Doug Johnstone

OK, so here’s the fifth and final extract from Smokeheads. If you like it, why not buy the book here?

This is a fairly extreme passage involving a mashed skull and a bullet. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of an appropriate image to go with this, and you don’t even want to know about the google image search. So I went for a couple of scenic Islay pics.

Hope you’ve enjoyed reading the bits and bobs from the book, and thanks for stopping by.

Smokeheads, extract #5

He took a deep breath and began tentatively poking into the gaping wound in Luke’s head with the pen, his trembling hands making it impossible to control it with any precision. There was a deep fluttering in his stomach, teetering on the brink of vomiting at any minute.
At least a quarter of Luke’s head was smashed in where Joe had hacked away at it, one side of the face a hash of minced flesh and broken bone, the eye just a sticky mess of creamy mucus. The surrounding hair was matted and thick with blood, the ear completely missing, or in there but unrecognisable, the whole thing a shiny red and black hellhole of flesh.
Molly pointed the torch at the wound but looked away. Adam heard a faint squelching sound as he pushed some purple material aside, a chunk of something fleshy falling out. His stomach lurched and he coughed stinging bile onto the snow to his side. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked back at the wound.
Molly’s torch beam had moved, so he positioned her hand again. He stuck the pen in again, unsure what the hell he was even looking for, why the fuck he was doing this. He lifted a flap of something out of the way and saw sickly grey jelly oozing out from underneath. The brain. Everything that made Luke who he was, or had been, was in that gruesome lump of soft putty. He caught a faint whiff of a smell, like something rotting in the back of the fridge, and he gagged, retching again into the snow as he turned from the mess of Luke’s head.
‘Want me to do it?’ said Molly.
He shook his head and turned back. He forced himself to poke about in the gaping maw, moving loose bits aside, flicking under and into crevices, trying to work out where a bullet might be, if it was in there at all. But it had to still be in there, didn’t it? That’s what had puzzled Joe back at the still, there was no exit wound. Adam knew from Luke’s scar that the metal plate was somewhere round the back of his head, did that mean the bullet was in the same area? Or could it have ricocheted back inside his skull?
Adam was getting frustrated, digging deeper and deeper into the flesh and muscle and skull and brains and finding nothing. He could feel sweat cooling and freezing on his brow. His stomach had gotten used to what he was doing, but his mind hadn’t. He would see this image every night while he slept for the rest of his life. Luke’s open head would haunt him into eternity.
He couldn’t find anything. Maybe the bullet had made it out after all. Or maybe it was buried deep in the middle of the brain, or stuck in the skull somewhere, or lodged in the metal plate at the other side. He pushed the pen in almost as far as it would go, then felt a gentle clunk as it tapped the metal plate. He pulled it out and examined it, several inches of slime and blood down its length. He was fucked if he was going to dig that deep into Luke’s consciousness. But maybe he would have to. He started again in the debris he could see, gradually sweeping through the layers of fleshy mess. He saw something glimmer amongst the carnage, something metallic.
‘Hold the torch closer,’ he said, moving Molly’s wrist again. ‘I’ve found something.’
Molly glanced at the wound then looked away. ‘The bullet?’
‘I think so.’
He stuck the pen in. To reach it, he had to rest his hands against the cold, bloody flesh of the wound, holding the pen in both hands to try to keep it steady. A shudder went through his body as he touched Luke’s raw flesh. He flicked at the object with the pen but it didn’t budge. He leaned in further and tried again, but it still wouldn’t move. He tried a third time and the thing slipped further into the surrounding grey matter, so that only the very end was visible.
‘Shit.’
‘What?’
‘It’s fucking slippery.’ He turned to Molly. ‘I’m going to have to get it with my fingers.’
Molly closed her eyes and Adam turned back. He took a deep breath. Serenity now.
‘Wish me luck.’
‘Good luck.’
Grimacing, he reached in and began scraping flesh and brain out of the way. It felt like raw mince, but he kept going. He reached for the object lodged in the brain but it slipped from his shaking hands, burying itself deeper into the mess. He grabbed a handful of brain and ripped it out of the way, wiping his hand on the adjacent eye socket. The object was exposed. He reached back in and dug it out, getting brain under his fingernails, his stomach now spasm after spasm, his eyes watering, his forehead sweating, his whole body shivering with the cold and the stress and the repulsive truth of what he was doing.
He lifted it out and held it up.
‘Thank fuck,’ he said, showing the bullet to Molly.

OK, so here’s the fourth extract from Smokeheads, hope you like it. If you do, why not buy the book here? Just a thought.

This wee scene features some arguing, some violence, some whisky tasting, some coke sniffing and a car crash – yay!

Smokeheads, extract #4

Bad feeling hung in the car. Roddy pushed buttons on the stereo.
‘Fucking cheap shite,’ he growled. ‘Piece of crap bollocks.’
He got out a hipflask, took a swig and passed it to Luke, sitting impassively next to him. Ethan was wedged between Molly and a forlorn Adam in the back. The Oa sped past outside, a rough blur of greens and browns. Behind them, heavy clouds were roiling over the ocean.
‘I know what you’re all thinking,’ Roddy shouted. ‘I’m the bad guy here. Well, fuck that. We’re talking about over a million fucking quid. If it’s such a great idea, why doesn’t one of you invest in his little plan, eh? See how you like it?’
He drove one-handed, reaching into a pocket for his coke case. He flipped it out, tapped a line onto his steering hand and snorted. The car swerved round a bend too fast then he regained control.

‘Easy, man,’ said Luke, passing the hipflask into the back. Ethan and Molly passed. Adam took it and stared at Roddy.
‘You think I can’t see you glaring at me?’ said Roddy into the rearview mirror. ‘The silent treatment is schoolboy stuff, give it a fucking rest.’
‘Why don’t you give it a rest,’ said Adam quietly.
‘What?’
‘You haven’t shut up since we got to Islay. You’re a big coked-up bullshit machine, running on the sound of your own voice.’
‘Fuck you, dipshit.’
‘I think we all need to calm down,’ said Ethan. ‘Why don’t we just pretend this little outing never happened, OK?’
‘It’s not as simple as that,’ said Adam, taking a big swig from the flask.
‘Guess what you’re drinking,’ said Roddy, laughing.
‘Go to hell,’ Adam snarled.
‘Go on, you know you want to.’
Furious as he was, Adam still couldn’t resist the challenge. He took a sniff then a sip. Hard to taste straight from the flask, pewter and polish contaminating the palate, but he got a massive raw boot of peat, at least 40 ppm, followed by green apples and mint, then syrup and raisins. It was impressive. Young and a bit showy, but huge body. He’d never tasted it before, but the gimmicky flavours suggested the one distillery where they were always dicking around with new expressions.
‘Bruichladdich,’ he said.
‘Go on.’
‘Peaty, but not enough to be the Octomore,’ he said. ‘A Port Charlotte?’
‘Which one?’
‘PC6?’
Roddy tilted his head. ‘I don’t know how you do it, it’s a fucking gift.’
‘Don’t patronise me, you fathead prick.’
‘I was paying you a fucking compliment.’
Adam chucked the flask into Roddy’s lap. ‘If you think I’m such a bloody expert, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and back me up?’
‘There’s a big difference between telling Caol Ila from Lagavulin and running your own business, trust me.’
‘I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You’re nothing but a self-centred jerk-off, looking out for number one.’
‘Of course I am, you’re the same, everyone is,’ said Roddy, glancing back. ‘The difference is, at least I’m fucking honest about it.’
‘I’m nothing like you,’ said Adam.
‘Yeah, you’re a fucking hypocrite,’ said Roddy. ‘You’re only upset because you didn’t get your own way back at the distillery. You’ve always been like that, a spoilt little arsehole with delusions of moral superiority.’
Adam was surprised to see his own fist moving fast towards the front of the car, clumsily catching Roddy on the side of the head somewhere behind his left ear.
‘Shit,’ said Roddy jerking forward and making the car lurch. ‘What the fuck?’
He looked round and swung his left arm wildly behind him, missing Adam but catching Ethan on the nose with his elbow.
‘Ow,’ said Ethan, holding his hands to his face.
‘Jesus…’ said Molly
‘Watch out, man,’ shouted Luke, bracing himself against the glove compartment.
They all turned and saw a large ram too close in front of them on the road, a sharp bend just ahead. The car swung violently as Roddy grabbed the wheel and lunged for the pedals, trying to regain control, but it was too late. They felt a huge jolt as they smashed into the ram, the car pitching sickeningly out of balance, spinning and skidding then tipping up onto its side, all in a blur, each of them trying to brace themselves for the impact, then suddenly they were upside down and tumbling, crunches, rips and screams filling the air as the car crumpled down the cliff side, Adam briefly noticing the thick, grey wall of cloud rolling in from the sea before he felt a sharp crack to his head, a white flash of incredible, burning pain, then everything went red then violet then black.

OK, it’s Wednesday, so it must be time for the third extract from Smokeheads – I’m running one every day this week, you see. Please read. And buy the book here.

Aye so, our smokeheads get involved in a situation in the local boozer. A gentle precursor of what’s to come.

Smokeheads, extract #3

Molly finished her beer, stood up and put her coat on, fumbling with her arms in the sleeves.
‘Wait,’ said Adam, reaching for her. ‘If you’re definitely going, at least let me walk you home.’
She looked at Adam, then at Joe. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Please.’
She sighed. ‘OK, whatever. Let’s just get out of here.’
Adam downed his whisky and pulled his coat on. They said goodbye and made their way through the crowded bar, Molly leading. A few feet from the door, Joe appeared and grabbed her arm.

‘Leaving so soon?’
Molly tried to shrug him off, but he had a tight hold.
‘Let go,’ she said. ‘I’m going home.’
Joe looked at Adam and laughed. ‘With him? Fuck me, your standards have slipped.’
‘Let go of her,’ said Adam, his pulse pounding in his throat.
Joe laughed again. ‘Or what?’
‘Or I’ll make you.’
‘Just leave it,’ said Molly, struggling.
‘Did you hear that, Grantie?’ said Joe as his short-arsed mate appeared next to him.
‘Yeah,’ said Grant, his eyes darting back and forth, the tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth.
‘This cunt wants some action.’
‘Why don’t you just leave us alone?’ said Adam.
‘You come into my local and leave with my wife and expect me to hold the fucking door for you?’
‘Ex-wife,’ said Molly.
‘What’s the problem here?’ It was Roddy at Adam’s side.
‘It’s OK, I’m handling it,’ said Adam.
Joe laughed sarcastically. ‘It’s OK, he’s handling it, so fuck off.’
‘Sounds like you need a lesson in manners,’ said Roddy.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Joe, rolling his eyes. ‘Listen to college boy.’
He released Molly’s arm, then in a swift movement punched both Roddy and Adam square in the face, buckling them over. He kneed Adam under the chin, knocking him off his feet then rained punches down on the back of Roddy’s head, Molly grabbing his arm but failing to stop the blows.
Luke arrived and shoved Joe off balance, enough for Ethan to pull Roddy out of reach. Adam looked up and shuffled backwards as Molly and Ash helped him up. Joe and Grant glared at them.
‘You lot, out.’ It was the barman, pointing at Adam and the rest.
‘He started it,’ said Roddy, holding his nose.
The barman was nonplussed. ‘Doesn’t matter. I want you out.’
‘You can’t bar me,’ said Ash. ‘I fucking work here.’
‘You and Molly can stay, those four are leaving.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Adam, wheezing and rubbing his chin.
‘Let’s just go,’ said Molly, leading Adam to the door.
The whole pub watched.
‘Run along now,’ Joe hissed between his teeth, fists clenched at his side.
As Roddy passed, Joe dummied a headbutt, sniggering as Roddy flinched.
‘You better hope I never see you cunts again,’ said Joe. ‘I won’t go so easy on you next time.’

OK, here’s the second cheeky wee extract from Smokeheads – I’m running one every day this week. Spread the word. And/or buy the book here.

This is where our four intrepid smokeheads meet the law on Islay for the first time.

Smokeheads, extract #2

Roddy looked in his mirror. ‘Aw, fucksticks. Adam, I thought you said there weren’t any police in this backwater.’
Adam turned to see the flashing lights of a police car right up their arse.
‘I said there weren’t many. Well done on finding one within fifteen minutes.’
For a moment it looked like Roddy was going to try outrunning them.
‘Roddy,’ said Ethan from the back, a tremble in his voice. ‘Come on, pull over.’
Roddy considered this for a long moment, then took his foot off the pedal. ‘OK, Mortgage Boy, have it your way. But I’m waaaaay over the limit if this clown’s got a breathalyser, so hold onto your fucking hats.’
They pulled over and sat, The Killers still blasting away.
‘Turn that off,’ said Luke.
Adam reached for the button and looked at Roddy. ‘Just take it easy, OK?’
Roddy stared at him as if he was a stroppy toddler. ‘Trust me, Kiddo. When have I ever let you down?’
An officer approached the car. Roddy pressed a button and his window whirred open. The occasional snowflake fluttered down outside as the officer filled the window.
‘Out, big guy.’
Roddy smiled around the car as if this was all a huge laugh then got out with an exaggerated sigh. Adam leaned over to get a better view. The copper was big and mean looking, tight muscle under his protective vest. Roddy was gym-fit, but this guy looked like he’d earned his physique in knuckle-fights or the army. He was a few years younger than them and Adam noticed a heavy gold chain round his neck. Was that police regulation?

‘Name and address,’ said the copper.
‘Is there a problem, mate?’ said Roddy, smiling like a visiting dignitary amused by quaint local customs.
‘I’m not your fucking mate,’ said the copper.
‘No need for that language, officer.’
The copper stopped at that and slowly scoped Roddy up and down. Roddy put on a big gleaming smile at the attention. The copper narrowed his dark, glistening eyes and smiled. Adam looked round in the car and shared a worried glance with Ethan.
‘A fucking comedian, aye? Just give me your licence and keep the one-liners for open mic night.’
Roddy handed over his licence and the copper walked to the squad car to radio it in.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Adam, ‘give it a rest, will you? You’re gonna get us all nicked.’
‘Relax,’ said Roddy as the copper returned. ‘It’s all in hand.’
‘Visiting the island long, Mr Hunter?’ The copper handed back the licence.
‘Couple of days.’
‘Business or pleasure?’ the officer asked, throwing a contemptuous look into the car.
‘I’m all about the pleasure, officer.’
‘Well, watch how you go, the roads are dangerous this time of year, especially the speed you were going.’ He dug a pad out a pocket and began writing. ‘Here’s your ticket, you were doing at least 90.’
Roddy looked like he was about to tell the copper that the real speed was three figures when Adam chipped in.
‘Sorry, officer,’ he said cheerily through the window. ‘It won’t happen again.’
The copper looked at him as if he was dogshit on his shoe then turned back to Roddy, giving him a hard stare.
‘Like I say, watch yourself this weekend. Islay’s a pretty wild place. I wouldn’t want you getting into any real trouble out here.’

OK, so every day this week I’m going to run a cheeky wee extract from Smokeheads. If you like what you read, feel free to spread the word. And you can always buy the damn thing here.

First up is the very short prologue.

Smokeheads, extract #1

Blood roared in his ears and his heart thudded as he scrambled across the ice.
Behind him, thousands of heavy shapes filled the night sky and covered the frozen loch, panicked birds creating a mayhem of flapping and crying. From somewhere amongst them a flare sent fingers of violet light searching across the land. He ran on, desperate to escape the nightmare chasing him.
He looked ahead for his friends, but there wasn’t enough light to make anything out. He struggled to breathe as panic forced him onwards, his legs aching and head pounding.
There was a low, heavy creak and the ice split up ahead, slivers of black reaching towards his feet. The ice gave way under him and he plunged into freezing water, the breath hammered out of his body.

He grabbed and scratched at broken shards of ice as he went down, the shock of the cold tensing his muscles and sending spasms through him. His head went under and his face burned.
Thrashing his way to the surface with stiff arms, he tried to call out, but his lungs were empty. He sank, gulping water as he went.
His body jerked as he tried to resurface. His chest was ready to burst as he flailed and thrashed through jagged chunks of ice. His head cleared the water and he thought he saw a hand held out towards him.
He tried to reach for it but missed. He felt his body being dragged back under, the cold sucking the life from him and setting his nerves on fire.
Steeling himself for one last effort, he thrust his body upwards, hoping the hand was still there, hoping someone would save him, hoping there was a way out of this.
He pushed for a final time with every inch of effort he had left, stretching his hands up and out of the water, searching for something to hold on to.