22 June, 2013

#SpecialFeature :: #Spotlight on Blood Honeymoon by Charlie Flowers

Now Presenting:
*** SPECIAL FEATURE - June'13 ***

Blood Honeymoon (The Rizwan Sabir Mysteries #3) by Charlie Flowers 
Rizwan Sabir - ex al-Qaeda jihadi, now a fixer for a shadowy branch of the Ministry of Defence. 
Holly "Bang-Bang" Kirpachi - hard-bitten girl gang leader.
Their marriage will be the social event of the season!
But their wedding celebrations are interrupted by a series of murders in the East End of London. Someone is emulating the Ripper, and a beleaguered Home Office attaches Riz and Bang-Bang to the case. Whitechapel is simmering with tension. Can they catch the killer before it boils over? And are there other, darker forces at work?

Read An Excerpt


We met Colonel Mahoney in the lobby of the Home Office building on Marsham Street. He walked us to the lifts. A guard with a key unlocked the right-hand lift, messed with the controls, and indicated we should board. The Colonel hit the button for the top. I waited till we were on our way and then spoke. ‘OK. Remind me why she’s sent for us and what we have to do with a murder? This is Met jurisdiction, 
He smiled mirthlessly. ‘We’re needed. You’ll see why.’ 
I watched the floors stream by. ‘Fair one.’ 
I suddenly remembered something and stuck my hand out palm outwards. ‘Holly. We’re meeting the Home Secretary. Gum. Spit please.’ 
She spat the gum into my hand and grinned. The Colonel gave a despairing look skywards. The doors opened onto the plush carpeting of the top floor. We turned right and walked. ‘Holly babe, listen. No touching technological stuff, right?’ 
The Colonel looked down at her. ‘You haven’t met the Home Secretary yet, have you Holly?’ 
‘Nope. What’s she like?’ 
‘Like Rosa Klebb with better shoes.’

The Home Secretary was at her desk, signing her way through a sheaf of forms. Intercept warrants? Who knew. In the corner, like Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire Cat, sat a very rarely-sighted beast indeed. The Cabinet Secretary. The most senior civil servant in the country. He said nothing and studiously made notes as we gathered around the desk. 
The Colonel cleared his throat and began to introduce us, but within half a second, the thousand-watt politician focus had settled on Bang-Bang and the Home Secretary was around the table giving her the full handshake grip. ‘And you must be the famous Holly!’ Bang-Bang took her hand and just smiled back, with a wonky look. The Home Secretary’s gaze fell on Bang-Bang’s tattooed arms, and then on the Colonel and me. ‘Great work, both of you. Great work! And congratulations on your marriage. Shame about the Americans but they should have thought about what they were biting off to chew. Well done. Now…’ 
She returned to take station behind her desk. ‘Please, sit. Have a look at these.’ 
Some folders were slid our way. ‘Photos from the two crime scenes. I’m sorry Holly.’ Bang-Bang shrugged. The Home Secretary was talking to the Colonel. ‘In case you’re wondering, Philip has signed off on this, so you’re cleared to work with us for the duration and…’ But I was watching Bang-Bang out the corner of my eye. Her fingers were pressed white on the colour blow-ups of her murdered friend and there was an expression of silent fury on her face, which passed as though it had never been there. Presently she smiled and looked at us. 
‘Her name was Fifi. Fifi Blitz. Riz shohar meray, what do you see?’ I leant in and looked and she took my arm. A dead girl, her throat and wrists cut, white as paper and glassy-eyed in death. I sensed the Colonel watching me with interest. Something about the knife wounds nagged at me. But for the life of me I couldn’t think what. The whitewashed wall behind her was stickered and flyered with several layers of posters, bill stickers… The Home Secretary had turned her focus back to the Colonel, 
together with its coaxial politician charm. ‘David. It’s been so hectic. How was the move to Feltham? How is the new setup suiting you?’ 
‘They have us at the end of the main wing. To be honest Ma’am, it’s a bit like being AirTanker Ltd.’ 
They laughed. The Cabinet Secretary scribbled with his LeBlanc pen. I was turning the photos, away from the partials of the corpses. I didn’t want to look at that. This was from the first crime scene. There. On the walls. A black-and-yellow sticker with craggy writing. Hard to make out, but - ‘Same sticker. Got a blowup?’ 
‘Unfortunately not, as it was two separate teams and they didn’t see it as significant.’ 
I did. I recognised the style. ‘These are al-Muhajiroun stickers.’ 
The Home Secretary just nodded at me. The Colonel slid another folder in my direction. ‘You and Holly will be attached to the Murder Investigation Team, and you’ll like this bit - it’s headed up by Lennie George. We had to move him away from the Flying Squad to somewhere where there was less heat.’ 
We grinned. We liked Lennie. ‘Gambling again?’ 
He nodded. ‘‘Fraid so, he’s into all kinds of gangsters for all kinds of debt. You two look after him, OK?’ 
We nodded back. He continued. ‘You may also recognise his second-in-command, Greg Rich.’ 
I felt myself blanch. ‘Oh for FUCK’s sake boss! Sorry Home Secretary. He’s the one who kept nicking me!’ 
The Colonel was laughing. The bastard had got me again. ‘Boss, if he was any more bent kids would slide down him on coconut mats. He’s a racist, bent, bigoted…’ 
‘OK Riz we get it. Have you still got your notes from your Snowdrop training?’ 
‘Yes boss. Remember it all like yesterday.’ The Colonel was referring to the RAF Police, colloquially 
known as the Snowdrops. Shortly after being sprung from prison and inducted into the Colonel’s outfit, I’d been sent on two courses - six months with the Intelligence Corps at Chicksands, 
and then six more months and an operational tour with the RAF Police. The course at Chicksands had covered headquarters staff work, agent-handling and interpreting intelligence; the course at 
RAF Halton had covered everything from criminal law and investigations, to advanced driving. 
Technically, my fifteen months training with al-Qaeda had got me to section commander and intelligence operator level, but al-Qaeda didn’t give out certificates and the MOD wouldn’t have 
recognised them if they did. So back in I went. The Colonel was talking. ‘Aaanyway - you’ll be based with the MIT at Bethnal Green police station. You know where that is.’
I did. ‘Sure that’s wise? It’s about half a klick from the building we just demolished.’ 
‘It’s the only station in the area with any spare room for the team and its gear, as all the other local nicks have been commandeered by SO15. Can’t imagine why.’ 
Bang-Bang and I suddenly found the curtains and decor incredibly interesting. The Colonel continued regardless. ‘Look on the bright side you two, it’s not Limehouse nick. And the canteen has 5 stars from Scores on the Doors.’ 
The Home Secretary was tapping her pen down a sheet of paper on her desk. It looked like a schedule and she seemed to be counting backwards to herself. She looked up. ‘It’s ten days till I address the Conservative Party spring forum. So you have ten days to fix this and bring me a result. I have every confidence in you, Colonel Mahoney, and your team.’
She clicked her pen. ‘That is all.’

Raves & Reviews

Excellent book from an excellent writer! We need more Riz by Flowers! ~~ Nick on Goodreads

Bloody, thought provoking (on a par with todays troubles and indeed the past) and heavy doses of wry satire. Do yourself a favour, the Riz stories educate and open your mind. Bloody Brilliant. ~~ Dani on Amazon

It's suddenly all a bit film noir really, but it works... Riz has it all... ~~ Ruth on Goodreads

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