“Then why you tellin’ me about it?”
“I want to keep it.”
“I’d be surprised if it lasted long enough. Surely your blood is like venom, your milk will be sour. You should do the child a favour and never bring it into the world in the first place.”
Clint was surprised at his own bitterness. First she raised him up, then dashed him on the rocks. He’d barely gotten used to the idea of being a dad and she’d already taken it from him. Maybe it was his, but he’d never know for sure, now.
“I knew you’d say that. Always going on about the wickedness of the world, like you were above it all, like you had made no contribution to it.”
“I’ve done what I needed to get by. But I’ve done my best to keep my wrongs and those of others to a minimum. I’ve accepted the world can be bad. Doesn’t mean it can’t be better. I wouldn’t want my kid to live in my world, that’s true. I’d want more –”
“It ain’t yours,” said another voice, interrupting from the shadows. Jack Malone slipped out of the dark. “The lady wants you to leave her alone.”
“Jack? What’re you doing here?” Clint and Jack had been working for Marconi for years. Wasn’t a week went by they didn’t get drunk together. “Thought you’d be with your wife.”
“Marie-Claire was worried you’d get upset, that your little chat could lead to her getting hurt. I don’t want anyone hurting the mother of my child.”
“Does Diane know about this, Jack? I’m surprised. I’ll admit it. But I’ve known Marie-Claire long enough to not trust a word she says. And you’ve known me long enough to know I couldn’t do such a thing.”
“I’ve left Diane,” said Jack. “I told her I was ready for bigger things. She was holding me back.”
“Don’t be a fool, man,” said Clint. “Go home, apologise. Marie-Claire will eat you alive, spit you out, and you’ll be left with nothin’.”
“She’s carrying my kid, what else can I do?”
“Look after the one you’ve already got.”
“It’s good to see you boys catching up,” said Marie-Claire. “But enough of this. You know he’ll not leave us in peace, Jack. He’s already trying to come between us. I told you this would happen. You know how this has to go.”
Jack shook his head like he was trying to free something stuck to him. He reached into his trouser pocket and at the push of a button silver caught the moonlight. He stepped towards Clint.
“You don’t need to do this, Jack. We’re buddies. We can sort this out.”
“Gotta protect my kid,” Jack said, his voice sounding far away.
Jack pointed his blade towards Clint, who readied to dodge and reach for his gun. Clint kept his eyes on Jack waiting for the right moment. They stayed that way for several seconds in stalemate. Marie-Claire tutted, stepped beside Jack and thrust his hand forward. Clint tried to dodge the blow, but his footing was wrong and the angle of attack lower than he had expected. The knife punctured his guts with its razor edge and sliced across. He felt warmth blooming around his waist and a deep ache in his bowels. He fell onto his knees, looking dumbly at the blood on his hands.
Marie-Claire pushed him with her foot, the stiletto heel digging into Clint’s chest. As he toppled backwards he felt weak and stupid.
Clint flopped into the pool of fresh concrete. It started to drag him down and he had no strength to fight it. The wetness of his blood mingled with the congealing cement.
The concrete consumed his body and his head sank below the surface as he cried out for help. As the rough fluid scoured his throat and burned its way down inside him, all he could think about was why. Why had she wanted him dead? Was he really a monster?
Acknowledgments
Having reached my fifth completed novel, my main thanks remain with the Glasgow SF Writers Circle, who have supported me since I joined at the start of the new Millenium. They’ve helped me grow from a writer whose opinion of his own work was too high, into the author you read before you. Thank you to everyone who has attended and given me their time to critique and give feedback.
I must also thank my beta readers including Simon and Paula Andrews, and Christine Wallace. Without Paula, I’d not have heard of Creativia, and this may have taken longer to be in your hands.
Unlike some of my novels, this wasn’t a research heavy book. Nevertheless, I may have taken some minor liberties with the geography of Las Vegas, the nature of ghosts, and Clint’s story. Any errors are unintended and wholly my own.
About the Author
Richard Mosses has been telling stories most of his life. This is one of them.
Richard was born on a small island off the coast of Europe and went to live on a bigger island, and has spent time living on the island of Ireland. He grew up under Mutually Assured Destruction, and was haunted by the Spirit of Dark and Lonely Water. From scripting zombie films for the kids in the village he grew up in, to Storytelling at National and International levels in The Camarilla LARP society, he's tried his hand at most forms of telling tales.
Since the Noughties, Richard's stories have appeared in literary magazines and genre anthologies, exploring history and belief from Gnostic heresies to punk magic. His novels cover similar territory in the strange nexus of angels, cryptography, magic, and espionage.
Gheist Page 24
