Bitesize 1.1

Behold. I bring you a new project. With little inspiration for poetry and not enough time to do any justice to In the Blood I decided I needed a little something to keep me in practice and this is it. Yes folks, you are so lucky. I present to you Project Bitesize, an ongoing story that will be available solely through this very blog. I plan on spending around 30 - 60 minutes per day on this and each part written will be added to the blog immediately. Obviously there are times when work and other real life things will interfere so I am committing to an update every other day and anything more is a bonus. The numbering scheme you see up there indicates that this is bite 1 of the first chapter. I am sure your brains can follow this simple system.
Furthermore! I have no intention of compiling these bitesize chunks into a single format and so, dear readers, I am giving you the most rights ever. You have my permission to copy this story as it progresses and store it electronically on as many computers/discs as you see fit either in its original parts or as one compiled file or by chapters or whatever! You have my permission to print off as many copies of those files as you can afford in ink and paper. You even have my permission to distribute as many copies, either printed or electronically, as the mood takes you with regard only to the four following conditions.
1. That you do so free of charge.
2. That you do so unedited and unaltered (other than compiling).
3. That you acknowledge my good self as the author at all times.
4. That you pass on the above information to anyone you distribute to and that they agree to abide by the same conditions.

How's that for generosity? Well, just one more piece of housekeeping and we can begin.
The following is a work of fiction born entirely of my own imagination. Yadda yadda yadda coincidental and all that rubbish. It's all made up. By me.
I will also point out that although this is set in a modern setting it is not necessarily our little planet. Place names and such can and probably will be made up.

Bitesize 1.1

The sun's light had faded almost entirely behind the endless sea of farmland that formed the horizon and Ed Baxter was lost. He pulled his car over to the side of the road and let the engine run idle while he fiddled with the sat nav.
"Looks like whoever built this thing never actually went to Lincolnshire." he mumbled to no one but himself.
He tapped in the post code that he'd been given again. The machine's screen flashed up a message reading 'searching' for a few seconds and then switched to 'destination reached'. A monotonous female voice repeated this second message and Ed flicked the sat nav off. He sighed and opened the glove compartment, his left hand scrabbling inside for his cigarettes while his right fished his zippo from the pocket of his leather jacket. He managed to find his cigarettes and lit one up, lounging back in his seat to smoke it.
He hated driving at night, especially on these quiet country roads with their hidden bends and deathbringing trees that seemed to leap from the darkness when least expected. Not that he had much choice in the matter. He'd found the email waiting for him first thing this morning. It gave an address and the name of who he was supposed to meet. One Gary Broughton. After that were two lines of information, one reading 'possible big cat sighting', the other, 'claimed evidence: wound'. It had been enough to draw Ed's curiosity. For three years now all his leads had been dead ends. Fakes, misunderstandings, delusions, but this had promise. At worst it was nothing, another wasted journey. At best, a big cat sighting. Not particularly exciting but at least it meant he got to do something other than drive around the country.
He exhaled a long plume of smoke and stubbed out the butt of the cigarette in the ashtray, stuffing the pack into his jacket pocket. His mobile phone was in the well under the handbrake and he picked it up. The phone was probably the most high-tech piece of equipment in the car, custom built, not the kind of thing a member of the public could get their hands on however hard they tried. It had no numbers stored in it and he dialled one from memory. It rang twice and a female voice answered,
"Wothington Catering. Can I take your order?"
"Ellen, it's Ed. Can I get a 27?"
The phone emitted a few clicks and then a beep.
"Line secured Ed, go ahead."
He wasn't ordering takeaway. The catering answer was a front and Ed's words a code that would have the call scrambled so it couldn't be monitored.
"I'm lost." he said, "I'm supposed to be meeting this Broughton guy but the sat nav's giving me nothing. Can you pull me up on the GPS and clue me in on where I'm going?"
"Just a sec."
He could hear her tapping away at a keyboard in the background.
"You're looking for a dirt track on your left. Should be less than a mile from your current."
"Thanks Ellen."
He ended the call and slid the phone back into the well then checked out his reflection in the rearview mirror. His eyes looked tired. He brushed his long black hair back and absently wiped his hand on the thigh of his black combat trousers. Thin and greasy as ever. He hoped Gary Broughton took him seriously. With another needless sigh he eased a foot down on the accelerator and carried on down the road.

Ellen had been right. He spotted the dirt track breaking through the farmland to his left and was glad he'd had the foresight to call in. In this light he would have probably missed it if he didn't know it was there. He followed it until it opened out into a wide yard in front of a rundown looking farmhouse. A wooden sign on his left lit up as his headlights swept over it. Hand painted lettering proclaimed 'Dapple Farm'. This was the place. He killed the engine and grabbed a notebook and pen from the glove compartment then got out. The door to the farmhouse ahead opened as he did so, a man silhouetted with the light from behind him. Ed strode toward him.
"Gary Broughton?" He raised a hand and the man shook it, nodding at him.
"Yeah. That's me."
"Ed Baxter. I believe you're expecting me?"
The man nodded again.
"Come inside, please."
Ed followed him into the house, taking a good look at his surroundings. The interior was in better repair than the outside of the house and Mr Broughton clearly wasn't struggling for cash. He spied an internet hub on a desk just past the door and a telephone with answering machine. The carpet was grubby but the walls were clean and a couple of paintings sat on the walls of the hall though he didn't recognize the artist. One had hunting hounds and a chap on a horse, the other a farmyard scene. Mr Broughton led him into the lounge. A large, well used sofa took up the middle of the room, with matching chairs to each side and a widescreen plasma TV on the wall opposite. In the light he had a closer look at Broughton. He had a sturdy build, partly fat from a hearty appetite and partly muscle from days spent toiling on the farm. His face was weathered and Ed pegged him in his late forties. His eyes seemed honest enough and Ed knew from experience that you could tell a lot from a man's eyes. He motioned toward the sofa with a hand not dirty, but stained with mud and Ed sat down.
"Drink?" he asked, opening the dresser against one wall to reveal a variety of spirits.
"I'd better not." said Ed, eyeing the bottle of rum at the back longingly. "I have to drive back home."
"You're younger than I thought you'd be."
"But sadly not as young as I look." Ed smiled. "You live here alone?" He knew he didn't. The place clearly had a woman's touch.
"Nah. The wife's asleep upstairs. We don't often stay up so late."
"Yeah sorry about that. Had a hard time finding you Mr Broughton."
"Gary, please." He poured himself a scotch and sat on a chair opposite the sofa.
Ed flipped open his notebook.
"So. I have you down as a big cat sighting? Can you tell me exactly what happened?"
"It weren't no cat. That I can tell you."
"From the beginning please Gary. I need to collect as much information as I can."
"It were only two days ago. Sunday night..." he began.