Jack Vettriano DevotionJack Vettriano Devotion IIJack Vettriano Defending Champions
wasn't just the leather jerkin. It wasn't just the wristbands with studs. It wasn't just the broadsword. It wasn't just the helmet with the spikes. It was the leather and the studs and the sword and the helmet. This customer couldn't possibly be in categories one or two‘I wants one.'
As for category three, he didn't look like someone used to bothering with chocolates or roses. Or even 'hello'.
'Er . . .' Blert grabbed one at random and held it out in front of him. 'One like this?'
'I wants one that goes blam‑Blam‑blamma‑BLAM‑blammmmooohieeee. Y'know?'
Blert looked down at the guitar. 'I'm not sure it does that,' he said.
Two enormous black‑nailed hands took it out of his grasp.
'Er, you're holding it wro–', Blert decided.The figure stood, looking uncertain, hands gripping convulsively, clearly not at home in a dialogue situation.'This a guitar shop?' it said.Blert looked around at the merchandise hanging from walls and ceiling.'Er. Yes?' he said.