Preview - Awesome Comics and a ‘Streetwalker’.

With the first issue of the Awesome Comics Anthology round the corner I thought it was time to start focusing a little on the background players in the story. This is a piece that originally featured in the Cockney Kung Fu mailer over at www.tinyletter.com/CockneyKungFu Myself and CKF artist extraordinaire Mr Nick Prolix have been putting this mailer together for around six months and it allows us to experiment with format and style. We are having a blast so make sure you sign up.

Cockney Kung Fu is only a third of this anthology. It also features Murder Road from Vince Hunt and Daniel Marc Chant and Vyper by Dan Butcher. Both are fucking ace. How good is that cover with art by Vince and colours by Dan.

We are very excited.

Awesome Comics is getting released at the True Believers Comic Festival at Cheltenham Race Course on the 3rd of February 2018. Pop along and have a chat if you are able. Tickets are available at www.oktruebelievers.com

The Cockney Kung Fu world is slowly growing and whilst we waited for our big release day I would focus in on some people who only maybe get one line here and there.

Peggy makes an appearance in part one. Can you spot her?

‘Peggy was a rubbish whore.’

Peggy was rather terrible at being a prostitute. She never really tried very much when she was working. She used to poshly refer to herself as a ‘streetwalker’ as she heard it called that on a tv show from America once.

‘Yeah, they got style those Americans’ she’d think. She wished at moments that she could be far away from all this. 

Truth be told she didn’t actually do much walking at all. She did quite a lot of standing, not enough laying down to earn a wage and the occasional bit of running when her and her boyfriend Marty went shoplifting.

Whilst Peggy was a rubbish whore she was a reasonably good thief. She would be in and out of Boots in a couple of seconds and then down the Blackstock Arms in Seven Sisters Road to sell the proceeds. Her technique was simple. Run in, knock a pile of something over that looked noisy, apologise in what she thought was a middle class style voice and while the staff ran over to clear up the mess she’d grab what she wanted and escaped. She might even on occasion take orders.

Want some batteries? ‘No problem darling.’

Need a pack of razors. ‘You want some posh ones sweetheart or just bic?’

She should really have just concentrated on stealing rather than the whoring. The only fly in that ointment was that she was so well known by the shops that she kept getting arrested. The Old Bill would turn up to the disturbance, recognise the description the staff gave and head off to find Peggy. After a few instances of shoplifting that shit will get you a six months here and a year there banged up. 

Being in prison was a real problem for Peggy. Mostly because she was on the gear. She had to spend at least fifty quid a day on brown just to keep herself on the level. Nothing really touches the sides anymore and she is now waking up and in need of a fix. Forget chasing the dragon, she left that long ago. She injects as soon as she gets the gear. Recently she’s been injecting into a sore on the back of her knee. She can get away with the punters not seeing that patch and she’s begun to have trouble finding a vein on her arms.

She wasn’t proud of it but on occasion she’d resort to grassing. She knew a couple of the local CID at Vine Street and would pop in and see them or call them and meet them down by Green Park tube in the park opposite. They were ok to her and she actually quite enjoyed talking to them. They never looked to fuck her or knock her about and when she gave them something juicing they would always slip her a few quid. They told her that if she got nicked they could be called on for a bit of bail and they’d always flatter her a little.

‘You’re looking better Peggy, got a bit of meat on you for a change.’ Or ‘You could save up a few quid and get in a decent rehab, that’d sort you out properly darling.’

The cops made Peggy feel a little bit more human and actually listened to what she had to say for a change. Of course she had to keep this ‘business relationship’ very secret from her boyfriend Marty. He’d go more mental than usual if he found out she was a grass. She was always really careful not to be seen with the cops.

Her boyfriend Marty is even by her standards a total scumbag. He depends on her to get money from being a working girl. He sits about at home sleeping or drinking and waiting for her to bring home some cash so they can ring Black Tony or Paddy for some brown. If Peggy ever stops to think about it she realises that Marty doesn’t really care about her. He allows, no hang on, forces her to head out and work the streets. When she’s got some fat pervert’s cock in her mouth she knows she’s doing it for two things, the ever constant need for heroin and Marty her layabout boyfriend.

When Peggy and Marty get a bit flush from a bit of thieving they’ll head down the pub and drink cider. On occasion Marty will get purposely chatting to a punter at the bar and start pimping Peggy out. She’ll hear him saying things like..

‘She’ll suck you good mate.’

Or..

‘Head in the bogs and I’ll send her in after you.’

Often the geezer at the bar will look back and see the ragged, dirty, toothless, skinny, lipstick smeared face of Peggy trying to smile back at him and run a mile. This usually resulted in Peggy telling Marty that he’s ‘a cunt’ and that she should leave him and get off the gear and find someone who will actually care about her. Peggy knew that she has a mouth on her and sometimes just likes to let rip on Marty, even though she knows what she’ll get in return.

‘Go on then, I dare you. Who’d want you and your saggy arse and clout. Get back in the real world’.

This would almost always be accompanied by a hard slap across the face and Marty shouting and smashing up what little they had in their mattress on the floor, single lightbulb, newspaper strewn flat. The pair would make up later when the stomach cramps began to attack them and the need for gear returned. No amount of cider or whiskey would stop that need.

So here she stood. In porn alley in Soho. She didn’t have a flat or a hotel room that the punters could head to so she would let them fuck her against a wall in one of the alleyways near to Rupert Street. In fact she would let them do anything to her. Bend her over and fuck her in the saggy, spotty shapeless item she called an arse or she’d more often than not blow them and let them finish on her grey and blue bruised tits. She’d walk away hopefully with a tenner for her time (at most). 

But a tenner will get her and Marty some gear.

And that’s all she cared about.

Many thanks for reading.