A Touch of Gold

by Griffiths, Norman

• ISBN13: 9781449094225
• ISBN10: 1449094228
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2010-06-17
• Publisher: Textstream

Summary

Silas Lydden is an old Blues harmonica player who is afraid to be alone, afraid of the dark, and most of all afraid of dying. The only thing he could do to forget his fears was to stay drunk. When he is discovered sleeping in a bed of roses at a Garden Centre his life changes forever.His step-son Dion is one of the most powerful men in the music industry. As a young man he led one of the most successful rock bands of the era. The lead guitarist was his best friend Gordon King and Gordon's sister, Maggie, often joined them on tour as a guest singer and keyboard player.Maxie McMahon was Dion's bodyguard. He was a violent man who turned into a killer after his wife and unborn son were crushed by a truck. McMahon blamed Gordon King and sought revenge.Years later Mike King followed in his father's foorsteps and was earning a reputation as a great guitar player, but when Maxie McMahon tries to kill him, his injuries bring an end to his music career. He now lives with his wife Frankie and daughter Zoe, has turned his back on music and grows roses for the Garden Centre that he manages.They look after Silas for a few days until he recovers and is encouraged by Maggie King to sober up and fight his fears. He finds a new lease on life and asks Mike to become his business partner in the music industry. Silas has never felt so good as his relationship with the King family develops into the best thing that has ever happened to him. Everything changes when a series of horrific murders and a kidnapping brings Police Inspectors Tracey Phoenix and Ray Lomas into their lives.

Excerpts

The young man was ......something else. He stood six feet tall, dark hair and rugged good looks. Twenty five years of age and the best guitar player in town, or any other town within a thousand miles. At least that's what his mother said, and she was always right.
He couldn't help it, he didn't walk, he swaggered.  He crossed the car park towards the club, guitar case over his shoulder, and climbed the steps to the front door. He was met by a hand the size of a ham pushing him in the chest and stopping all forward motion.
"Over 25's only kid, go and play somewhere else."
"My name's on the door man," he replied to the mountain that stood in front of him.
"What's your name punk? Exit?"  The giant laughed and looked at the girl standing next to the entrance. She was painfully thin and smiled at the big man. "Funny," she laughed nervously. Frightened but at the same time hoping to keep him happy so that she would get the fix her body was screaming out for.
He could feel the huge, sweaty hand press into his chest and droplets of saliva hit his cheek. "She teach you to read that big word?" the young man sneered, "Ask her to read you the posters."
He showed the guitar case hanging off his shoulder and slowly, mockingly said, "I'm Mike King and I am the main attraction here tonight, playing with Silas. You know, your boss' father."
The doorman stared at him, eyes wild and slightly bloodshot. He towered over the young punk. Six foot eight and four hundred powerful pounds, he was fifty years old but still fit, although his waistline had spread since he had retired from professional wrestling, and he was now twice the size he had been when he was thrown out of the Marines for being too violent.
He dropped his hand from the young man's chest and smiled wryly.
"Mr King. I didn't recognise you sir. I've been told to expect you." He turned to his skeletal girlfriend, she was young enough to have been his daughter, "Francine, take this young man to the stage entrance while I get your wages so you can go home."
"Ok Maxie. Thanks." She was excited, knowing exactly what he meant by "wages". She didn't work, she hung around outside the club with Maxie. She had just moved in with him and sometimes gave him and his friends sexual favours in exchange for heroin. She was his on-call alibi whenever the cops became interested in his movements, a loyal puppy and occasional punch-bag.
"Follow me handsome." She hurriedly tripped down the wooden steps and turned left alongside the club. "Come on honey, this way." she called from the dimly lit alley.
When he caught up with her she was standing outside a steel door at the rear of the building. She smiled nervously and looked down at her feet. She avoided his gaze.
He could see her trembling as she impatiently paced back and forth outside the door. It was hard to guess her age, thirty, maybe thirty five. Her large, dark eyes looked even bigger in the half light. She was painfully thin, the type of thin that usually meant drugs or anorexia, or both. She was probably pretty once, a long time ago.
"You know, if you're finishing your shift now you should stick around and watch the show. I'm pretty good. The best you'll see in this place."
"No thanks," she replied and turned to face the door.
She was wearing a small vest top and he could see a tattoo of an angel and the name Connor on her right shoulder.
"Husband waiting for you?" he asked.
She turned to face him, "What makes you think that?"
"Connor" he answered nodding towards her right shoulder.
Her dark eyes looked into his, "Dead baby," she answered coldly.
"I'm Sorry, How did..."
She turned away quickly as the sound of the heavy steel door being opened stopped him mid-sentence. The light from inside the club lit the alley as Maxie stepped out and thrust a small packet into her hand. "I'll be late home baby," he said laughingly, "there's going to be some great entertainment here tonight."
As she pushed past the young man he thought he saw tears running down her cheeks from those deep dark eyes.
She disappeared at the end of the alley and he turned to walk through the door. Maxie grabbed the guitar case and pulled it from his shoulder.
"Hey don't mess with that, give it back man."
"Show's cancelled punk." he growled as his huge hand closed around the young man's throat and squeezed.
Mike King could not breathe as the monster lifted him clean off his feet and pressed him against the wall. He held him there with his left hand while he used his right hand to smash the beautiful Washburn Jumbo acoustic guitar into the wall of the club.
Lights were flashing in his head as the big man's hand crushed his windpipe. He couldn't breathe as he saw his beautiful guitar being smashed into splinters.
Suddenly he felt a huge rush of air fill his lungs as the grip on his throat was released and he felt himself falling to the ground. Before he could take a second breath he was lifted from the floor by his hair and the precious air was forced from his body as the huge fist pounded into his stomach. The pain was unbearable as he fought for air. He knew he would never draw another breath. His solar plexus had imploded and no matter how hard he fought he could not breathe.
He fell to his knees and looked down to see that the neck of his shattered guitar had been plunged into his abdomen. The pain was more than he could ever have imagined. Every nerve in his body was screaming as he felt his life being torn from him.
He heard himself begging for it to stop, to let him die. This shocked him as he had always thought that he would live forever. Fight to the bitter end. Never give up on life.
He started to slip into unconsciousness. This was not how he had imagined dying. Lying in a pool of piss, in an alley behind a two bit club. He had a talent that he wanted to share with the world. God–given his mother had always said. He almost felt glad that she had died and would not have to know how her pride and joy had left this earth.
"I wonder if she's waiting for me," he thought. "No, there couldn't be a heaven, could there?"
He had missed her so much.
He felt himself getting weaker and actually hoping that he would die soon and be with his darling mother again.
A dark shape appeared above him.
He could hear him laughing, mocking him, "You sure are the main attraction here tonight. Just like your daddy was."
It was Maxie.
In his right hand he held a hammer.