The Funeral [Farewell Kenny-G] – by W<J>P Newnham

I had not seen Kenny in years; not up the shops nor hooning past in stolen drift cars with hot dogged exhausts; not on the nightly news. None of the usual sightings. Once, I had seen him looking the part, the weasel-faced crim on Crime Watch; I knew it was him, that Glock held sideways like an OG, that Schnozzle that even a balaclava couldn’t cover. He had been a one-man crime wave / Ice cold and running crack-pipe-hot …