Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Jurassic Pulp
    Jurassic Pulp
    Jurassic Pulp
    Ebook168 pages1 hour

    Jurassic Pulp

    By Dot Gumbi

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    When Marsellus Wallace is given the opportunity to invest in a pioneering new resort, he jumps at it, but after several years of no contact his patience runs out and he sends his two henchmen, Jules and Vincent, to find out what's happened to his money. They fly to a private island off of Costa Rica where they discover their boss has invested in a dinosaur theme-park, but before they get chance to call and tell him what's going on, the park is plunged into chaos and Jules and Vincent find themselves fighting for their lives.

    'How the hell we gonna tell him he's bought a god-damned dinosaur?'

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDot Gumbi
    Release dateMar 16, 2014
    ISBN9781311097675
    Jurassic Pulp
    Author

    Dot Gumbi

    British comedy author. Wants to make you laugh and stuff. If you like Douglas Adams, Jasper Fforde, Robert Rankin - give me a go.

    Related to Jurassic Pulp

    Related ebooks

    Humor & Satire For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Wow, What A Day

      Aug 6, 2020

      Wow, What A Day
      10 min read

    • Article

      6667 Hollywood Boulevard

      Jul 2, 2019

      6667 Hollywood Boulevard
      7 min read

    • Article

      The Emperors of Existence

      Dec 28, 2018

      The Emperors of Existence
      9 min read

    • Article

      Hello, Grim Reaper

      Dec 15, 2021

      She was a babe. A fully paid-up, card-carrying babe. There was absolutely no doubt about it, and she was heading straight for me. She was almost sprinting towards me across the recently reimagined lobby of Claridge’s. She looked up, her scarlet-anoin

      3 min read

    • Article

      We All Live in Uncertain

      Jul 30, 2020

      “Think of Caddo as a maze of lakes within lakes,” says John Winn, proprietor of Caddo Outback Tours, as the two of us settle into a small Go-Devil boat roped to a dock in Uncertain, on the border of northern Louisiana. For two decades, Winn has given

      6 min read

    • Article

      A Tale Of Two Dickens

      Nov 24, 2022

      A Tale Of Two Dickens
      8 min read

    • Article

      Four Of A Kind

      May 3, 2023

      Four Of A Kind
      4 min read

    • Article

      La Otra Historia

      Jun 30, 2022

      La Otra Historia
      14 min read

    • Article

      Faery Land

      Mar 24, 2020

      Faery Land
      8 min read

    • Article

      Hardly Never in Vegas: Fat Johnny Little and Salty Salt Sue make a break for the desert.

      Jun 18, 2015

      Salty Salt Sue met Fat Johnny Little at a card game so hot it burned a girl, the sultry Louisiana night dampening her clothes, making her tingle from the waist down. She sat next to Vinnie DeLuca, who bore a passing resemblance to Dillinger—his penci

      11 min read

    • Article

      Hardly Never in Vegas: Fat Johnny Little and Salty Salt Sue make a break for the desert.

      Aug 8, 2013

      Salty Salt Sue met Fat Johnny Little at a card game so hot it burned a girl, the sultry Louisiana night dampening her clothes, making her tingle from the waist down. She sat next to Vinnie DeLuca, who bore a passing resemblance to Dillinger—his penci

      11 min read

    • Article

      A Global Romance

      Jan 26, 2022

      A Global Romance
      2 min read

    • Article

      Writing Family History

      Dec 15, 2021

      Writing Family History
      5 min read

    • Article

      Past Imperfect

      Sep 2, 2023

      Past Imperfect
      9 min read

    • Article

      A Global Romance

      Jan 26, 2022

      A Global Romance
      2 min read

    • Article

      Magnets: Carried through time, lovers seek their purpose.

      Feb 6, 2014

      Moon Colony B, 2213 Former Ponzi-schemer Mary Pillar digs through a trashcan. It smells like rotten eggs and milk. She is elderly and homeless, living in an alley between two eco-efficient skyscrapers. Dust particles dance around her. She has lost ev

      11 min read

    • Article

      The Old Un’s Notes

      Oct 20, 2021

      The Old Un’s Notes
      6 min read

    • Article

      Mrs Simpson Learns A Lesson

      Jul 29, 2021

      Mrs Simpson Learns A Lesson
      4 min read

    • Article

      Right Place Wrong Time

      Dec 10, 2017

      Right Place Wrong Time
      4 min read

    • Article

      Jack Daniel. TENNESSEE SQUIRES

      Aug 8, 2023

      Jack Daniel. TENNESSEE SQUIRES
      7 min read

    • Article

      Readers’ Letters

      Dec 13, 2023

      SIR: I found Dunphy's cartoon about incompatible typefaces (November issue) most amusing, not least because it reminded me of a verse I wrote during a few moments of boredom in a meeting at which typefaces suitable for exhibition posters were being d

      3 min read

    • Article

      Walking On TheWild Side…

      Jul 17, 2023

      Walking On TheWild Side…
      3 min read

    • Article

      HUNTING With The Ellements…

      Sep 13, 2021

      HUNTING With The Ellements…
      19 min read

    • Article

      Share Your News

      Jan 6, 2022

      To feature in subscribers’ news contact: tjackson@warnersgroup.co.uk ‘I’ve loved writing ever since I was a child,’ writes subscriber Glenda Young. ‘I live in the north-east and my novels are set in the coalmining village of Ryhope where I was born a

      5 min read

    • Article

      Ode to Joy

      Mar 28, 2018

      Ode to Joy
      6 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Jurassic Pulp

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Jurassic Pulp - Dot Gumbi

      1... THE CLUB

      LOS ANGELES – JULY, 1993

      Two men in suits descended stairs and entered a basement bar. They paused in the doorway and checked their watches. It was 8am and the place was quiet. A barman was wiping down a table in the far corner. He looked up and acknowledged them. ‘Guys...you’re early.’ He waved at the bar. ‘Take a seat...I’ll be right over.’

      The two men said nothing. They had stern faces and were dressed in black suits, skinny black ties and white shirts. One man was black, with a ball-shaped afro, boot-shaped sideburns and a handlebar moustache. That was Jules. The other man was white, with shoulder-length black hair that was greased back over his ears. That was Vincent.

      They crossed the dance floor and waited by the bar. Vincent examined the neatly arranged bottles, whilst Jules ran his eyes over the building.

      The barman came over, walking quickly. He picked up a phone behind the bar and pressed a number. ‘They’re here, Mr Wallace.’ He hung up and turned to Jules and Vincent. ‘Mr Wallace will be out in a few minutes. Get you guys a drink?’

      Vincent shook his head. Jules didn’t even respond.

      A few moments later, a pair of double doors swung open. A black man stepped through them. He was the size of a truck with a gleaming bald head and gold hoop earrings. He had a mixing bowl under his right arm and was wearing an apron over his suit. This was Mr Wallace.

      ‘Motherfuckers,’ he said, in a voice as deep and slow as lava. ‘Get your asses over here.’

      Marsellus Wallace was a businessman, at least, that’s what it looked like on paper. In truth he was a criminal kingpin, with his fingers in a great number of illegal pies and pastries all over LA. Rumour was that he was a multi-millionaire. How many millions, nobody knew, and nobody outside of the IRS really cared, so long as they kept getting paid. And Jules and Vincent had been on the payroll for a long time now. Their work for Mr Wallace was varied. It sometimes involved putting muscle on someone, collecting debts, sending a message, or even just running errands like picking up Mrs Wallace’s dry cleaning. So long as they did it with respect and without fuss, there were no problems and everyone got paid.

      Jules and Vincent took a seat. Marsellus Wallace, all 300lbs of him, squeezed into a chair opposite them. They watched as he stirred the bowl with a wooden spoon.

      ‘Black forest gateaux,’ explained Marsellus. ‘It’s Leroy’s birthday. This needs plenty of air.’

      Jules and Vincent nodded. When Marsellus wasn’t being a criminal kingpin he was a keen amateur baker, and he’d won several rosettes at local fetes. Rumours he’d threatened to kill the judges if he’d lost were misplaced, so he said.

      Marsellus turned the cake mixture slowly. ‘I need you to go out of town for a few days. I have an investment...I wanna know it’s protected.’

      Both Jules and Vincent sat up. This sounded like a bigger job than normal. When anyone says out of town you know it’s going to be something big and Marsellus had contacts all along the West Coast, even stretching as far out as the Nevada desert.

      ‘These are dark times,’ continued Marsellus. ‘A man’s got to be wise with his money, and his money got to be wise. I decided to invest some of mine in a pioneering new resort. I’m told it will be one of kind. Something the world has never seen before. And Marsellus Wallace likes to be ahead of everyone. I bought a piece, so people can say Marsellus saw the future...but right now...I ain’t seen shit. I have an associate that hasn’t been particularly forthcoming with details...and my ass is tired of waiting.’

      He adjusted the bowl under his arm and leaned forward. ‘What I want to know is this...is he cheating me? Or is this resort a world wonder like he says.’ He paused. ‘With this resort, my associate said he spared no expense...I want to know where every dime went.’

      Vincent lit up a cigarette. ‘Where’s the resort?’

      ‘Costa Rica.’

      ‘Costa Rica?’ said Jules. ‘Whoa, when you said out of town I thought you meant ’Cisco, or maybe New York...but this is some real international James Bond shit.’

      Vincent leaned forward. ‘Mr Wallace, we normally drive to our jobs. Are you expecting us to drive down there or have we got to go to a travel agent or—’

      ‘I think what Vincent is getting at,’ interrupted Jules, ‘is that we pay our own fuel. Will this be on expenses?’

      ‘Relax...’ said Marsellus. ‘The arrangements are covered, you’ll be going to Costa Rica by private jet then a chopper will take you to the island.’

      ‘Island?’

      ‘My associate has leased an island from the Costa Rican government. His people came to me looking for investment to develop it. That was six years ago.’

      Jules and Vincent looked at one another. This was big. Private jets. Choppers. Private islands.

      Marsellus continued. ‘I sent my associate a message. Told him I was tired of waiting. Said I’d pull my money, or have some brothers pull off his legs. No surprise, I get a call telling me to come and visit the resort myself...but as you know, Marsellus Wallace don’t fly. So, you are going to be my eyes and ears.’ He clicked his fingers. The barman hurried over with some paperwork and handed it to them.

      ‘You fly out tonight...’ said Marsellus, ‘...back here Sunday. Whatever happens, call me tomorrow at 7pm LA time. If you have a concern I want to hear it whilst you have my associate in the room. I wanna know where every dime spent.’

      Jules and Vincent took the paperwork and stood up.

      Marsellus Wallace waved them away, adding ‘I should have a new soufflé for your ass to try when you get back.’

      JURASSIC_FICTION_003B

      2... FLIGHTS

      Jules and Vincent stood by the landing strip with their suitcases. It was just after 9pm and their plane was due to arrive any minute. Jules was eating a fairy cake Marsellus had given him. Vincent had already eaten his and was looking up at the sky smoking a cigarette. He shook his head. ‘Costa Rica?’

      ‘I know,’ said Jules, with a mouthful of cake. ‘It’s a motherfucking long way to go. I didn’t want to tell Marsellus, but my girlfriend was kinda expecting me around this weekend. She ain’t gonna be none too pleased when she calls me and finds I’m kicking back in Costa Rica.’

      ‘What did Marsellus say his associate was called?’

      ‘John Hammond. Some old English multi-millionaire business tycoon.’

      ‘How’d he make his money?’

      ‘Shit, I don’t know. How does anyone make any real money? He’s known as a tycoon but I bet he got some dirt in his closet, how else would he be involved with Marsellus?’

      A plane approached. A Learjet. It descended gracefully and came to a smooth stop in front of them. The engines whirled loudly. The door to the cabin opened and out stepped a short man dressed in a cotton white shirt and trousers. He had powder-white hair and a beard. He hobbled down the steps with a cane.

      ‘Jesus,’ Vincent muttered under his breath. ‘Marsellus has been doing business with Colonel Sanders.’

      JURASSIC_FICTION_004

      Jules snorted. ‘Don’t let looks fool you. Marsellus says this dude is slipperier than the floor of the mens’ room in an old folks’ home.’

      ‘Gentlemen!’ cried the old man as he hobbled over. ‘So pleased to meet you. John Hammond.’ He held out a hand.

      Jules shook it. ‘Jules Winnfield.’

      Vincent did likewise. ‘Vincent Vega.’

      The old man looked up at them both with a grin. ‘It’s such a shame Mr Wallace couldn’t make it. I think he would’ve loved our little resort.’ He gestured at the plane. ‘Shall we?’ adding with a giggle, ‘Can’t be on yank soil too long or they’ll try and arrest me!’

      Jules gave Vincent a puzzled look and walked towards the jet.

      They were soon airborne. The men sat comfortably, facing each other. Vincent noticed the old man’s feet didn’t reach the floor when he was sat down. He was swinging them back and forth like a child.

      ‘I do so hope you’ll enjoy this little holiday,’ grinned Hammond.

      ‘Let’s get this straight,’ said Jules. ‘We ain’t on vacation here. Our boss, your investor – Mr Wallace – has put a lot of money into this resort of yours, and he wants to know his investment is safe. Now, in forty-eight hours, if we go back to him and say he’s bought a shit-sandwich, you and your short little legs are in trouble.’

      ‘In forty-eight hours, Julius, I’ll be accepting your apology.’

      Vincent leaned forward. ‘Mr Hammond, we don’t mean no disrespect. It’s

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1