Ghost Recall by Alan Baxter EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author:Alan Baxter
- Language: English
- Genre: Assassination Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Trouble finds me like flies find shit. Then again, I do like to see a
motherfucker’s tooth spinning through the air, his lip spraying blood like a
split hose jetting water. Gonna have to get these knuckles cleaned up
though. The germs people have in their mouth would make you sick to
think about, and knuckles always get opened up by a motherfucker’s teeth,
and often end up infected. That’s a concern for later though. I was aiming
for his nose, but we can’t always have what we want.
“Duck,” Michael Privedi says.
I don’t pause to think about why the ghost of my dead friend would say
that, I simply comply. A piece of splintered two-by-four whistles over
where my head was a fraction of a second before. I use my downward
momentum to plant my hands and bring my leg around, sweeping the
shithead’s feet right out. He up-ends and hits the asphalt of the dirty alley
on his back with a rush of escaping air and a thock! as the back of his head
connects and he’s out. Always an advantage of hard ground.
Burst Lip Asshole has regained his composure and found a new measure of
anger, and his two mates are less surprised and more ready now. Four on
one was tough going, now it’s three on one and they’re spread out wide
across the alley, planning to paste me. Still tough going then.
“You are truly boned now, cocheese,” the ghost of Dwight Ramsey says,
blood trickling down his nose from the bullet hole between his eyes.
Oh, good. The gang’s all here. Officer Graney, his throat ruined by the
bullet I put through it and more scarlet blooms on the chest of his police
shirt, is standing beside Dwight, ready to enjoy the show. Sylvester Barclay
is leaning against the wall farther away, organs glistening where I blasted a
shotgun shell through his chest, smoking his ubiquitous joint. Blue smoke
curls out of his wide-open ribcage. Michael is somewhere behind me. Only
Alvin Crake is missing, but I’m sure he’s here somewhere. Ghosts of the
bastards I killed. Well, five of the many. I still don’t know why only these
five. Now is not the time to think about it.
Michael strolls around behind the goons, the explosion of bone and brains
where his ear used to be reflecting a streetlight at the end of the alley. He’s
the only kill I really regret, but he gave me no choice. “Better focus,
dickhead,” he says.
He’s right.
“Gonna fucking kill you,” Burst Lip Asshole says. Well, slurs.
They advance in a line, the other two fanning ahead and wide of Burst Lip,
planning to flank me. I wish I had my guns on me, but I’ve got out of the
habit of carrying them. Getting complacent. Now is not the time to think
about that either.
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