Justice at Christmas 3

By M. A. Comley

Homeless at Christmas...

 

Imagine that?

 

Seeking safety and a square meal at a soup kitchen results in devastation for a couple of London's homeless.

 

Can Lorne and Pete solve this unspeakable crime before Christmas descends or will they have to forego their own celebrations to ensure justice is served?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeamel Publishing Limited
• Release date: Dec 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393699743

M. A. Comley

I am a British author. I moved to France around ten years ago, and that's when I turned my hobby into a career. I'm fortunate to be represented by New York agent Richard Curtis. I share my home with two crazy dogs that like nothing better than to drag their masterful leader (that's me) around the village. I hope you enjoy reading my books, especially the Justice series, Cruel Justice, Impeding Justice,Final Justice,Foul Justice and the newest addition, Guaranteed Justice. Ultimate Justice is due out in Feb 2013. If you'd like to keep up to date with new releases you can find me on facebook by following this link http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mel-Comley/264745836884860 If you fancy a lighter read, why not try one of my romances: A Time to Heal, and A Time for Change--Based on a TRUE story. I also have a selection of short stories and novelettes available which I know you'll enjoy. You can find out more about me at the following blogs. http://melcomley.blogspot.com http://melcomleyromances.blogspot.com  

Book preview

Prologue

B arry, are you ready?

Barry glanced up at his good friend, Warren Mayhew, and got to his feet.

I am indeed. Hungrier than normal today for some reason. I hope the soup kitchen is bursting at the seams and ready to take in the new influx of people in need.

’Tis terrible. This year in particular things have got so bad for people. I’ve not seen anything like this before and I’ve been living on the streets for what? Hmm…I think it’s the past five years, could be more. There again, it might be less. Who bloody knows? Or cares for that sodding matter. No one in authority, that’s for sure. If you don’t have a permanent address, you can’t claim benefits. There aren’t enough beds around at the hostels to accommodate everyone. In any case, they’re riddled with thieves and people who don’t give a shit.

All right, mate. What’s up? Apart from the obvious.

Warren glanced down at the pavement covered in snow and kicked a stone emerging from a patch that had melted a little. Quietly, he said, I think it’s my birthday today. For what it’s worth.

Barry slung an arm around his friend’s shoulder. No wonder you’re down in the dumps, you’re another year older, he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Warren sniggered. Yep, another year closer to my grave. Not long to wait now, I suppose. My bones are tired, and my insides are turning to ice in this damn weather, and it’s not even the proper winter yet. That’ll come in January and February. He shuddered.

So did Barry. You’re not wrong there. All we’ve got to pray for is that the soup kitchen remains open. I heard a whisper last week that they were running out of funds and might have to close. Even the damn charities are suffering right now.

Bloody hell. If that happens…well, I dread to think how that’s going to affect us.

Barry steered him in the direction of the old warehouse where the soup kitchen was set up. Come on. We’re guilty of thinking too much about it. It is what it is, nowt we can do about it, mate.

Anyone would think you’re from up north talking like that.

I know. That’s Dale’s influence rubbing off on me. Let’s get inside, at least we’ll be warm for about an hour in there.

Best hour of the day, and the food is top-notch.

Barry nodded. He’d blocked out the thoughts of his own downfall a few months earlier. He would never have dreamed his life could have imploded so much in such a short space of time. Never imagined himself being forced to live amongst the homeless, not with his background. Soul-destroying, that’s what it was. Life sucks, but what can you do about it if you don’t have an income or benefits coming in?

He and Warren joined the long queue. He found himself praying, something he’d never had to do in his life before, that there would be enough food left by the time they got to the front. He craned his neck, the smell of a roast chicken dinner with all the trimmings playing havoc with his senses. His stomach groaned, the pain of hunger far more intense than anything else he’d had to endure throughout his fifty years on this earth.

The queue moved slowly, giving him time to reflect on how he’d ended up in this place and sharing his bed with the rats in the London suburb. He shook the images away, not wishing to revisit them for the hundredth time that week. He’d found it impossible to move on with his life. People who he’d classed as friends had shown their true colours and turned their backs on him at a time when he’d needed them most. He could count the number of true friends he’d had during his life on one hand, and not one of them had ever offered to take him into their home or put their hands in their pockets to give him his next meal. Had the boot been on the other foot, he knew he wouldn’t have thought twice about reaching out to a friend in need, but not everyone was like him. There was only one Barry Norwood in this world.

They got to the front.

He pushed Warren ahead of him. Give him the works, ladies, it’s Warren’s birthday.

Maureen, the friendly server, smiled at Warren and winked. The birthday boy thinks he deserves a treat, does he?

No special treatment for me, Mo, just make sure Barry has enough food to fill his plate.

There’s enough food for both of you today. I bunged an extra tray of tatties in the oven. Here you go. Want gravy over the top, Warren?

Sunday roast just isn’t the same without gravy, love, you should know that.

Maureen ladled the thick brown liquid over the mound of spuds she’d given Warren. Here you go, pet.

You’re a star. I don’t care what the others say about you, you’re definitely my favourite.

Maureen’s cheeks flushed.

Barry laughed. He’s a right charmer, ain’t he?

He’s the best. What do you want, Barry?

The works for me, except for carrots. Their reputation is false, they don’t help me see in the dark at all.

You’re such a comedian. Let’s see what we’ve got for you. Here you go. Enjoy your meals, gents. Stay safe out there.

We’re doing our best, Barry replied. He walked past her, grabbed a cup from the end of the counter and poured himself a coffee. Back in the day, he used to be a proper caffeine addict. Not any more. He was down to one a day, if he was lucky. Other homeless people sat on the corner with their begging