With Love And Squalor

By nigel bird

From the author of the critically acclaimed Dirty Old Town (and other stories).

'A fantastic writer.' - Donald Ray Pollock

'A rare talent.' - Allan Guthrie

When ‘An Arm And A Leg’ was published by Crimespree Magazine in January 2010, we were to witness Nigel Bird’s debut as a crime-writer. Soon afterwards, the story was chosen by Maxim Jakubowski for the Mammoth Best British Crime Stories 8.

Since then, Bird has been the winner of the Watery Grave Invitational competition, won the Things I’d Rather Be Doing fairytale crime competition and been nominated for the Best Story Online in the Spinetingler awards for 2011.

‘With Love And Squalor’ is his 3rd collection of stories. In it, we see the range of his talents, a spread of individual pieces which combine to provide readers with a powerful and emotional experience that they aren’t likely to forget in a hurry.

'An Arm And A Leg' - A man arrives in a small town to set up a take-away food establishment and sparks of a fish and chip war. First published in Crimespree Magazine and subsequently in Mammoth's Best British Crime 8

'Fisher Of Men' - An American graduate goes to Paris to lose her virginity and meets a street artist who is from another place entirely. First published in Voluted Tales.

'A Whole Lotta Rosie' - Rosie shears sheep and arm-wrestles for a living. Now there's a new girl in town seeking to claim Rosie's arm-wrestling titles. First published in Pulp Ink.

'Reaching The Summit' - Someone's after the president's genes. First published in Apollo's Lyre

'No Pain No Gain' - Why there's no point torturing a man with the condition Congenital Pain Insensitivity. First published in Crime Factory Magazine

'Breakfast TV' - A moral tale about the dangers of talk-shows. First published at A Twist Of Noir 2011 and put forward for the Pushcart Prize by Christopher Grant

'Suture' - First aid for beginners. First published at PulpMetal Magazine

Praise for Nigel Bird:

‘Nigel Bird is one of our most skilful and insightful short story writers’ Heath Lowrance

‘The real deal.” Les Edgerton

‘Really good.’ Ian Rankin

‘What an excellent storyteller Bird is.’ McDroll

‘I’ve enjoyed Bird’s short fiction for years.’ Thomas Pluck

‘Yeah, Smoke by Nigel Bird, is everything a good story should be.’ Sabrina Ogden

‘Ever since I first read Dirty Old Town by Nigel I have been a fan of his short
stories.’ Darren Sant

‘A definition of noir itself’ Lifelongdagger

‘Complex characters, a well-constructed story and very fine writing.’ Chris Rhatigan

‘Your eyes and your heart are filled with one single shining jewel called, Hope.’ AJ Hayes

‘Exciting up-and-coming talent.’ Maxim Jakubowski

• Language: English
• Publisher: sea minor
• Release date: Jun 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781386241928

Book preview

Fisher Of Men

Dee. Four days in Paris and still a virgin. Tried the trick with Victor Noir at Pere Lachaise. Judging by the shine of his crotch am definitely not the first.  Hope it worked for the others. Left a kiss for Oscar and a cigarette for Jim. Fingers crossed. Love you lots, Lisa xxx

I’d been looking forward to the holiday since January when Dee and I made a pact as our New Year’s resolution. No matter how delicious the blokes we dated, ignoring whatever itches we got, we’d save ourselves for a couple of dishy Frenchmen, let them take us all the way and all the way back again.

Almost blew it with Robert after the prom. Even when I told him Aunt Flo was visiting he didn’t stop.  Only took his hand from under my dress when I mentioned getting blood on the car’s upholstery. After that he didn’t even want to kiss.

Dee stopped dating altogether.

Sitting on the café terrace writing postcards, I missed her terribly. If she hadn’t broken her femur while schooling one of her horses, she’d have been sitting right next to me soaking up the atmosphere and helping me keep an eye on every man who stepped into range.

She’d have loved watching the passers-by as they were caught unawares by the over-watered window-box on the other side of the Rue Beaurepaire.

I really owed it to her to get my knickers off as soon as I could, and at Chez Prune I could practically smell the testosterone mingling with the heat and the aromas of coffee and tobacco.

The nicest looking customer wouldn’t have been out of place on display at the Louvre. Only problem was that he was busy. Kept stroking his girlfriend as if leaving her alone for more than a few seconds would cause her to spontaneously combust.

Behind me a group of students were setting the world to rights. Words poured from their mouths like they were in competition, their voices lyrical as the water of a fountain. The things they said, it was more like someone pissing into the gutter.

Course I wouldn’t kick her out of bed, but look at those calves. If my dad shaved his legs they’d look better than that.

And those shoulders. Perhaps she works in the fields.

Or milking cows.

"Still, she’s not bad for an American.

We’ll see. If nothing better comes along...

Dee would have sorted them out right away. Me, I was going to take my time. Wrote another card instead.

Mom. You were right about French men. All the charm’s on the surface, like frogs turned into princes. There are some nice English girls at the hotel. Tomorrow they’re taking me to the Orangerie and for lunch. Jet lag gone. Eating the vitamins you packed. Next week Rome. How exciting. L xxx

If it hadn’t been for the waiter, I might have been upset about what the boys were saying.

He hadn’t stopped watching me since I’d arrived, even when he was serving other customers. When I couldn’t see him I could sense him checking me out, felt my body blush under the cotton dress I’d chosen for the evening, the pink one you can see through when the sun’s bright.

He wasn’t traditionally handsome, but had one of those interesting Parisian faces - deep set eyes and a bent nose that suggested he’d seen a bit of life and knew how to kick back when it gave him a knock. I liked him.

When he ran out of things to do, he came to lean on the post-box to smoke and watch me write. 

After his third cigarette, he disappeared inside for a moment then arrived back at my table with another glass of kir.

On the house, he said, his accent making me tingle. And now, he winked at someone inside, it’s time to bring some romance to the evening.

Above us strings of bulbs lit up in an array of colours, bright against the dusk, just like Eiffel’s tower.

I smiled at him in appreciation, dealt Dee’s card to the top of the pile and turned it sideways. Picking up my pen I wrote:

post script - am wearing lucky pants.

When the lights came on, I’d pretty much decided. The waiter could take me after his shift, show me some of the ropes he obviously knew so well.

I smiled at him again to let him know and headed into the cafe to the bathroom to check myself over.

As I stood, I bent over right