VOL. 5 / BLOOD RED CARPETS

INT. HOLLYWOOD VILLA – KITCHEN – MORNING. Sausages sizzle atop an island hob. Sunlight blinks through swaying blinds. Everything in perfect order – the American dream in sinks and worktops. We pull back. Blood streaks between floor tiles and wells at the foot of the island. A limp hand. A lifeless body.

VOL. 3 / HOLD ‘EM / FOLD ‘EM

Every time I come up against a decent poker player I think, ‘Now they’d give Columbo a good run for his money.’ Then when I watch my hard earned chips pushed in their direction I fantasise about them incriminating themselves in frustration after a deliciously meandering tangent. ‘That’ll show them,’ I smile as I slip on my jacket and head out into the cold, several pounds lighter.