Doyle After Death by John Shirley Read Free Book Online Page A

house using only the ashes, Major.”
    â€œIf you say so. Some ways, it’s all do-­over.”
    He didn’t go on to decrypt this cryptic statement, so I drank a little more whiskey and thought of something else I liked about being dead. New experiences. “This place seems to have a sense of community. So I figure I’ll see if there’s any way to make myself useful.”
    He put his hands on the bar and leaned toward me. Held my eyes with his steady, heavy lidded gaze. “ Useful to whom exactly? ”
    I was a little surprised at the force he put in that question. Seemed to be a big question to him. “I dunno, Major. Um—­” I frowned. What had I meant? “I guess I mean useful to . . . the good guys?”
    â€œYou think you know who the good guys are? You see any angels here? Or devils?”
    â€œNot that I’ve noticed. Saw a nice-­looking lady wearing only a bathrobe. Didn’t look so angelic. Saw another lady who knocked her husband off a balcony. Definitely not angelic. Met Arthur Conan Doyle, live and in person . . . didn’t have any wings on him. Ran into a ­couple of annoying punks—­Randy and Mo. Didn’t seem so devilish.”
    â€œSo—­who’re the good guys , then?”
    â€œYou some kinda moral relativist, Major? Hell, I dunno—­maybe whoever at least tries to do no harm, those are the ‘good guys.’ There’s ‘better guys,’ too, seems to me. Better guys are pro active, without being assholes about it. They try to make things a little better, for someone, somewhere. That’s my take on it.”
    â€œYeah?” He tilted his head, looking at me, began polishing a glass with a rag. Where did they get rags in the afterlife? “What brand of do-­gooder you think we need around here? Can’t be good by feeding ­people ’cause nobody starves here.”
    Â­â€œPeople suffer here,” I pointed out. “Some of them do. I got that clear from Fiona.”
    â€œSo, Saint Nick, you’re trying to say the good guys are the ones who ease suffering?”
    I cleared my throat, thinking it over. It seemed to me I was being tested, some way. I didn’t much like his tone and I didn’t feel like taking a test. I had an impulse to tell him to fuck off. But he seemed like a right guy, if a grouchy one, and I needed to get the lowdown on Garden Rest. So I let it go, and said, “That’s about what it comes down to. The good guys take the general suffering down a notch or two. Make somebody feel some hope. I dunno, that’s as far as I ever thought it through.”
    The Major surprised me by smiling. First time since I’d come in—­a thin little smile but a congenial one. “Maybe you’re okay.” He drummed his fingers on the bar. “Maybe you can be of use.”
    â€œYeah? How?”
    He glanced over at the poker players, lowered his voice to say, “We do have some security issues here. You haven’t been in the afterworld very long. But . . . it might be timely. Getting a detective here. Spur Doyle on, for one thing. Be good for him. It’s damned quick to get you involved in it, your first day, but . . .”
    â€œNo one’s explained that ‘days and nights’ thing to me. I mean, that’s the material world, that has planets and planetary rotation and suns and all that stuff.”
    â€œThis is a world, with its own sun. I’ll leave it at that for now. This is the afterworld, we call it. Lots of things are the same as in life, and lots of things are different. This is the material world too—­just a different material.”
    â€œCan I have another shot of the uh, whatever this is?”
    He narrowed his eyes. “Can you pay for it? Or are you . . . a deadbeat?”
    â€œNah, I’m an aftered beat. Let me see . . .”
    â€œI was