Ravenous Ghosts by Kealan Patrick Burke Read Free Book Online Page B

See how the eyes follow you around the room?"
    " Yeah. Like those pictures of Jesus."
    He watched them, waited to wake up. Waited for salvation he had no choice but to believe would come, whether by cruel of kind means…
    "So our boy was diddling around behind his wife's back. Maybe he ran off with the voodoo lady?"
    " It's a possibility. I'm hoping some of his co-workers here will be willing to enlighten us on what our Mr. Cates got up to after hours."
    " All right. Let's go check it out."
    The window cleared.
    Bill watched, waited and screamed in silence from inside his frame.
     
     
     
    THE WRONG POCKET
     
    This story stayed in a dusty drawer for a long time until I was approached to contribute a story to a crime anthology. Partly out of laziness, I took this one out, dusted it off and sent it off to the editor. I promptly forgot about it. Much to my surprise, it was accepted and since then has proven to be one of my more popular tales among readers. Strange indeed. But if nothing else, it shows how, when asked to write a crime story, I can't resist adding a little otherworldly spice to the proceedings.
     
    This one was going to be a breeze. Stan sensed as much and penguins would fly before his instincts were proved wrong.
    The guy with the purple coat stuck out like a diamond in a turd – as Greta was known to say – and thus, caught the eye of the thief as soon as he entered the train station.
    Fat cat , Stan thought, busy pretending to read the schedule mounted on the wall beside the restrooms while the ghost of the purple man crossed the plexiglass. Tonight my dear we eat at the Golden Sword .
    For weeks now his wife had been nagging him to make a score they could actually live on for more than a week. Greta was quick to goad him into working but just as quick to blow his take on expensive clothes and jewelry, a habit that annoyed the hell out of him. All it would take to bring the end of everything would be a suspicious cop acting on a tip-off and calling to their house. He pictured Greta opening the door, wearing more chains than a moored boat, the cop slowly reaching for his own less fashionable set of bracelets…
    Stan shook his head and cast a glance over his shoulder.
    The purple man was heading towards the men 's room, his eyes fixed on the floor ahead of him as if fascinated by people's choice in footwear.
    Stan pondered his next move but Greta 's voice shrilled in his head, making him wince. "Wait until boarding, you idiot. You're less likely to be spotted in a crowd and he's not going to feel you lift his wallet with fifty or sixty people crushing against him."
    She was right of course, as always but how he hated to admit that.
    His wife frequently used his lack of education against him whenever they argued and he would more often than not be forced to back down, as if the mere reminder was enough to lower his actual IQ, rendering him incapable of an adequate response.
    Still, he loved her and as long as her decisions bore fruit and he got to spend half the money, then he could live with her claim of intellectual superiority.
    The purple man emerged from the restroom, adjusting his belt with a meaty ring-studded hand.
    This guy looks like a gangster from a Dick Tracy comic , Stan thought, his mouth curling into a smile.
    Indeed the purple man did seem better suited to a comic book. A three-piece suit concealed a massive bulk, presided over by an ill-tempered face mashed between meaty jowls. The guy 's pencil-thin moustache looked phony, drawn on for dramatic effect. A purple fedora with a yellow feather-band capped off the walking beetroot and Stan was caught between amusement and nervousness as he fell into step behind him. Some obscure cologne wafted into his face and he winced. It smelled like burnt leather.
    " Remember not too close. People can feel it when someone is treading on their shadow," Greta's disembodied voice advised.
    I know. Give me a little credit.
    However, as he kept his head low in