*Teaser chapter - They called him Charlie Moonhead _ The Payout Game 2026

The locals called him Charlie Moonhead, but his mother called him Charles. His bottom lip jutted out and he was bald with a cropped strip of hair that meandered around the scars. When he was ten years old, Charlie was knocked down in a hit-and-run and dragged along a road by a motorbike. This resulted in a severe traumatic brain injury, a coma and neurological damage. He was forty years old now. The father, Damien, was long gone. Left to pick up the pieces and care for Charles, the mother, Maura  worked double-shifts at the local supermarket. Daytime TV and microwaved scrambled eggs on toast was Charlie’s life thereafter. Social services gave them a cursory glance from time-to-time but they were living hand-to-mouth and pretty much on their own.

They lived in a small council estate on the outskirts of Drogheda and Charlie’s passion was his model aeroplane. Every weekend the local modellers; ‘The Dunrossa Flyers’ would meet at an acre of land called Dunrossa Point along the cliffs and fly their aircraft. Charlie’s flying buddy, Brendan, a retired headmaster, would collect him and give Maura some few precious hours of respite. Brendan was a solid man in his mid-sixties and Charlie was fond of him. Brendan let Charlie play his sing-along playlist on the journey and they would join in with ‘The wheels on the bus’, ‘London Bridge is falling down’, and ‘Ten Green Bottles’. 

Charlie had a surprisingly good baritone. He could hold a tune. He was dressed in his favourite loose-fitting grey tracksuit, a brown leather flyer’s jacket and a Hi-Viz bump cap. For his fortieth, Maura had bought him a pair of aviator Ray-Bans. Brendan always dressed for the unpredictable weather.

Brendan drove a landcruiser, suitable for off-road driving to the site. In the back, with the rear passenger seats down was a fold-out table, a portable waterproof gazebo, a small metal jerry can of petrol and a toolbox. Secured by cable ties were the two planes. Brendan always packed a small wicker hamper with sandwiches, crisps, chocolate biscuits and a flask of tea for him and a flask of hot milky cocoa for Charlie. These sat snug between Charlie’s feet. 

Using the vehicle as a windsheet, they pegged the flapping gazebo, set up the table and put their aircraft out on the table and went through the assembly, fuelling and pre-flight drill.

Charlie’s task, his ‘special task’ was to stake the sign close to the field’s turn-off that said CAUTION: LOW FLYING MODEL AEROPLANES. Once he was satisfied that it wasn’t going to blow over, he ambled back towards the worktable, humming and swinging the small rubber mallet. By then, Brendan had their planes ready for take-off.  

This was where Charlie found his groove. The man denied by the destruction of his skull seemed to fight his way to the fore and his fingers were deft and assured when he was using the remote control. Some innate skill channeled into the remote’s commands and Brendan often thought of the word savant, as Charlie made his beloved hand-painted bi-plane outwit gravity and the weather. Brendan always allowed Charlie to set the flight pattern and let his bi-plane take the lead.

This morning, a Tuesday, was glorious. Brendan had suggested they spend an extra day of practice preparing for the St Patrick’s Day festival. They were on their own today. It was perfect flying weather. Even the ubiquitous gulls left them in peace.

It was when Charlie was attempting a tricky rolling harrier manoeuvre that an unexpected gust knocked the bi-plane off course. The aircraft was hoisted high into the sky, interrupting the signal. The SE5A pitched, dipped and then began a slow nose-dive, gravity shedding the upper wings and their support wires. Charlie watched gasping as his aircraft headed towards the sheer cliffs, spiralling out of control. He uttered an agonised groan. Then as sudden as the stall, the breeze lofted the stricken aircraft into the heavens and dumped it in a high arc into a copse of trees.

And it hit something. A loud resounding crack, then a boom followed by a pitiful plume of smoke rose. It was safe to assume that Charlie’s bi-plane was no more. 

Brendan managed to land his own aircraft and bring it to a stop near the landcruiser. He then set off following Charlie’s lolloping scamper toward the trees. He picked up Charlie's bump-cap that had been blown off along the way, calling for Charlie to slow the heck down.

And when they got there, past the gnarled treeline, they couldn’t believe their eyes. 

The SE5A bi-plane was lying on its side in a crumpled mass. Beside it were the burned out remains of a high performance sports car.

Brendan was no expert but he was pretty sure it was a Huracan.

He took a photo and googled the location of the nearest Garda station.