The Writer and the Ghosts - 13

Linc almost dropped the platter when he entered the kitchen and heard Giorgio say, “He’s cute, and sexy.”

“And straight,” Linc muttered.

Jeanie shot him a puzzled look. “What’s straight?”

“Umm, should I take this straight into the dining room?”

“No. Put the chicken in a pan so I can finish cooking it. Oh, and you too, Tom,” she added when the young man appeared. When he cocked an eyebrow in question she said, “Chicken…pan.”

Linc set the platter down, grabbed a paper towel to dry his glasses so he could see clearly again then dug a pan out of the cupboard and with Tom’s help the chicken was soon in the oven. “Anything else, mom?” he asked.

She shooed him away, telling him to go keep his friends company.

“What friends,” he said softly as he followed Tom out of the kitchen.

“Well if you play your cards right…” Giorgio said. “That Tom’s got a nice ass on him.”

“Giorgio,” Damian said before Linc could, “shut up. Although…” there was a small pause, “it is rather a nice one.”

“Both of you, stop,” Linc growled.

Tom turned around to look at him. “Stop what?”

“Umm…” Linc tried desperately to think of a reply that made sense. “Just telling the rain to stop. It’s going to be crowded in here.”

“Rain, rain, go away,” Jeff said as he and Allie joined them, his arm around her waist. “Do you have any towels, we’re all soaking wet, especially you two.”

Linc suddenly realized exactly how wet Tom was when he saw his shirt was plastered to his body. He gulped, saying, “I’ll be right back.”

“Offer him a dry shirt, you idiot,” Giorgio said.

“I’m not…”

“You’re doing it again.” Linc spun around to find Tom right behind him. “Do you always talk to yourself out loud?”

“No! Well not always. Just when… Umm, would you like a dry shirt? I can bring you one.”

“Sure, if you’ve got something that’ll fit. I’m a bit larger than you. Tell you what I’ll come up with you, that way you don’t have to do by guess and by golly.”

“I…sure.”

“Hot damn,” Giorgio said. Linc could imagine him smirking and sighed.

“Want me to gag him?” Damian asked, chuckling. “One nod for yes, two for no.”

Linc nodded once, sharply. He heard a muffled sound which he prayed was Giorgio being gagged or better yet dragged away. Presuming that was possible considering they were both incorporeal at the moment.

The Writer and the Ghosts - 12

“You must be Linc,” the young man said as Linc dropped down next to him. “I’m Tom, that’s Jeff,” he tilted his head towards the blonde on sitting on the other side of him, “and he’s Neal.” Tom pointed to the third young man, a red-head, who was leaning against the tree staring pensively off into space. “He’s sort of shy,” Tom whispered, “but a nice kid when he deigns to talk.”

Neal glanced over, lifted his can of beer in acknowledgement then went back to whatever he was thinking about.

“So,” Tom said, “I hear you’re a writer.”

Linc nodded. “I have two books published, horror stories.” He decided not to mention the main characters were gay. He figured that wasn’t the way to impress them. Not that he cared about doing that but still… Tom at least seemed friendly enough.

“Aren’t you a bit young to have two books out,” Jeff asked, leaning forward to look at Linc.

“I didn’t realize there was an age limit,” Linc shot back, bristling.

“Jeff’s just jealous,” Tom said. “Like the rest of us he’s living with the parental units.”

“Only until the wedding,” Jeff replied. “Then I’m moving into my own place. Well our own place.”

“Allie’s own place if you want to get technical,” Tom said with a grin.

“She’s my sister,” Neal said softly as he shifted so he could join the conversation.

Linc glanced at the two girls he’d seen with the women. “Bet she’s the redhead. When’s the wedding?”

“End of the month,” all three young men replied at once. Tom laughed. “Sorry but that seems to be the question of the hour. Do you have a girlfriend lucking somewhere Linc?’

“Not at the moment, no,” Linc answered truthfully.

“Maybe we should introduce him to Lisa, that’s the girl with Allie,” Jeff said with a smirk.

Tom shook his head. “She’d eat him alive. Besides she seems to have set her cap for Neal, or whatever it is women do.”

Neal shuddered. “If she wasn’t going to be Allie’s bridesmaid I’d tell her to go home. She’s…scary.”

“What are you worried about anyway? You’ve got Susan.”

Neal smiled softly. “Yeah I do and if she didn’t have to work she’d be here…”

A crash of thunder followed by a bolt of lightening cut him off, and then the skies opened up. The women screamed, grabbed bowls and plates of food, and raced for the house. Linc dashed over to help his father put the chicken onto platters while another man speared the steaks off the grill and dumped them into a cooking tray. The rain hitting the fire created billowing smoke which made the job even harder.

“Here, let me,” Tom said from behind Linc, reaching around him to take one overly full platter of almost cooked chicken. He pushed some of it off onto a second platter, yelped and sucked his fingers. “Hot, hot.”

Linc couldn’t help but say, “Well duh,” even as he watched Tom. His finger sucking struck Linc as very erotic. Quickly he turned away, picking up the second platter then heading to the house.

'Hitman's Creed' - a blurb and excerpt.

Coming September 10th from Silver Publishing 

(Please note: Neither the blurb not the excerpt have gone through final edits)

Description:

Two men:

Glenn Tanner, a thirty-four year old hitman who wants to disappear and start a new life.

Joey Fairburn, a twenty-one year old Criminal Justice student studying to become a cop.

One problem in common:

Joey's father, an escaped killer, is on his way to the small town where Joey and his mother live, and where Glenn has finally settled down. Only time will tell if Glenn and Joey, so disparate in both age and backgrounds, will be able to find a common bond to unite them in an attempt to stop the killer from murdering Joey's mother, and in the process perhaps find love.

Excerpt:

Prologue

       There comes a point in everyone's life when they wonder if they've made the right choices. Glenn was at that point as he rested his hands on the railing of the catwalk high above the stage. He had everything planned down to the nth degree, as always. The AR-7 rested between his legs, scope attached. He could make his way from where he stood to the exit he needed even in the dark. He knew this because he'd practiced it several times over the last two days. One of the advantages of being on the backstage crew was the freedom of movement it gave him to roam the theater at will.

      While he watched the show in progress, waiting for the moment when it was time to put his plan into action, part of his mind was lamenting the fact that, as always, he would be on a plane heading off to nowhere as soon as he was finished. Such was his life, one anonymous hotel room after another, no place to call home, no one to go home to even if he had one.

      "Maybe it's time to find a new profession," he murmured under his breath.

     The sound of laughter from the audience broke his train of thought, bringing him back to the present. He brushed his hand through his hair, which was at the moment dark, the natural gray streaks at his temples invisible thanks to his expertise at dying it to suit whatever role he was playing while on the job. Then instinctively he ran a finger over his upper lip to smooth his moustache. It was no longer there, gone to make him look younger than his thirty-four plus years. ‘I’m getting too old for the game,’ he thought yet again as he had too often recently.

       He heard the actress speak the lines which told him it was almost time and picked up the rifle. A fast check around him told him what he already knew. He was alone on the catwalk.

     He knelt, resting the rifle against one of the railing bars. A flash of movement caught his attention momentarily; a young actress was pacing nervously in the wings, awaiting her cue to enter. Ignoring her he calmly stared through the scope to sight in on his target. He had no idea why the woman he was looking at needed eliminating, or in this particular place. That was none of his business. It was his job to do it successfully, and in his own self-interests not to be caught afterwards.

       The actress stood facing the actor playing her husband as they spoke their lines, her hands resting on his shoulders, the only two on stage at the moment. Glenn knew he had only a minute before she moved. He focused in on the top of her head and slowly pulled the trigger, once and then again. When the bullets tore through her skull there was a moment of dead silence and then the screams began as she fell to the stage floor.

      Even as people rushed to his victim's side a few of the stagehands paused to look up into the fly space trying to locate him. By then Glenn was disassembling the rifle. He put the parts into the bag at his feet, picked it up, and raced down the dark catwalk. When he reached the end, he paused just long enough to strip off the black jumpsuit he'd been wearing, stuffing it into the bag as well. Now he was in the dark jeans and a navy turtleneck he'd worn when he came to work earlier that evening.

       Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Glenn made his way up the ladder at the end of the catwalk to the grid at the top of the theater's fly space, his crepe-soled shoes making no sounds on the metal rungs. He knew he was virtually invisible from below but was taking no chances, especially when he heard the sound of feet coming up a ladder from the backstage area to the lighting grid. Obviously at least one crew member was willing to take the chance that they could find him before he got away.

       Just ahead of him now, at the top of a final short ladder, was the emergency exit he needed. He’d already disabled the alarm so there would be no worry it would go off and alert anyone as to his exact whereabouts. He pushed the trapdoor open and leapt onto the slanted roof. It was still slick from an earlier rain shower so Glenn was doubly careful as he made his way to the edge and then over it to the fire escape. Before he started down he checked to make certain the alley was vacant of any observers, including transients who might have sought shelter in one of the doorways. With no one in sight he sped down, jumping silently the last few feet to the pavement.

       Then he strolled casually toward the street, stopping long enough to light a cigarette, the brief glow of the lighter reflecting off his deadly serious hazel eyes. When Glenn reached the end of the alley he smiled tightly when he heard the blare of sirens then saw two patrol cars come to a screeching stop in front of the theater. He turned in the opposite direction and was soon just another pedestrian out for a night on the town.

The Writer and the Ghosts - 11

Linc looked in the mirror and wondered who the man was he saw there. “For sure that’s not me,” he murmured softly.

“It’s the new you,” Damian replied from behind him.

“And sexy as hell.” Giorgio grinned. “We done good.”

Linc supposed he was right. The man in the mirror wasn’t bad looking, even with the glasses. Tight jeans encased his legs. A pale green shirt, unbuttoned halfway down at Giorgio’s insistence, seemed to bring out the green in his hazel eyes. He started to run a hand through his hair and Giorgio immediately grabbed his arm.

“It’s perfect the way it is.” Putting his hands on Linc’s shoulders he turned him to face the door. “Now go, have fun, make friends.”

“I don’t want to,” Linc replied petulantly. “I have better things to do, like…write.”

Damian smiled. “Just this once you get to live life, not just write about it. So move it.”

With a sigh Linc walked slowly out of his room.

“Now we babysit to make certain he doesn’t hide behind a pillar or something,” Giorgio said as he began to fade from view. Damian nodded and followed.

At the bottom of the stairs Linc paused to see exactly how bad things were going to be. The living room held a few people his parent’s age who seemed content to just sit and chat with each other. He wondered if he could join them, maybe take the chair in the corner that no one seemed interested in and just sit and listen.

“No,” he heard Giorgio say. “The back yard’s where all the fun is.”

“And you’re going to stick like glue to make certain I go out there,” Linc muttered under his breath.

A laugh sounded as Damian said, “You better believe it. And quit talking to us, people will think you’re talking to yourself and wonder.”

“But…” Linc snapped his mouth closed. Damian was right and he knew it so he tightened his resolve and made his way to the back porch. Then he grinned to himself. ‘They can’t follow me out here. I’m safe.’  Stepping off the porch he stood and surveyed the scene in front of him.

The barbeque grill was surrounded by men, ‘No surprise there,’ he thought. The women seemed to have congregated around the tables set up on one side of the yard. A couple of them were young, around his age. He froze when one of them saw him and began to whisper to her friend, both of them looking his way then. Quickly he hurried to join his father at the grill. “Need any help?”

“Not at the moment. Everything seems to be under control as long as the storm holds off, or moves in another direction.” They both looked up at the gathering clouds on the horizon. Richard patted his son’s shoulder. “Go enjoy yourself.”

Linc was tempted to say, “You mean I can back upstairs,” but knew that was not an option. If one of his parents didn’t come up to drag him back to the party then the ghosts would.

So instead he looked around, wondering where he could safely watch unmolested. He saw three young men sitting under the large oak tree, drinks in hand as they talked to each other, all three of them casually dressed, if a bit ‘preppy’ looking. One of them glanced up, saw him and beckoned for him to join them. Reluctantly he did, stopping on the way to snag a soda from one of the coolers.

The Writer and the Ghosts - 10

With the party planning well underway and in his mother’s competent hands Linc got back to what he loved most, writing. The book was going well and he figured barring necessary interruptions he might have it finished and ready to sent to his publisher by the end of the month, which was his deadline.

Then, two days before the party, Damian and Giorgio reappeared. They had been blessedly absent up until now, much to Linc’s relief.

Giorgio immediately, without asking, went to rifle through Linc’s closet. “No, no, absolutely not, oh my god this is dreadful.” He turned to look at Linc. “When was the last time you went clothes shopping? When the dinosaurs ruled?”

“There is nothing wrong with my clothes,” Linc protested. “They’re…comfortable, and that’s what counts.”

“For a recluse holed up in a dark cave, maybe,” Giorgio snorted out. “Okay, we have shopping to do.”

Damian cocked an eyebrow. “Just how are ‘we’ going to go shopping with him.”

Rather than reply directly Giorgio asked Linc, “Do you have a credit card?”

“Of course, who doesn’t?”

“Me for one,” Giorgio grumbled. “I had a one but gee, somehow it seems to have expired. Wonder why.”

“You’re getting old and senile and forgot to re-up it?” Linc asked with a straight face.

“I’ll have you know I’m only twenty-six which is not that much older than you.”

“And into the whole retro thing from the look of your clothes. You’re the one who needs to go shopping, not me.”

“Unfortunately,” Damian put in, “what we died in is what we’re stuck with.”

“Whoa, that sucks. So if I died right now..?”

“You’d spend the afterlife in too-short cut-offs and a…what the hell is that anyway?” Giorgio looked at Linc’s T-shirt.

“It’s the Tardis. Don’t tell me you don’t know what that is.”

“Looks like a phone booth,” Damian commented.

Linc rolled his eyes. “Where have you been? Don’t you watch television? Dr. Who?”

“Who’s on first, What’s on second…” Giorgio said, grinning.

           “I Don’t Know’s on third,” Linc finished with a laugh. “But the wrong ‘Who’.”

Damian shook his head. “We’ve got better things to do than watch the boob-tube as someone called it.”

“Such as harassing poor humans like me,” Linc muttered.

“You bet.” Giorgio grinned. “So get out the card, Linc, you’re going shopping as soon as we tell you what to buy.”

“Just how are you..? Oh.” Linc sighed when Giorgio pointed to the computer. Reluctantly he saved his file, closed it and logged onto the internet. “WalMart?” he asked.

“Not even. There have to be decent men’s shops close enough to drive to.”   

“If there are, Giorgio, I have no idea where.”

Giorgio looked back at the closet for a second and snorted. “I can tell. So do what you have to to find one.”

Fifteen minutes later Linc had a shopping list of sorts. Giorgio, who seemed to be the fashion expert of the pair, had insisted Linc get some tight jeans for starters. He really wanted him to get leather pants but Linc had put his foot down on that.

“Where the hell would I wear them?” he asked.

Giorgio looked at Linc as if he was dense. “To a club, obviously. When you meet the man of your dreams you’re going to want to take him to one.”

Linc just shook his head. “Even if, and it’s not likely, someone interesting comes to the party, he’s for sure not going to want to go out with me. Besides, I don’t dance.”

Giorgio looked at him in shock. “You don’t dance?”

“Not a lick.”

“Where the hell have you been all your life? In a monastery?”

“Nope. In college then in a relationship that turned out sucky and then here.”

“And it all that time you never once went clubbing. Un-fucking-believable.”

“Now, now, Giorgio, not everyone’s into living the way you did,” Damian said, patting his shoulder. “Sex, drugs and rock and roll.”

Giorgio got a dreamy look in his eyes for a moment. “Hendrix, Joplin, ah the good old days.” He shook his head. “But enough of that, back to clothes. I’ll let you pass on the leathers. Now for shirts.”