There was something magical about travelling through summer’s dusk.
She sat in companionable silence with him, enjoying his company. He had already started in on the bottle of gin and she knew that soon he would weep. But for now it was good. She felt none of the usual anticipation she usually had before a kill, and wasn’t sure why.
“She’s out,” Brookes said breathlessly as he ran into O’Malley’s bar that afternoon.
There was a storm building inside Ray’s skull. Waiting to break. And it was all because Ray hadn’t seen her for over a week now. Twenty-seven days and seventeen hours, to be precise. And he was starting to wonder if he’d imagined her. Created some kind of wish fulfilment figure. His stomach cramped.
“Dan, Dan, you uptight man, how does your garden grow? With no room for mushrooms, marijuana or peyote does your garden know it’s supposed to grow? Dan, every once and a while you just have to go to the john and smoke a joint. You strike me as the kind of guy who’s born with a tie on.”
When I got the call that Ray was dead, I was watching TV with my girlfriend of two years, Nicola. I hadn’t spoken to Ray in seven. Nicola had never heard of him.
“So the funeral’s tomorrow,” she said.
“Yeah.” I was still in shock.
Lord Wilton – Wiltie to his many friends, though whether they are fair-weather or not is up for discussion, but not perhaps during this story – lifts his head and looks at his tormentor. He cannot see very well, as one of his eyes is fully closed and blood runs from a wound at his scalp into the other. His face is a mess, and the blood has dripped onto his smart evening wear, Continue reading Whiff of Poe by Katy O’Dowd
“Yeah, but my point is that no one is the person they were at four am.”
“I still don’t know what you mean.”
“Listen, Peter Cook used to say that you could have any woman in the world if you kept her up talking past three am.”
Come Monday morning Steve Kowalski doubted he’d have a job to go back to. Before his meeting with Lola and Dom today he went down town and wandered about for a little while. He went in the coffee shop, the one near the flea market where the repulsively ugly head-barista had bug eyes and a receding chin that disappeared into his neck, devolving into rolls of fleshy, pink fat. The ugly swine was enough to put you off your coffee. Disappointingly, the pretty waitress wasn’t on duty as an antidote. Kowalski found a table over in the corner and Continue reading Something Wonderful by U.V. Ray
Renaldo Sandoval sat alone in his room and went over everything again.
Do not look straight ahead. Look at the numbers on the doors as you walk by each of them.
The smell of the solvent he used to clean his pistol had almost dissipated. He unloaded, counted, and reloaded thirteen 9mm, Federal Hydra-shok hollow-point cartridges into the magazine, inspecting each one for possible flaws that could lead to a misfire.
Do not ignore the men in the hall – but do not stare at them either. Look at them once, briefly make eye contact, and then go back to looking at the numbers on the doors.
The suppressor on the muzzle of his pistol fit perfectly. He considered cleaning and lubricating the gun one more time, but decided against it.
Ghost hunting would save their relationship. It would bring back that old spark, that old tickle of anticipation Jeff and Mary had when they first met. They found an old house in the woods off Highway 2, widely assumed to be involved somehow in a string of disappearances. Jeff didn’t speak as he drove, his hands followed the road.
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