Grosse Pointe Pulp by Dan Ames

Author:Dan Ames
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Slogan Books

5

The silence woke him up.

The rain had stopped, the wind was now barely a whisper, and his entire body hurt. He twisted in his cocoon of stale sheets and struggled to get to his feet. He unwound himself and let the bedding fall to the floor of the trailer.

He needed a mirror.

The Spook stepped into the tiny hallway between the living area and the eating nook. A closet smaller than a phone booth held a toilet, a stainless steel sink, and a mirror.

Dear Jesus.

Even his idol, the great Keith Richards, had never looked this bad.

His thin dark hair was plastered to one side of his head, streaks of dried blood crisscrossed his face, and his clothes were in tatters.

With a great degree of difficulty, he stripped off what remained of his shirt and found that one corner was still wet. He used that portion to wipe the blood from his face. When he finished that task, he was able to clearly look at himself and see what had become of his upper body. It wasn’t pretty. His chest was bare and the gash that had scraped across his torso stood out in all of its gruesome clarity.

Higher up, there was an ugly little puncture wound still seeping blood. It looked minor compared to the gash, but most of the pain he was experiencing emanated from that tiny gouge.

The majority of the laceration wasn’t too deep so it had clotted and he saw no signs of fresh blood. Its biggest problem was the sheer size and ugliness of the wound.

John Rockne, he thought. He shook his head. Rockne was an amateur. How had he let this happen? They’d been rammed on the boat, that’s how. In the middle of the storm someone had crashed into them and that had thrown his plan out the window, and him into the water.

Well, Rockne wouldn’t get lucky again.

The Spook judged himself in the mirror. This just wouldn’t do. He had to clean himself up, get some medicine and hopefully something to take the edge off the pain.

He wasn’t terribly familiar with Windsor, the community just across the river from Detroit. He knew there was a big casino and about 99% less crime than its neighbor. It was also home to a plethora of strip clubs. Local Detroiters referred to the trade as the Windsor Ballet.

But the Spook knew enough to realize that walking down the street bare-chested with a great bloody gash across his body was not going to fly. Even in a small community like Windsor. People tended to call the police when they saw someone walking around visibly bleeding.

He left the bathroom, went to the front of the trailer and looked out the window. It was already evening which meant he had slept far longer than he would have thought possible. He remembered getting hit in the neck and head by something as well during the boat crash, and wondered if he had a concussion. Probably.

The sleep had done him well, though. He wasn’t shivering anymore and although he felt weak, he felt a lot better.

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