Tony is a handsome young boxer forced into a life of crime after suffering a vicious blow in the ring.
Seduced by the glitz and glamour of London and mentored by charismatic gang lord Don March he rises rapidly up the crime ladder until he spies an opportunity to start a semi-legit Natural Highs business.
Bankrolled by an eccentric British dandy and accompanied by a cast of starry misfits including a 3ft tall blue-haired money man, an Etonian drug mule, two dominatrix debt collectors, a dodgy lawyer and a host of demi-celebs, Tony carves out a roll for himself in a city where money creates its’ own morality.
All seems to be going well until in the shadows, a Bollywood mobster threatens to derail their plans.
Chaos ensues, of course it does – wonderful, beautiful, visceral chaos.
The deft wit of Hammett meets the vivid poetics of Chandler: Crack Apple and Pop is slick smart and razor sharp. A gritty and sometimes metafictive slice of London noir.
A city of artful dodgers, yardie gangsters, kinky aristos, cocaine dusted starlets and social thrill seekers where everyone’s hustling and everyone’s getting high.
Whether it’s law, finance, the music biz, or the boxing ring: money is king. And only the ones prepared to risk everything will survive…
Crack Apple & Pop was published by Fahrenheit 13, an imprint of Fahrenheit Press, on 12th June 2018.
When T gave the code buffalo soldier, it caused a big stink.
Bernie ran to the fridge and took out a custom made fake lettuce housing cash and high end jewellery. Then he emptied the contents of the safe and stuffed it all into a leather holdall.
‘We have to split up now. Jimmy, you, Godwin and Tim come with me. Dipsy, La La and Vinnie, here’s some cash. You go now! Go! Go! Go!’
Dipsy grabbed the money and raced out of the flat with La La and Vinnie hugging the others as they said goodbye.
‘Jimmy, book everyone’s flight on Expedia. Once you’ve done that, we’ll slam it to Heathrow.’
Finally, about twenty minutes later Bernie, Jimmy, Godwin, and Tim all piled into their 4×4 Range Rover. Outside, Mack was snooping around in a silver M3 BMW, hoping they would lead him to Richard.
Taking the wheel, Jimmy checked the rear view mirror and saw nothing. No sign of Mack. No sign of anyone.
From Denmark Street, they turned right onto Charing Cross Road and then straight up to Tottenham Court Road. About half a mile down they made a quick left turn: Heathrow bound on the A40 heading for the Westway. Now, loosened up and more sanguine, they amped up the beat with some Lethal Bizzle (London Grime music) and got into the groove. Bernie lit up. He passed the spliff around. Smoke was filling up the car and steaming all the windows.
‘Open the sun roof you Kermit,’ Bernie grinned at Jimmy.
‘Not good boys. I think you should stop smoking in here man…it’s not good for mi at my age,’ Godwin was jittery. Bernie exhaled deeply.
‘Look stop your bitching. We’re on our way!’
‘Turn it up!’ yelled Tim. They were moving their heads in time to the music and drumming the seats with their hands, back seat grinding as the car gained speed.
Then, a knife break at the lights as the 4×4 came to a screaming stop. Mack was on their tail zigzagging through lanes cutting up other cars he was too close. The lights turned amber, Mack cranked up his music: Fire Starter by the Prodigy then downed some Patron, blitzed to the max – all the time getting nearer and nearer to the 4X4. He counted backwards from five four, three two one: Rubber. Tarmac. Boom! Like a brainsick rodeo doing seventy miles an hour in a fifty-mile zone. Slam Bam! Over in seconds before the lights hit green. His M3 steaming into the back of the Jeep crushing a nearby lamppost and flipping a hundred and eighty degrees into the air. Everything stopped. Road kill: squirting guts and crunching glass. Mack had crashed out; his cindered remains trailing the scene.
‘What the fuck went on there?’ Cried Bernie.
‘Is everyone okay? –Godwin, you’re bleeding…hold on here. He got up and gave him his shirt sleeve to mop up the blood.
‘What about everyone else?’
All extracts reproduced by kind permission of Fahrenheit Thirteen an imprint of Fahrenheit Press . ISBN: 978-1-912526-24-6 www.Fahrenheit-Press.com Copyright ©Saira Viola 2018 The right of Saira Viola to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act. All rights reserved
Saira Viola is an acclaimed novelist, poet, and song lyricist. From her early poetic experimentation with language, image and sound (a technique she has dubbed sonic scatterscript) to her novelistic ventures into the dark, absurd world of contemporary crime fiction, Viola’s work pulses with iconoclastic brio that mischievously blasts the golden calves of our times. Literary Heavyweight Benjamin Zephaniah, has praised her ‘twisted beautiful imagination,’ and polymathic genius, Heathcote Williams (RIP) her ‘hypnotic explosive’, writing style. Twice Nominated for Best of The Net 2017 Pushcart Prize Nominee 2017 Rascal Magazine. Viola’s poetry collection Flowers of War debuted at the New York Poetry Festival and published by UB Press. Novels Jukebox (Fahrenheit Press) Crack Apple and Pop (Fahrenheit Press) Viola is a regular contributor to counterculture magazines Gonzo Today and International Times.