Griff’s Grief

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An hour before dawn, Griff looked through the net curtains of the bay window, out along the dark suburban London street. His vantage point allowed him to see any anything happening in the street. This was now part of his daily routine, to be up and prepared before dawn. If anything were to happen this was the most likely time.

He’d been on the run, looking over his shoulder for nearly four months now. He’d been in some scrapes in all his forty-odd years lifetime, but this time it was life-threatening. It wouldn’t have been too bad if it was from the Police. All he would have to do is wander into the local station and hand himself in for 3 meals a day and a good night’s sleep.

But he wasn’t on the run from the Police. He’d an affair with the wrong woman. Technically, her husband should still be inside at her majesties pleasure for murder and everything else in the book. Somehow he was out at liberty and hot on Griff’s trail, although she’d promised him it would be okay.

Dougie was an ‘Old School’ gangster from Glasgow. Even when young he was big for his age, winning him the nickname of ‘Wee’ Dougie, but never to his face. He grew up copying the razor gangs of the 60s, in the 90s. He progressed through burglary and mugging, to robbing Post Offices and small Building Societies.

Wee Dougie’s reputation stretched far and wide, not only for his means of gaining money but also for his lack of care for anyone who crossed him. Rumours abounded over some of his associates disappearing or losing their kneecaps. Various drive-by shootings were attributed to him and anyone who crossed him had a habit of committing ‘suicide’ by falling off railway bridges under trains or falling off cliffs into raging seas.

Griff glanced down at his phone screen to see the view from his Wi-Fi camera set up on the back of the house. With four of the gardens having kennelled dogs, the barking would alert him to any intruders before his camera picked them out.

Griff was ready to run. Dressed, with his coat and shoes on and a bag packed full of all his worldly belongings at his feet. In his pockets were his wallet, passport and two sets of keys. One set of keys for the car registered in his new name and one set for the car parked on the street behind, still in the original owner’s name. Both cars were legal so as not to draw attention from the Police. Both gave him escape route options, with easy motorway connections, although he needed to plan his next bolt hole.

His skills from his service in the Merchant Navy were perfect for temporary work, whether welding, designing or being a mechanic. How Dougie had followed him down the country was beyond him, being never more than two or three weeks behind him.

Four months ago his contract in the Rosyth shipyard, working on her majesty’s new aircraft carrier, was a goose laying the golden egg. Being only twenty minutes from his house in Fife and the best hourly rate he had ever earned, with unlimited overtime. The first year alone had paid his mortgage off and his credit cards from years of globetrotting.

He had full security access and the front security gate was like Fort Knox. But with Wee Dougie out of prison, staying there was not an option with it being too obvious and Dougie so close. He caught a lift off a workmate after clearing his desk out and left.

He used contacts in Glasgow but only a week later they missed him by minutes as he left by the back door they were knocking on the front. Glasgow still has an active underworld and the old networks still worked.

Part of the problem in Scotland is his Fifer accent stands out like a sore thumb. Despite the five or six accents in Glasgow, everyone can recognise a Fifer.

He hoped that by going south his accent would generically identify him as Scottish, allowing him to keep his origins vague. Normally this would be an insult, like telling a Frenchman that he sounded Welsh, but now it worked in his favour.

He changed his name on his CV for the casual employer, he first chose Norman Mackay (off an old British sitcom but no one noticed). Now he was ‘Gary Abercrombie’, taking the surname off a woman’s T-shirt.

He had an old Isle of Man bank account from when he worked offshore that gave him anonymity and easy access to what little money he had. His passport was still in his birth name, but that would get him out of the country if he could get work. He had a promise connection of work in Oslo, as he had worked offshore before. But the contact in Aberdeen said the contract wouldn’t be available for at least another escort ataşehir six months.

Griff’s next preferred bolt hole was for a dive school in Malta. Several years ago, during shore leave from his ship on Malta, he’d woken in a bar one morning, to find his ship had sailed. The ship was due back in six weeks so he walked around the island, got to know the locals and then got friendly with a dive school there.

He spent several weeks diving with them until his ship returned. The owner had always promised him a job. Griff had contacted him and they agreed he could start there in March. But in January Georgio text him to say some nasty looking Scottish tourists turned up asking for Griff by name. So he struck Malta off his list.

Over four months Griff worked his way down the UK, finding cheap hotels, then jobs. He found he could find cheap Monday to Friday Bed and Breakfasts and then stay in cheap hotels over the weekends. This kept him on the move whilst working in one location.

Ideally in the summer, he could buy a cheap camper van, but he didn’t have that kind of money unless he sold his house. That was another Catch 22. He couldn’t return to Kirkaldy himself to sell it. He could get an agent or solicitor to sell it. They would still have to return to sign papers and they would have his contact details, all increasing the risk of Dougie finding him.

He always found women turned on by his accent, preferring a ‘bit of rough’. Now he was moving around, unattached, and had an exciting past made him even more desirable. It certainly wasn’t his looks. In his forties, thin, but showing the ravages of a poor upbringing and years at sea showed in his greying hair and on his face. But he knew how to have a good time and treat a lady.

He would be very selective in his search for B&B’s, ensuring they had easy escape routes. Above all, they had to have single female landladies. This meant they were more likely to be available for a bit of comforting and more open to extending his stays to include weekends. He could then negotiate the rent to be a week in hand. That way, if he had to move on, he would only lose a week’s lodging money.

Chantal’s sleepy voice spoke to Griff from the bed behind him, pulling him back into the present.

“Oh, come back to bed love and shut those curtains. Al Capone won’t be coming for you today.”

Chantal was the case in point. His room faced the back. But when he came to look at the property several weeks ago, she had made it obvious she was available. Her room gave him the vantage point that he was now using.

She was a poor compromise to his preferred type. She is a thin, sickly looking vegan, with her rib cage like a xylophone. He liked his women voluptuous and full of fun, but like the Navy saying, “Any port in a storm.”

She didn’t enjoy dancing or action films at the cinema. Going out for meals was like a science project. She studied menus, checking each option’s ingredients fat content and origins in fine detail with an app on her phone. Whereas all he wanted was a burger, steak or fish and chips.

It was the same with all his dalliances on his way down the country over the four months whilst on the run. None of his Landladies came close to Mary Doll.

Betty in Carlisle was more fun but had a herd of cats in the house. It was bad enough she let them in her bedroom during sex, but the last straw came when she insisted on them being in his bedroom as well.

Tracey in Newcastle was fun, but it was all forced. She had bipolar swings of her moods and carried a bit too much weight for Griff’s liking. She enjoyed sex in her garden hot tub, which wasn’t appealing in January.

The sisters Sandra and Sharon in Liverpool were a lot of fun, but the two got jealous of each other before they wore him out.

Tamika in Sheffield was promising, as it was a great location, but it turns out she used to be Tim and had parts Griff wasn’t expecting. They came to a happy ‘no touching’ agreement before the work dried up and he had to move on.

Griff had expected the central England corridor of Liverpool, Manchester, Leeds and Sheffield to be a real pool of work and bolt holes. Maybe they’d had their fill of dodgy Glaswegians’ as it seemed to be a closed shop to him.

Sally in Birmingham was a little trimmer, a fitness fanatic encouraging him to run and walk with her. Although as a naturist she loved doing it out in the open air, which wasn’t encouraging in the freezing March temperatures.

Dirty Debbie from Dudley was a lot more fun. He could have stayed there longer if Dougie hadn’t caught up with him. Again a phone call from work warned him of some Scottish guys asking for him by name. He had an opportunity to work in London, so ended up with Chantal.

Over the four months he missed his ‘Mary Doll’, the whole reason for his current situation. He’d met her by accident two years ago, when on a weekend in Edinburgh with some kadıköy escort friends. She stood out as the life and soul of the party in a busy bar. Her voluptuous body and flaming red hair stood out like a flowering rose in a bed of weeds.

At first, Griff couldn’t believe no one else was falling over her, until after offering her a drink. One of her friend’s butted in to inform him, “You’re playing with fire boy, that’s ‘Wee’ Dougie’s wife, if you value your legs you’ll leave the lass well alone.”

Mary didn’t seem bothered, so neither was Griff, not knowing of Wee Dougie back then. Soon they paired up, flirting without a care in the world. She was a fireball of fun and lived near Dundee, so got his accent. He didn’t have to repeat himself or have his friends confirm the punch line to his jokes.

They moved to a nightclub, and the two groups mingled with Griff and Mary at the centre. Slowly his friend’s gleaned Mary’s back story from her friends. She was married to Wee Dougie, an enormous barrel of a man, who was currently doing a twenty-five-year stretch at her majesties pleasure in prison.

They framed him for the shooting of a Police officer during a Post Office raid. He was a well-known gangster, and heavy, being linked to multiple crimes whilst always being one step ahead of the authorities.

This didn’t bother Griff, as her husband was only four years into the twenty-five stretch behind bars. Even with good behaviour, any parole won’t be due for at least another ten.

Above all, neither was Mary and it was her dancing in front of Griff at that present moment. Griff ignored the warnings, being fuelled with drink and encouraged by her magnificent breasts as they fought to burst out of her low cut dress.

In a break in dancing, whilst buying drinks, Mary came clean telling Griff about Dougie and that they had an arrangement, so not to worry. In Griff’s book, that was an open invitation to continue his advances. Now they danced to both the fast and the slower numbers, getting closer and more personal.

Mary’s friend’s attitude had also thawed and mixed well with Griff’s friends, allowing the party to flow. With smoking indoors illegal in Scotland, Mary pulled Griff outside into the freezing night and the open smoking area for a smoke. A tall timber fence ringed the busy smoking area in what would have been the original shop’s back garden.

Mary had a word with the one security guard and pulled Griff through a gate into the pitch-black alleyway behind. Once in the dark, Mary danced from one foot to another to offer Griff her handkerchief. Not sure what she wanted, she then pressed it to his nose for him to realise they were her knickers, wet from her desires.

“I’ve not had a decent shag in years, so you’d better be man enough,” She growled into his ear.

Her hands were already unbuckling his belt, to release his sailor ready for action. Pulling his trousers wide and boxers clear, she started stroking him, gripping him hard. The powerful lights from the smoking area silhouetted Mary from Griff, only allowing him to see her face full of lust.

He gathered up her dress skirt, finding her flesh beneath. Her pussy was well-groomed without a bushy forest to fight through, and the pool inside her lips was ready for him as his fingers slipped in. Soon Mary was moaning with excitement, nibbling on his ears and pulling him into her.

He moved his hands to grab her lovely bum. He lifted her up, pressing her against the cold damp wooden fence, and she guided him into her. She gasped and gripped him like a vice around his neck and shoulders as he slipped into her.

“Fuuuck that’s nice. Don’t let me down, Griff,” She said with wild abandon, not caring that the smokers on the other side of the fence could hear her.

Realising that she was beyond romance, Griff started pounding at her, rattling the fence and gaining an audience.

“Oh, yes, that’s the spot… Yes… Yes… Fuck me… Yeah… Yeah…” Mary encouraged, not affected by obvious growing interest from the lit side of the fence.

Griff wasn’t sure about the public spectacle, it was clear they were the object of interest for the smokers. With the fence being too tall to see over, all he could see were heads bobbing with excitement on the other side.

Mary was perfect for him though, her hips thrust and her breast pushed against him. Her tongue searched his tonsils out and she hummed and grunted as they kissed. Suddenly her hips thrust violently into him and held there as she ground into him.

“Fuuuuuccck Yeeesss, you beauuuteeeee,” She screamed wildly, as she gave Griff a great bear hug, squeezing the air out of him.

Mary’s banshee screams attracted the security guard’s interest enough for him to flash his torch down the alleyway, ensuring neither was being murdered. Mary calmed and Griff slid out of her sated, lowering her to stand again and the small crowd hidden behind the fence maltepe escort bayan jeered and clapped.

“Fuck, I needed that. I think I’ll be taking you home with me,” she laughed and kissed him.

Mary wiped herself with her knickers to drop them in the alleyway. She produced a clean pair from her handbag, waving them at Griff.

“Be prepared, I always say, although for once my lucky charm worked,” Mary laughed with a dirty growl.

She stepped into the clean dry pair as Griff finished tucking himself in and buckling his belt. At the gate, the security guard welcomed them back into the powerful lights. The crowd once again cheered and clapped for Mary to curtsy, laughing, unabashed.

They stood under a heater as Mary pulled a cigarette out and had her smoke. They chatted and laughed, with Griff as close to love as he’d ever been. She had shagged him with an audience, without a care in the world, and now smoked casually like a film star at an award show.

They returned to their friends and continued to party. Once they finally left the club, they found a late-night curry house for a meal. They all finally separated as the sun came up with Griff returning to Mary’s hotel.

That was the start of a whirlwind couple of years. Griff would spend the week at his house as it was closer to work. At weekends Griff would either stay at Mary’s, or the pair would find a getaway B&B or hotel, walk, party or lock themselves in fucking the weekend away.

Then in late November last year, there came that fate-full weekend. With the threat of winter gales and storms, Griff had badgered two friends to help him replace the fences around Mary’s house.

Griff, as usual, wore his working kilt, with a leather sporran tool belt. Shuggie (the Scottish version of Hugh) and Rab (short for Robert) ignored him and wore everyday work trousers themselves The three worked through Saturday, clearing all the old fencing first and then digging new post holes.

Mary was having a full-on spring clean day, with her washing machine and dryer working overtime. She enjoyed watching the men work and giving them mugs of hot tea and bacon sandwiches without notice. Flirting with Griff all the time, as was normal for her, tweaking his bum through the kilt, winking and suggesting he was bare arsed underneath.

Out of the blue, her head popped out of the kitchen window, calling to Griff.

“Griff, Griff, there’s something wrong with the washing machine can you come and have a look?”

As they were pouring concrete into the one post hole, Shuggie and Rab had their hands full, so Griff made his way into the kitchen. He found Mary sat on the washing machine.

“What’s up, Mary Doll?” he asked…

“The washing machine is about to go into its spin cycle and there’s a woman sat on top of it that needs satisfying…” She grinned, as she lifted her skirt to show her naked shaved pussy underneath.

She fingered herself to show her wet lips, ready for him. Griff became ready for action as he dropped his tool belt. Unable to lift his kilt and drop his boxers quick enough as the spin cycle wound up on the overloaded machine.

She played with him, as he hardened to guide him into her and pulled him on top of her as he entered. Griff loved that she lived in the ‘here and now’, as this was typical of her.

At first, the cadence of the machine was hard to match, but as the overloaded machine struggled, Griff could match it and the two rode the machine in unison.

“Fuuuuuccck Yeeesss… Griiffeeeee,” Mary screamed as she gripped him like a vice that accompanied her climaxes.

Griff smiled and laughed, loving this woman’s carefree attitude to him alone. She had admitted many times that she wished they had met twenty years ago. She never spoke of her husband, although a few times Griff would catch her burning brown prison letters in the fireplace, humming to herself.

As he returned outside across the garden, Shuggie and Rab grinned at him…

“Ah, you sorted her wee plumbing issue out, Griiiifffeeee?” Shuggie laughed, mimicking Mary, as they both giggled.

That evening with all the concrete posts in, Mary treated them all, including Shuggie’s wife, Penny and Rab’s girlfriend, Sarah, to a curry in Dundee. The taxi ride was almost the same price as the meal, but it was worth it.

Shuggie and Penny lived in the same village, so knew Wee Dougie well. Once again Penny tried to persuade Griff to call it a day, being concerned about Mary’s dangerous husband. Whilst she liked Mary, she liked Griff and his legs better.

Griff shrugged off the warning as he had the chance of work in Oslo on the horizon, and maybe he could encourage Mary to go with him. Oslo would be tax-free money, as it was offshore with ‘married quarters’ for Mary, although he hadn’t discussed it with her. A contact in Aberdeen was arranging it all, so he could finish one job and walk into the other.

The meal was top notch and the taxi ride home helped them all sober up a little. Once back at Mary’s Griff built her log fire up and they curled up on the sofa with a whiskey, warming their toes. Griff wasn’t sure how to broach his plans, as he had no intentions of marrying anyone.

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