Rage of the Heavens by Steve Gilmore EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Author: Steve Gilmore
- Language: English
- Genre: Metaphysical Fantasy eBooks
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
The bar was an absolute shithole.
And I would know.
Mainly because I fashioned myself a faithful connoisseur of the great
shithole bar circuit. In my mortal days, I’d patronized just about every kind
there was.
Down-and-out shitholes.
Up-and-coming shitholes.
Local no-name shitholes.
Franchise yuppie shitholes.
Backwoods redneck shitholes.
Uptown tourist trap shitholes.
And, of course, my least favorite — hipster bars that tried to pass
themselves off as shitholes but they couldn’t because they weren’t. And
everybody knew it. Even the goddamn hipsters.
Making the mental note that the particular establishment I found myself
in at the moment had risen to the very top of a yet-to-be-identified shithole
bar classification, I curiously watched the muscle-clad bartender coaxing
some life into one of the disheveled taps by beating it with a hammer.
Realizing I needed a refill, he sauntered over like he owned the joint and
grunted something.
“What?” I grunted back, struggling to hear the heavily tattooed beefcake
over the blaring seventies rock that crackled and hissed through the series
of dilapidated speakers dangling from the ceiling.
“I said, do you want another beer?”
“Please. But only if it’s flat and warm like the first two.”
He scowled. “You some kind of smart ass?”
I grinned. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“If you’re some kind of dumb ass.”
Ignoring my snide commentary, he said, “You want a beer or not,
asshole?”
Reaching into the pocket of my sullied jeans, I pulled out an arcane coin
and slid it across the bar. “Changed my mind. How about you be a good lad
and go fetch me a Black Swan.”
His eyes narrowed into an intense squint as he snatched the obscure
token. “You got a name?”
“Nope.”
“And your friend?”
Glancing at the angel sitting next to me in hex cuffs, I said, “His name’s
Kerubiel, but you can call him Bobby. And he’s not my friend.”
Saying nothing more, he waltzed to the far end of the dilapidated
wooden bar and placed the coin in front of a peculiar character with an old
school black touring cap pulled low over his face.
“Get ready,” I muttered, under my breath. “Shit’s about to get real.”
Trying like hell to ignore the incessant waves of cigarette smoke that
rolled through the ramshackle room like a smoldering forest fire, Bobby
said, “I don’t understand, Dean.”
“Understand what?”
“You just told that man I’m not your friend.”
“So.”
“Are we not friends?”
“We’re undercover, Bobby. You’re supposed to be my prisoner.
Remember the plan?”
“So, you told a lie?”
“Yes. To sell our cover story. You get it?”
He nodded. “I believe I do.”
“Just play your part for a little longer, and then it’s go-time.”
“I understand. I’ll play my part. And then we’ll leave.”
“No, Bobby, we don’t leave when it’s go-time. We go. Remember?”
Studying his emotionless gaze, I took a healthy gulp from my piss warm
beer as he nodded again.
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