Literary a disaster pending - the rebirth

Cheers TC I was going to remark on 'speculative fiction' but as you were positive I refrained

By the time its potentially published I'll be back well behind it I assure youn

Are you talking about Lionel Asbo, Hotspur? Cos I cant find any mention of a debt collector

Anybody fancy giving me a thought on this? Idea I'm working on. Hotspur, if all you're gonna reply is 'it wont sell' dont bother

He stood in the upstairs front window of the end terraced house, standing to one side so as to hopefully avoid being seen, looking out of the glass. Night was falling and of the four street lamps that were lit within his eyesight, two were flickering through the drizzle in a crazy rhythm known only to themselves.
He watched as the group of young men, five of them in total, moved warily around the parked cars. They were looking through the windows in the fading light, hands around their eyes, searching for god knew what. One of them, a tall, white youth, around six feet but rangy with it, stepped back and blew a low whistle to his friends. They crowded around both him and the parked Audi, a collection of backwards baseball caps and bandana’s. Three of them were black, noted Jerry, the other two were just trying hard to be.
He watched the streetlamp glint off the curved end of the crowbar as it was pulled back and smashed into the side window. It splintered like a mosaic of crazy paving, but it didn’t break. As the crowbar thrust forward again, Jerry caught movement behind the car. A white man, aged around forty-five, wearing round spectacles and with his middle spreading to fat, was standing in his doorway, cricket bat raised in his hands. He took two steps forward and said something, nothing that Jerry could hear, but his red t-shirt and denim jeans, together with his nervous body language, didn’t back up the impression that the bat was trying to give out.
Jerry willed the man to give it up and go back inside. Leave the Audi, he whispered, its useless anyway. He saw the curtains move on the ground floor, a child’s face appearing at the windows edge. A woman appeared at the doorway, calling to her man, begging him to come back into the house. The body language and the tears told the story that needed no words. Jerry again willed the man back indoors, knowing he was near the point of no return. Jerry’s hands were balled at his sides, he wanted to get out there, to help, but he knew that he couldn’t.
The group weren’t interested in the car now, there were richer prizes around. They milled together at the gate, like a wolf pack waiting to pounce, sniffing out the weakness in their prey. The man took another step out of sheer, stubborn pride, the woman behind him almost falling to her knees through pleading. Then there was a blur of movement as the group rushed him, knocking him to the ground as they surged forward like a wave crashing onto rocks. Jerry heard the scream through the double glazing and leaned forward, hands gripping the window ledge. The woman hesitated fatally in closing the door as three of the youths were upon her, two of them rushing past her into the house, the other one dragging her with him. The remaining two were pummelling the man on the path. He had curled into a ball, trying desperately to cover up from the blows, but the kicks and punches rained down onto him. The crowbar breaking the monotony. The drizzling rain was turning the pathway pink.
He heard a child scream as he heard movement behind him, and he let the curtains fall back into place as he turned.
“Is everything alright, Jerry?” she whispered.
He looked at Vicki, all five foot eight of her. She stood with her arms crossed, biting her lip in concern, her big brown eyes begging him to tell her everything was alright. That everything would be okay in the morning. He ran a hand across his bald head, something he knew that he did when he was concerned, and he tried to smile.
He had only been there six days, but she knew him well enough by now to not be buying his attempts at comforting her. She shook her head at him and he could see her eyes glisten. He had already come to the conclusion that she was tough, but there was only so much abnormality that anyone could take before cracking.
“Who?” she whispered eventually.
“Over the road” he replied, “the Audi.”
“Oh god” she whimpered, “Sheila, the kids.”
She made to move past him, to look out of the window. He caught her and briefly she tried to carry on, but his arms were far too strong for her. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, and his stomach dropped at the gaze.
“Believe me, Vicki, I want to” he said quietly, soothingly, he hoped. “But if I do” he continued, “You’ll be next, and I can’t allow that.”
She sobbed into his chest as he held her, not knowing what else to do. She turned at the sound of small feet approaching behind them, quickly pushing herself away from him. He let his arms drop to his sides, feeling the damp of the tears on his t-shirt.
George stood at the doorway, whimpering softly:
“Mommy, I had a nightmare” he sniffled, as Vicki gathered him up in her arms.
“Oh, baby” she said, “its okay, I’m here”.
The child buried his head in her breasts below the vest she was wearing, and Jerry watched them with a strange feeling in his chest that he couldn’t quite understand. She made to leave the room, still cradling her child, when she turned back to Jerry.
“When its safe” he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
She nodded, and walked out of the room.

Just past three in the morning, Jerry slipped out of the back door, quietly leaving it on the latch. He crept to the end of the path running up the side of the terraced house, peering over the levelled privet hedge. The Audi had gone, as he had watched the five youths pile into it and speed off after obviously finding the keys. He moved quickly across the road in a low run, moving up the path. He checked the curled up body of the man for a pulse, finding nothing. He was virtually unrecognisable, battered to a pulp and covered in blood, his glasses smashed on the paving slab next to him. Jerry took a deep breath and crept up the steps. There were still lights on in the house, and he suspected that he would wish that there weren’t.
He held the kitchen knife in his outstretched hand before him, glancing in the first room he came to, finding nothing. He knew what he would find as he moved down the hallway, the coppery smell of blood in his nostrils, the even more overwhelming stench of death spreading throughout the ground floor. He found the woman spread-eagled on the kitchen table. On her back, naked, her unseeing eyes staring up at the ceiling, her throat cut.
Jerry had seen death before, in far off places as well as closer to home. He had served in Northern Ireland and the first Gulf War with the British Army, together with two tours of Yugoslavia with NATO. He had never thought he would encounter worse scenes than those that he had found in Srebenica, but looking at the woman in front of him he realised that things were beginning to head that way, in his own country. He had walked a rocky road since leaving the army, and had been deprived of his freedom twice since. He had seen bad things happen in his homeland, but had always kidded himself that those people who had received, had also dealt, and somehow it had always made him feel better. He briefly searched the house, but there was no sign of the child that he had seen through the curtains, and there looked to be two children’s bedrooms. He tried hard not to think what that could mean, and shook his head as if by doing so it would dispel his thoughts.
He fought down the urge to search the house for anything useful. Tinned food or anything useable as a weapon were high on his list, but he knew that despite the hour, this was not the place to be found. He had seen no police for three days now, and the electricity was beginning to become sporadic, but he could take no chances. He hurried back across the road and in through the back door, locking it securely behind him. He started slightly at the sight of Vicki holding a rolling pin, standing in the doorway. If it wasn’t for the look on his face he might have laughed. He didn’t.
She didn’t have to say anything, the question was all over her face. He didn’t want to hurt her, but however tough she was, she had two children to look after. It was better she knew how quickly the world was going to shit around them. There was no point in lying to her.
“The adults are dead” he said, watching her flinch at his words and regretting the harshness of them. Her eyes glistened with tears, her bottom lip quivered.
“The kids?” she stammered.
“No sign. They’ve gone.”
She balled her left hand into a fist and brought it up to her mouth, her eyes screwed shut with the grief, the pain. He watched her try and control herself and was impressed that within thirty seconds she seemed to have achieved it. She was tough. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, she stood a chance.
“What now?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“I need rest” he said. “Early morning is the best time. Four, five hours should be enough, but you need to stay awake ideally. They’re not at the stage of simply breaking into houses yet, but it won’t be long.”
She nodded before replying:
“I’m a light sleeper anyway, I’m a mother” She tried to smile as she said it, but it was weak and soon disappeared from her face. “Sleep on my bed if you want, it’s the most comfy and you’ll be close to me and the children.”
He nodded, knowing it made sense.

He awoke just after seven, watery sunlight coming through the net curtains, crowbarring open his eyelids. He had always slept that way, allowing the natural light of the day to awake him. When he had been in control of his own life that was.
He was surprised to find Vicki lying on the bed next to him, both of them dressed and on top of the sheets. She was looking at him as he turned, her deep eyes seeming to search into his soul, undressing him before her. She smiled, her hands on top of one another in front of her.
“Who are you, Jerry, really?”
She needed to know, he realised. Needed to know that the man she was now relying on with both her and her children’s lives was something real, not just a friend of a friend that both he and David had introduced him as. She was tough, but she was hanging on by a thread, and he had known many women that would have unravelled by now.
“I’m David’s brother, but we hadn’t seen each other for many years before I reappeared a few days ago.”
Her eyes clouded with confusion. She obviously knew nothing about David having a brother, and she was suspicious. The question of Jerry being a tall, well built, bald headed half caste in his early forties and David being white, thin, mid to late thirties and looking as though free weights could kill him, obviously confused her further.
“I’m an orphan. Mother was a prostitute in Bristol, od’d when I was eighteen months. Got passed around for a while before David’s mom and dad adopted me.”
She seemed to believe it, he thought, and her eyes said she certainly wanted to believe it, but there was still an element of mistrust.
“I’ve never met any of his family” she said, “but he’s always been good to us, so I can’t complain.”
Jerry nodded before replying, his gaze switching to the ceiling before landing back on her.
“I’ve seen the photo’s downstairs” he said, “the kids are his aren’t they?”
She looked startled at that, as though it was a secret no one else had ever guessed.
“What are their full names?” he asked, ploughing on.
“Jeremy Stephen and George Andrew, why?”
“My full name is Jeremy Solomon” he replied, smiling, “but I guess Solomon was a step too far. George is our father, and Andrew was David’s natural brother who was disabled. He died before he was eight.”
They both lay there for a while, looking at each other, before Vicki finally broke the silence:
“Pleased to meet you, Jeremy Solomon. Now I’ve decided you are who you say you are, there’s something you should see.”

Not bad Swoops , few of the lines i didnt like ...

didn’t back up the impression that the bat was trying to give out.

They milled together at the gate, like a wolf pack waiting

The crowbar breaking the monotony.
Maybe just me being a fussy bugger mind...

Thanks....i think

Was that a complement ODM? i'm not really sure

best not get them published if they're that depressing

Win, I prefer your mother

Pretty good that Swoops allthough I got slightly lost as I read on because I didn't know the background of the story, I was ok until I got to this bit..

I thought why would he be looking for tin food to use as a weapon

Or

They milled around at the gate like a PACK of WOLVES , waiting to pounce ..

Er , as for that leg of lamb as a weapon , that was used in a Tales of the Unexpected episode , the wife offered the detective some for his dinner ...