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strong and hot, and he fired them at me, somewhere towards me; I could feel
them burning the brickwork just to one side of my head. "He's mine, Shaka!"
shouted Murdoch.
And wasn't it just my fate, to be the prize in a shooting contest, between the
real and its shadow.
Murdoch asked her gun barrel to focus, and I could hear the whirring, as it
found my centre, fixing hot bullets upon the heart, that soft target.
"Turn around slowly," Murdoch said. "Towards the wall. No surprises. I don't
like surprises."
Sure.
So I'm turning to the wall, just in the very act of turning, when I sense
Beetle nearby.
That's how it was. I could just sense him!
The Beetle steps out of the shadows, holding his gun aloft, like an offering.
Murdoch had seen that gun before and now here she was, once again, on the
dirty end.
You could tell she wasn't too keen on it. Same with the Shaka. He'd taken
punishment from it;
now here he was, once again, on the dirty end.
Made me feel good; just to be free, for once, of the dirty end.
Shaka was flickering on and off, his shot memory banks struggling against his
mechanisms. His box of tricks was being held by some new dumbfuck partner, who
was obviously way out of cool; he was shaking, and the aerial box was shaking
with him. Shaka was doing his best to keep his beams in line. You could tell
from his half-lit face that humans left him kind of cold at this precise
moment.
Murdoch was sweating; fluid was running down the claw marks in her face.
At the junction of Wilbraham Road and some poor bugger's driveway, rested the
mobile kennel van of Dingo Tush and his pack of canine players. Hey, hey,
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we're the Warewolves, painted on the side. Next to it I could see Tristan and
Suze, their hair a strong river flowing with moonlight Suze had the two
robo-hounds on a double leash. The dogs were almost as tall as she was and
baying for cop-blood.
I was dancing. That twitching dance that only the truly scared-to-fuck can
manage.
But my mind was like a stranger, a cold hearted stranger with a gun in his
hands.
That was the
Beetle. Mandy came up behind him, her eyes darting from point to point, as she
made out how the twin guns were poised; one on my heart, the other on a
shecop's head.
Moon was still, full, and voiceless.
I'm taking this one moment at a time, step by step, because it's difficult,
and because it's so important.
Murdoch spoke up. "You're going down for the murder of a police officer,
Beetle."
"So take me," the Beetle answered, just like that. Beautiful. Murdoch let the
sweat droplets roll down her face, down her arms, down her fingers, to the
trigger on the gun. It was slippery. The whole thing was slippery.
"Give me inpho, Shaka," she asked.
Shaka obeyed, firing a thin shaking beam, straight to the gun in Beetle's
hands. "IT"S A
GUN, MURDOCH," he replied.
"For fuck's sake, Shaka!"
SORRY MA'AM.
I guess we caught that Shadow real good.
Thin beam travelling once again; Beetle just letting it happen, like he knew
somehow, what was about to happen.
FOUR BULLETS LEFT, beamed the Shadowcop.
"You taking a chance, Murdoch?" asked the Beetle.
"Well, I guess so," she answered.
Somebody was gonna get killed, hurt, or arrested.
Maybe it was me. Most probably it was me.
Some things just seem bound.
This is how we lost Desdemona, and found the Thing. Yes, time to tell it.
Sister and brother flying down through a feather's embraces. Into the Voodoo
world. To land softly in a garden of bliss, walled in by ancient stones,
surrounded by colours and perfume, a jungle of flowers. Bright yellow birds
were singing bright yellow songs, from the trees that were growing, visibly,
even whilst we walked. Deep in the countryside, an English garden. . .
"It's lovely, Scribble!" announced Desdemona. And indeed it was; everything
you could wish for. Desdemona took my hand, and then my mouth, filling me up
with kisses. The garden was playing with our senses, making them into a
tapestry. The flowers were pollen-heavy, and so was I. I took Desdemona into
my arms, letting her fall, gently, to the floor of petals, me following her
down, into the petals.
Her cunt was pressed against my cock, and the world was beautiful.
I've done this already, I thought, maybe this is the Haunting? Maybe I'm [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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