Bongo Fury Chapter Samples



Below are samples from each of my Bongo Fury books. 

Currently book 1 is 99p and Book 2 is £1.99.


Bongo Fury Chapter 1

So, first thing’s first; I didn’t expect things to get as fucked up as they did. But it happens, so that’s life I suppose. I just don’t want people getting the wrong impression about me. I’m not just some hard-nut wanker who came out of the estates. Yeah, I’m a Prod, from an estate in Northern Ireland- but that doesn’t define me. I’ve got a fucking literature degree- I’ve read Mansfield Park- okay? I actually quite liked it too. Anyway, I suppose I’d better go back to the start.

Two years ago, life was pretty normal. If you’re reading this, then I suppose you already know I’m Jimmy Black, I’m forty two and I come from Ards in Northern Ireland. You’re bound to have read about me in the tabloids. I’m the one covered in tats, pretty well built, short black hair, and I admit not the prettiest you’ll see in the papers. If you’ve never heard of Ards before then that’s because it’s a shithole. However, it does have a lovely old tower on the hill called Scrabo; from where you can survey the shithole.  Anyway, I live there- or did, and I worked in Bangor- the town up the road. Now, Bangorians are different from the inbreds in Ards. They think they’re fucking living In Monaco or something. You’d expect to see Grace Kelly resident at the Town Hall. I digress. So, I had a shop in Bangor called Bongo Fury. Yeah it’s a pretty cool name. It was a nice little music shop with musical equipment, and a vinyl section too. Any of you music aficionados out there will realise the namesake was an album by Captain Beefheart and Frank Zappa. It’s a great live album that provided me with a tenuous link for my musical instrument shop. Well there you have it. It didn’t do a great trade, but I really did love that shop. It was also the only place around to get strings or records that wasn’t on-fucking-line. So many good music shops went bust the last lot of years. Loads in Bangor had all closed, until there were none- but not just Bangor. Belfast had only one or two left. Like Good Vibrations- opening and reopening over and over again! They even made a movie about the owner Teri Hooley, and he still can’t keep its doors open today. Maybe one day there’ll be a movie about me too. So, I ran it myself, and on this particular day- it was a Tuesday I think- I had had shite all customers in so far. I was enjoying a cuppa, a biscuit, and just chilling out. It was about 11am and in walks Big Stevie. Now, Stevie and me went way back, from knocking about together when we were kids on the estate. We both were in trouble a good bit back then, but I had wised up by the time I was out of my teens. Stevie hadn’t. I never got that involved with the paramilitaries, despite my family tree being like a who’s who of Loyalist crims. Stevie dipped in and out of it and at this point he was mostly out.
“What about you Stevie?” I said, as he ambled into the shop. His long, greasy hair swayed over his blue denim jacket. He was actually double-deniming it that day; blue jeans finishing the ensemble. Never was the most stylish man. 
“Alright Jim, ya ball beg,” said Stevie, in his usually colourful way.
He walked past the guitars and stood at the other side of the counter, and we had a wee chat. He almost knocked into a lovely second hand Les Paul, the big eejit. 
“Watch my new sunburst Stevie,” I said, “If you’re gonna bang into something- make it a Stagg.”
I put the kettle on and we had a brew together over the counter. The shop wasn’t very big. I had about a dozen guitars, a couple of keyboards, and a few other instruments. Mostly, I had lots of general bollox- like strings, plectrums and drum skins. There were lots of posters on the walls and shit, and really the place looked a pretty decent job. Of course I also had a bongo- but that was just for the window display. It was a little ways out of the town centre, up towards the Abbey; but the passing trade wasn’t bad. I had some decent regulars too, who were good craic. 
“How’s the wee one doing?” he asked, taking a slug of his second cup. I told him she was fine. That’s my daughter- Skye-she was about one at the time. My wee sweetheart.
“How about your crew?” I asked him.
“They’re wee shites!” he said, making a face.
I laughed. Stevie was good craic- he wasn’t a hood as such. He just was good at making bad decisions sometimes.
“Look, the reason I called in, is to ask a favour,” said Stevie, giving me his pleading side smile. I’d seen it a brave lot over the years.
“Go on- I didn’t think it was close enough to the twelfth for you to need a new snare skin. What are you after?”
“Well, not so much a favour- more of a wee job if you’re up for it. You know- the kind of thing you’ve done before.”

That was one way I supplemented my income a bit. I had a wee sideline. Somehow I fell into being the go to guy for sorting out a variety of problems. I’m not a fucking PI, but I help people out and they pay me for it. No, I never declared it for my taxes- not that it matters much now. Yes, I got paid- I’m not bloody Oxfam. My place in the community, because of my family, gave me some standing and I’ve always been well built and suppose given off a certain confidence. I’m really not that cocky and I tend to finish fights- not start them, but people seemed to always trust me and think I’ll look after them. Because I wasn’t actually involved in any particular faction and was merely ‘connected,’ that also seemed to help people come to me as well. Anyway, I’d try and sort shit out for people if I thought I could, and they’d usually bung me a few quid for it. I was like Philip Marlowe on Buckfast to the local prods. Not that I wouldn’t have helped out a Catholic- I’ve no time for all that sectarian shite- but most would probably sooner swear allegiance to her majesty, than come to me.

.............


Bongo Fury 2 Chapter 1

“The unidentified man was found by a member of the public, who had been out walking his dog along by the duck pond in Newtownards…”
I paused and looked up from the newspaper,
“Fuckin’ hell love, they’ve found another one,” I shouted across the kitchen to Pavla.
“Shhhhhh,” she scolded, plucking Skye up from her high chair and covering her ears, 
“She will repeat it Jim.”
“Jeez”, I said, rolling my eyes, “here, listen to this,” I added, searching for the spot,
“The unnamed man’s head was almost severed from his body and a large portion of skin had been removed from one of his fingers.”
I looked up, shaking my head,
“Bloody hell, that’s the third one.”
“Ah-ah!” Pavla rasped sharply, then breezed out with Skye on her shoulder.
“I didn’t say fuck,” I called after her.


Chapter 2

I was gulping down my second coffee of the day when my first customer rolled in. It was near eleven. My mind had been drifting back to the morning paper, and I was thinking how there were some sick puppies about in this old world. Pav had put Skye down for a nap and we had breakfast together; she hadn’t been really that pissed off with me. I made us my speciality scrambled eggs, with extra buttery toast, so she had to at least be civil. Anyways, I suppose I should introduce myself a little. No actually I won’t; if you don’t know who I am, you should have bought my first fucking book.

“Brian, how are you mate?”
“Not bad Jim, Baltic out there today buddy.”
He wasn’t actually a customer, so much as a salesperson, or even a stakeholder if you will. Brian helped me out with shifting some of my gear. Gear of the green variety. He pulled his tattered old ‘Norn Iron’ cap off and revealed his greying and receding locks.
“Cuppa mate?” I asked.
“Always,” he said, rubbing his hands.

After I had a brew with Brian, he took a few baggies to sell and headed on. I did a wee tidy up round the store, had a wipe round and that, which resulted in me mostly just strumming a couple of my best guitars. I tuned the sunburst Les Paul to DADGAD and tried a bit of ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ I fiddled about for a few minutes. It’s a fucking embarrassment that I still can’t nail the intro. Maybe it’d be easier in Open G. Fuck it. I set it down and decided to try and find the vacuum. The summer holidays were coming and I thought there’d hopefully be an increase in school kids coming in for strings and even a few records. Well, I was an optimist at least. 

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