They were going to string him up. Ring his neck. Things were on the brink. The situation was out of control. He had lost track of Ollister. His idiot men had. Which made him think the whole thing with Adelaide was a ruse, a clever decoy. And now he didn't know where Ollister's next move was going to come from. Which made every nerve ending in his body constrict. The White Sodality would be furious if they knew the extent of it. The Platypus would find himself on the chopping block, all sticky tar and tickling feather. Isadora would leave him without so much as a glance. He would end up on the streets, of New Orleans perhaps, eating only grapes and cheese, selling small reliefs in the French Quarter, just to get a goddamned drink.

He would stay after the punk kid. He had a feeling the girlfriend was about to come around. They were still out looking for the gray papers. But without Ollister, all these things were pointless.

The glass crackled again, and the ice shifted position, cubes bobbing to the top like stricken whales. The Platypus stared at the glass, at the amber snakes of light it drew on his polished desktop. He wondered what a photon was.

He needed distraction. He picked up the phone, grimacing. He had to fire the designer of his latest yacht. The man was intolerable, and devoid of imagination. If he wanted a fencing salle, stripper's pole and miniature greenhouse on his latest ship, he could find someone to tell him yes.

He put the phone down softly. He opened and closed his jaw. The headache was not going away.

PART 6


BOOKS BY THE2NDHAND CONTRIBUTORS at Amazon

Enter your search terms Submit search form

Web www.the2ndhand.com

070508