Armstrong Ugly Dogs Don't Cry

1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-913090-47-0
Verlag: Jacaranda Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 344 Seiten

Reihe: Twenty in 2020

A modern retelling of Steinbeck's classic Of Mice and Men, this landmark work from DD Armstrong is a poignant look at intimacy, friendship, and masculinity. Best friends Kyle and Sideeq are beginning their first year of college in West London. Sideeq, a talented aspiring artist, spends his time perfecting his artwork and hanging out with his friends while having to learn how to process the harrowing events of his past. Kyle's ambitions are to become a rapper and a successful businessman. Though the deep bond of friendship formed between Kyle and Sideeq puts them on a path to achieve their dreams, college soon brings with it serious teenage social politics and a bully that terrorizes their friend group. As they navigate new friendships and love interests, will the two boys continue to fortify each other and help each other succeed? Or will the newfound stressors in their lives pull them apart forever? 'The premise of this novel alone caught my attention, the author behind it even more so. With exceptional skill and sharp insight, DD Armstrong creates the most authentic representation of West London youth culture I've seen yet; his voice is fluid and natural, a joy to read, ranging from the humorous, to the emotionally gut wrenching within a few immersive pages. Here is a writer with infinite promise at his fingertips. Something tells me, with this reworked classic, he's only just getting started.' - Courttia Newland, author of A River Called Time

DD Armstrong is an author, playwright and international educator who holds a MA in Stage & Screenwriting after earning a scholarship from Regents University. He is the creator of The Beyond Words anthology. He teaches Self Development Through Creative Writing to prisoners in the UK and the United States. DD is also a script consultant and his portfolio includes working at the BBC Writersroom as well consulting for a number of British feature films including The Intent and Adulthood.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Armstrong, Dd

Leseproben

PROLOGUE

Kyle Jones despised being questioned by strangers. If he didn’t know the person quizzing him, even the smallest of questions could feel like an interrogation. He wasn’t suspicious by nature, but his spirit never took to having to explain himself. So any type of probing that wasn’t to his liking could easily test his patience—especially if it came in a sequence:

As a child Kyle’s mum had often told him, “Kyle, don’t answer my question with a question, do you understand?”

He did. His mother’s words were often filled with the oxymora of her Caribbean upbringing and the hypocritical nature of parents. She could be stern and demanding, and at times liked to call him a ‘Human Why-ing Machine,’ but there were still levels to who Kyle Jones was willing to share or distribute information with. Where he was from, answering a question wasn’t always just answering a question. His older cousins had beat that into him from a young age. There were consequences to who you spoke with. A thin line in how much a person should convey, and questions were designed with one purpose. The difference between punishment and reward, stigma and accolade hinged on two factors—the agenda of the person asking, and how you answered.

So by instinct whenever questioned, a series of counterarguments ticked away in the back of Kyle’s mind. If Kyle couldn’t satisfy he own inquisition, he had an inherent mistrust for those who posed too many questions.

So when he was contacted by Mansfield and Thompson, one of the top legal firms in London, he was apprehensive. He knew that if he agreed to attend there was no turning back. His every word would be open to scrutiny and anything he said could be put down on file and possibly used against him.

Normally Kyle would’ve scoffed at that. He was too familiar with professionals from the legal justice system. They didn’t scare him. He had been paraded in front of police officers, detectives, solicitors, barrister, QC’s and hawk-faced judges that peered down at him just long enough for Kyle to meet their eyes and scowl back. He had spent hours in the dock, mouth dry and asking for water as legal wizards tried to dissect and pick holes in his testimony. Spinning their spells. He had listened as they berated and fiercely rebuked his account as a pack of lies. He’d studied the reaction of enchanted jury members as they heeded warnings of his personal vendettas. Too many times he had looked towards the public gallery where guards separated feuding families while in the midst a victim’s mother cried, only to be consoled by those who sought retribution in the guise of justice.

Kyle wasn’t scared of legal people and their umpteen questions. Why? Because he had studied the law himself. He’d studied it in a way that most of the people at Mansfield & Thompson would never understand or appreciate. So why did he feel so nervous?

Sitting in the waiting area suited and booted in a white shirt, tie, and navy suit, Kyle felt like a foreigner. He was an alien in the truest form. He looked around at the paralegals and barristers that buzzed around the office like bees in a hive. They were the types he’d seen all his life, on their way to work carrying the huge leather satchels and stacks of files in their hand. The type that didn’t give people like him a second glance outside the courtroom or police stations unless it was to calculate whether they could reach the empty seat on the train before him. Even now he was still invisible to them. He watched as they worked in a hum akin to a war room, performing in a chaotic harmony, dodging archive boxes, passing folders and printing documents as though this were their natural order.

He sat in wonderment and asked himself, ‘What am I doing here?’

He concluded this wasn’t his world. No one looked like him, no one moved like him, and no one really wanted to see him….

Then one person caught his eye.

The moment he stepped in, his aura screamed at Kyle and wooed his attention. The tall figure was an outsider. He leaned on the reception desk and with long spider-like fingers signed the logbook. His hood obscured his face like an assassin, or Death. His presence rattled Kyle, but as he came closer Kyle recognised something about his long limbs and thin frame. He recognized the heavy stride and bad man bop. Kyle recognized the roadman uniform of black hooded top, jogging bottoms, black gilet and Air Force Ones as though he had issued it himself from a JD Sports. As the man dropped and slouched into the seat opposite, Kyle knew he recognised everything about this man—but from the expression on both their faces, it was obvious neither of them actually knew each other.

For a moment the man eyed Kyle curiously, not seeming to know what to make of him in his navy suit. It was clear that Kyle must’ve been an anomaly to him, something strange that didn’t belong. He frowned and his dry face was full of angst. He looked like he had just got up and this extra puzzle vexed his lack of sleep. He shifted in his seat, sizing Kyle up, then snorted. Restless, he checked his surroundings like Kyle had, then turned to the potted plant on the side table of magazines and gobbed in it. His green, phlegmy spit soaked the dark soil and he rubbed his thick, uncombed hair before picking up a GQ magazine. He flicked through, seeming uninterested in the pages, but instead using the magazine as a prop. He tossed it back down, and then looked up at Kyle, daring him to glare back. Kyle smirked and met his gaze, and the two outsiders entered into unspoken ritual that was invisible to the foreign world around them. Unbeknown to the hooded man, Kyle grinned because he knew they were polar opposites on the same spectrum. He could have broken the ice and reassured the man he was no threat to him, but that’s not how the ritual goes. Instead he tilted his head and glared back, waiting for the man’s next move. The longer they stared at each other, the more the man would have to say something or look away. The man looked away, but he wasn’t done. He turned back again, leaning forward to sit on the edge of his chair.

“You good, bruv?” he said, escalating the ritual to the next stage.

Kyle face stayed placid. His grin didn’t move and he replied, “More than.”

His answer threw the man and Kyle watched him calculating his next move.

“What ends you from?”

Kyle chuckled to himself, but before he could answer the receptionist called his name. “Mr Jones? Mr Mansfield is ready to see you now.”

At the sound of the prestigious barrister’s name the man sat back and looked at Kyle, intrigued. Kyle stood up and fixed his the crease in his trousers. He looked at the man trying to work out the enigma in front him and said, “I’m from West, blood. But man are bigger than da ends, you get me?”

Outclassed, the man smiled. The ritual was over and Kyle gave him a cheeky wink before disappearing towards Mansfield’s office.

Their brief encounter knocked the edge off Kyle’s nerves and he felt more assured as he entered Mansfield’s office. He found the QC sitting behind a large vintage ebony wood executive desk, reading a document. He wore a pair black of Ultra Goliath frames like Elliot Gould in . Looking up at Kyle he smiled and offered him a seat. His deep voice rumbled in a baritone pitch that had the magnitude of thunder. Although he barely exercised it, Kyle was fully aware of Mansfield’s vocal dexterity. His reputation preceded him. Barristers weren’t just bestowed the honour of Queen’s Counsel for length of service. Robert Mansfield had over 40 years of experience trying high profile cases. From defending IRA suspects, to prosecuting warlords in The Hague, fighting right wing racists and police corruption, ‘Our man Bob’, as the press nicknamed him, was a legal giant. Closing the document, the heavy-set man in his seventies removed his glasses. His thick white mane reminded Kyle of his old college principal, with the addition of a side parting. Without the thick frames the heavy bags under Mansfield’s eyes were visible, and experience hung from the jowls around his cheeks. Leaning back, he rocked in his chair and studied Kyle. Raising a bushy eyebrow, he looked like a grizzly bear chewing a piece of bark as he gnawed the arm of his glasses.

“Kyle Jones, is it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Jones” he said taking a sip of water. He flicked through the paper once more. “This is a very bold paper young man. Did you write it yourself?”

For a nanosecond Kyle frowned. He didn’t like that question, but before he could say something stupid his inner voice screamed . Masking his annoyance, he smiled politely and replied, “Unfortunately.”

“Good, good,” Mansfield said scratching his ear. “It’s a well written piece with lots of ambition, lots of vigour. Your...