Goodnight, God Bless, I Love You: If Easily Offended, Read the Bible

By Colin Hartshorn

Warning: This book is best consumed on an empty stomach, but it will satiate your appetite for pitch-black comedy and gruesome thrills.

Nestled in the bucolic tranquillity of Worcestershire, England, lies a serene county under the protective shade of the Yellow Umbrella Syndicate—until a grave mistake shatters the peace.

Meet the trio of women behind the syndicate, enigmatically known as Goodnight, God Bless, and I Love You – or Your Majesty for those in the know. Alongside Triple A, the enforcer, and Camp Shirley, the captain of their ground troops, they mete out justice with a blend of poise, flair, and ferocious brutality.

Backed by an ensemble of uproarious characters, these women ensure the county’s equilibrium – whether through altruism or sadistic pleasure – is firmly maintained.

Tailor-made for readers with a stomach for audacious humour and ruthless crime, Goodnight, God Bless, I Love You offers an unforgettable journey through the heart of darkness, illuminated only by flashes of twisted comedy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035826261

Colin Hartshorn

Colin Hartshorn has been a drayman for 30 years. He has been married to his long-suffering wife, Bee, for 10 years. Colin has no children, just a very messy cat that he doesn’t like even though he gives him loads of fuss and treats. He has lived in Black Country for all his life. While looking at his mother-in-law one day, he thought she could be the next crime lord, which immediately inspired him to write this book.

Book preview

About the Author

Colin Hartshorn has been a drayman for 30 years. He has been married to his long-suffering wife, Bee, for 10 years. Colin has no children, just a very messy cat that he doesn’t like even though he gives him loads of fuss and treats.

He has lived in Black Country for all his life. While looking at his mother-in-law one day, he thought she could be the next crime lord, which immediately inspired him to write this book.

Dedication

This novel, Goodnight, God Bless, I Love You, is a tribute to you, Dad, and the love Mom showed you right to the end.

Goodnight, God bless, I love you were always your three special words.

Copyright Information ©

Colin Hartshorn 2024

The right of Colin Hartshorn to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035826247 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035826254 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781035826261 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.co.uk

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Notes

This is a crime novel, not a detective story. It’s a black comedy where the three lead characters are elderly women who run Worcestershire with an iron rod and a face of steel. They are called Goodnight, Godbless and I Love You. The characters I’ve drawn from real-life people.

Goodnight is my mother-in-law, so has her mannerisms.

Godbless is her friend Chrissy, who shares her characteristics.

I Love You is my third main character, who is based on her friend Dorcus. I’ve made her a really passionate woman, keeping up with the real-life person.

Smaller characters and situations are based on real people and real situations as well, i.e., Tall Paul and Dudley Dick.

The only one I’ve made up is the Diamond, who’s a high-class lady who deals in sexual services, for a price. Her speciality is giving oral sex without her dentures in. Her giving a choirboy a blowjob in Worcester Cathedral for his sixteenth birthday also adds a certain something to the storyline.

Big David, the Enforcer (walks with a limp for a reason! and wears one Aston Villa earring) is also a real-life person who goes to Dumbleton Village Hall Club. This is the club I’ve used as the Beltmound Cowboy Club in the novel.

My mother-in-law, Sandra, Chrissy and Dorcus were all seated together one night that I was there. I sat opposite. I looked at them lovingly and thought they could be gangsters sitting there with stern faces, so I started writing the book Goodnight, God Bless, I Love You If easily offended, read the Bible.

If easily offended, read the Bible straightaway.

I passed my first writing around to get a feel about public opinion. The feedback I got was amazing and encouraged me to continue.

Camp Shirley is based on a man called ‘Steve’ who I delivered beer to at the Albion pub in Hanley Stoke.

There is no Covid in this story, as the world has had enough of that.

This novel is very rough, which I think is a bit different, as well as lots of dark humour, again different.

It does, however, need a bit of shaping and a few more odd lines I’ve added since writing it.

I feel I’ve been put down and bullied most of my life. To get someone to give me a chance would be one up for me and those like me.

Introduction

At a secret location, only known to the very few, and always changed for every meeting, the long table was set. Twelve chairs, twelve water decanters and glasses (crystal, of course) and twelve bottles of malt (rarest and finest, of course). At the head of the table, three chairs.

Slowly, one by one, twelve people entered the room, some women, some men, and one they all thought was in the middle but no one gave a toss.

They all bowed when entering the room. There was no chit-chat, no grinding of teeth and no scratching of bollocks.

When all twelve were seated, and only then were twelve gold poker chips placed in front of the twelve chairs.

A grey-haired woman on the left of the three, at the head of the table, opened the meeting.

She raised her glass to toast, The Cause, the History.

They all toasted.

Before we go through the order of business and financial amendments, first item on the agenda – Worcestershire Manor.

The others looked at their folders they had brought with them.

We have our operatives in their parish doing a comprehensive audit. She turned to the man on her left, the first chair down the left side. Hennessy Mick, has our chief contact been compromised?

Hennessy Mick looked sombre and shook his head.

No, Duchess, our C.C. is strong there. Been there a long time, one of them. Yes, a sound, loyal and accurate agent. One of the best, Hennessy Mick said.

More details at next meeting. So far, so good.

They continued with their meeting.

Small Introductory Scene to Help Get

into the First Scene Proper

The County of Worcestershire had at its heart a small city centre, a picturesque river with a quaint bridge across, a beautiful cathedral, well-kept, and sprawling villages spreading out in four directions, north, east, south, west.

Amongst these villages were the estates—some better than others—but all came under the family umbrella. Not a sole or a heartbeat in all Worcestershire and, if truth be told, a little bit more in all directions that didn’t have a shiver at the tales passed about the rulers of all they purvey.

The ‘Family’ were known to take care of their friends, people or enemies. The law did not get in their way, as they did a better job of keeping order than the police did themselves.

There were a few bases or headquarters, but the most famous and oldest was a club set in a tiny little village with pretty flowers and not a sign of dogshit anywhere—no dog would dare.

Nestled Deep

They called it the ‘Beltmound Club’. Most of the criminal fraternity called it the ‘Cowboy Club’. Either fucking way, it was where the most feared, violent and respected gangsters that Worcestershire has ever seen.

Inside this placid-looking country music club, three very experienced crime lords held their court. Just an invite was seen as good as being given a blow job with no tonsils.

In the corner sat the High Table, the middle of which sat the Family’s ultimate royalty: the High Table trilogy. The merest mention of their names had grown men shaking like a dog having a shit.

They were simply called Goodnight, Godbless and I Love You.

They had spent decades building the quote Family unquote – an organisation stretched like a big girl in Lyra…far and wide.

The High Table trilogy were there on merit; loyalty received and given, respect, order and shear violence. Their reputations and stories were folklore and folktales.

It is said Goodnight once sent a photographer to a breakdown for asking her to smile for a photo.

She just glared at him through her glasses and said, I am fucking smiling.

Goodnight had gained special notoriety due to her calmness, poise, lack of sense of humour and ferocity. She was a woman of few words, unlike her sidekick Godbless who was a woman of many and used most of them.

The High Table trilogy were always addressed as Your Majesty. Others round the table were addressed as Your Highness.

Goodnight and Godbless were a cross between a slightly younger Queen Elizabeth II and Jaws. If you think of a petite Fergie but with grey hair and a bit rougher, you’d be about there.

I Love You came from darker-skinned foreign climbs: Birmingham.

All three of them had a single tattoo of a red rose on the palm of their hand. It is said not a tattoo artist in the parish would ever give or hear of doing one for someone else.

However, two jack-the-lads thought they were cool and did one to each other – big mistake. They broke rule number one: respect. Of course, this had to be dealt with. Enter His Highness, the Enforcer, AKA Big Dave, sixteen stone of rippling muscle. Unfortunately, it was surrounded by six stone of rippling fat. Aston Villa earring on (just the one – got style, see?).

His Highness also has a tattoo on his cock: AAA. When aroused, it reads ‘Aston Villa Supporters’ Association’. Big Villa fan. No shit. A string of women has tried to estimate his size. Just to say they always go into double digits. Many are said to have their jaws broken by the big man. And he didn’t have to fucking hit them. This could also be the reason he walks with a slight limp. Well, wouldn’t you?

The two lads didn’t feel so jack now they were brought before the High Table.

The always respectful Big Dave addressed Goodnight and Godbless as ‘Your Majesties’. Goodnight just stared through the glasses. Godbless, who although was a dead ringer for Goodnight, was far chattier. She always sat in the middle, on the left of Goodnight, like a female Ant and fucking Dec.

I Love You came back with the drinks; two white wines and lemonades for the other two and rum for herself.

Well, said Godbless, What have you brought to us?

She looked at the Enforcer and some foot soldiers – dark suits, black ties and each with a Rolex on their wrist.

I brought you Mr Disrespect and his disrespectful boyfriend.

White belts and mascara always a giveaway.

I Love You said, Have you asked Camp Shirley if he knows them?

No, came the reply. I tried, but he’s in the snooker room going down on the lead guitarist and he’s too polite to talk with his mouthful.

Well now, said Godbless (she normally did the talking).

You’re Mr Disrespectful and you’re Mr Disrespectful’s boyfriend, pointing to each one in turn. Which one had the idea?

Mr Disrespectful’s boyfriend put his shaking hand up.

Show us, Godbless hissed.

Slowly, they both opened their hands to reveal two very dodgy rose tattoos on their palms.

Do you realise your mistake?

Yes, Your Majesty.

Her Majesty reached under the tablecloth and opened out a big fluffy bright pink towel and lay it on the other side of the table. The two jack-the-lads, now trembling with fear and anticipation, looked on, eyes wide open.

Goodnight gently said, Oh, that’s a nice one. Is it new?

Yes, replied Godbless. They had a sale on in Debenhams.

A slight nod of the head and Big Dave slammed Disrespectful’s boyfriend’s hand palm up on the towel.

What do you think, ladies?

Goodnight glared, or smiled – it’s hard to tell the difference really.

Godbless looked at I Love You, her dark skin covered in gold rings and bracelets. She looked thoughtfully at the pretty boys and pointed at Mr Disrespectful and slowly brought her finger towards her.

Godbless promptly picked up a bottle of whisky and poured it all over the hand on the towel, then got her lighter out.

Is that the one with Elvis on? I like that one, asked Goodnight.

Yes, Godbless smiled.

This is malt whisky. It burns better. Now, my friend here, she nods towards I Love You, is a bit tense. Have you ever wondered why we have very big tablecloths? Well, your friend is about to find out.

I Love You slid slightly down in her chair, and slowly said, Come make me sigh.

Mr Disrespectful looked on open-mouthed, because the penny had just dropped.

Only don’t be long about it, cos we haven’t got all fucking night.

He stuttered, I don’t think I remember how.

His mate, whose hand is covered in whisky, malt whisky, and very close to a lighter, nearly screamed through his tears.

Well fucking hurry up and remember. Come on, baby! Under the tablecloth!

Godbless said, You’ve got fifteen minutes or your friend will be done medium rare, and clicked the lighter.

Nine minutes and ten seconds later, I Love You sighed.

Nine minutes and eleven seconds later, Disrespectful’s boyfriend sighed, then fainted.

Goodnight, who doesn’t talk that much, said to Big Dave, If Camp Shirley has finished emptying out the guitarist, can we have some fucking music on, please?

She always was well-mannered.

Random Scene with Big Dave and Camp

Shirley Going to See the Diamond

Big Dave slips behind the wheel of his new BMW X5. He pulls away from the car park of the Beltmound Club.

Goodnight, the quiet, moody one of the High Table trilogy, had a problem. She had given the order and Big Dave was on the way to a small apartment with a lovely view of the cathedral. He was kitted out with the usual dark and smart jacket, white shirt and dark trousers, loose-fitting, to the knee, obviously.

He felt good behind the wheel of the car he’d chosen; big, smart and spotlessly clean inside.

He only had one stop. First, to pick up Camp Shirley. It was only a short drive to a quiet bungalow in an almost hidden village with a few houses and a pub. Very respectable from the outside, not so from the inside.

Big Dave parked outside. Camp Shirley minced out the pink front door (well, she couldn’t resist). He looked down at a potted plant and shook his head.

Camp Shirley got in the passenger seat. Now, don’t be put off by Camp Shirley’s slightly high-pitched voice, slender frame and impeccable manners. He was a lightweight, bare-knuckled fighting area champion. Fast hands and reactions kept his good looks. Retired from the boxing now for a while, he was a happy and well-paid foot soldier now, with a bit of violence thrown in.

He was dressed in the same enforcement uniform but with a pink blouse (sorry, shirt). After all, he did have style and more importantly permission from the High Table. He’d just turned forty and had just experienced the double drop.

Big Dave, the Enforcer, AKA AAA, looked across at Shirley.

With his expression unchanged, he just said, Double drop?

Well, came the reply, You know how your balls drop when you’re fourteen, they drop again at forty, but nobody warned me, so it was a bit of a surprise. Did you know my balls were going to drop at forty? he asked.

Big Dave just looked ahead. To be honest, I didn’t think they’d dropped at all.

Camp Shirley just looked out the window, closed his eyes, remembering.

I used to be like two plums in a handkerchief. Now like a couple of loose walnuts. Did yours drop at forty, Dave?

AAA just looked ahead and said, Can’t say I fucking noticed.

They were off to see the Diamond, a bit of a specialist prostitute (working girl?) based right in the heart of the city, the stunning cathedral to the one side, Greggs and Shoe Zone the other. She was based in a small, smart apartment block in which she occupied the two flats on the top floor. Bit of space and privacy, it was perfect for her occupation.

Diamond buzzed them up. She’d been called this for so long now she barely remembered her real name.

The Enforcer spoke softly at the woman he’d known for a very long time.

Hello, Diamond. I see (pointing to her two black eyes) you’ve had some trouble.

Yes, Your Highness.

Although very old friends, she still addressed him when welcoming him with the respectful, expected greeting for a member of the High Table.

She had always serviced her clients, wearing diamonds. I say had always because she was now nearing retirement age, but still was renowned for having the