Monster Skin (A Spooky Bonsai Mystery Book 1) by Melancton Hawks

Author:Melancton Hawks [Hawks, Melancton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: k'12
Publisher: Last Night On Earth
Published: 2013-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

MAXINE COX

They lunched at Gray’s Papaya. Spooky bought. Through the hot dog joint’s glass window, New York looked like an aquarium. A false world that was all prop. The claustrophobic buildings were matte paintings on a near wall. The yuppies were no better than guppies, suckered by the illusion of the totality and cohesiveness of their tiny universe.

“What do we know?” Gilbert took a bite of his dog. Mustard ejaculated all over his brand new knit zip-up from Goucho Marx.

“Not much,” Spooky said. “Except it’s looking like Honey was a TWAT hit job.”

“Think it was this Dr. Robert Botz dude himself?”

“It could be. But Pony said Dr. Robotz and TWAT have been MIA for years. Now they surface out of nowhere to kill a fashion model who strayed to the dark side. TWAT is controlled by the US Government, so I get that they want to protect our freedom from jihad and stuff, but why Honey DuFuckinBois? How ‘bout, gee, I dunno, Osama Bin Laden?”

“It’s got to be that jacket. It’s weird tech, right? You experienced it yourself. Maybe it was made by TWAT. Honey swipes it and plans to hand it over to her newfound Taliban buddies. Dr. Robotz wants it back bad enough to risk exposing TWAT to the light of day. So a TWAT goon either commanded by, or Robotz in the flesh, goes to the Livingston and disrupts the CCTV with an EMP raincoat. Spooks Eddie Maambong into silence. But he gets to the apartment too late. Your doppelganger got there first and stole the jacket. So the TWAT executes Honey in her sleep.”

“Yeah, but why kill her? Why not take her to their evil lair deep beneath the Earth’s crust or whatever? They didn’t even bother waking her ass up.” Spooky Bonsai slurped coconut champagne. “Not to mention, Sugar said that the jacket is a family heirloom. Not TWAT.”

“Gimme a buck, I want a corn dog.” Gilbert returned a minute later and drowned the poor thing in mustard and relish. “Have you considered the possibility that Sugar is holding something back?”

“Of course, I have.” She hadn’t. Not really. But Sugar DuBois was draped in mystery. She practically was marinating in it. Her illustrious porn career as Maxine Cox for example. But considering their severe introduction—Spooky slashing her with a switchblade and Sugar threatening Spooky with anal mutilation on something called a Judas cradle—their relationship had progressed stunningly.

Gilbert inserted the corn-dog deeply into his mouth. Spooky flashed back to wonderful neon ejaculations that nullified all concern. It was like every punk song about heroin. Lou Reed and Iggy and Johnny Thunders and Sid all yawning and scratching and going, “Fuuuuuuck it, Spook. Fuck it.”

“You’re not coming, are you?” Bertie said when they arrived at the sub station.

She shook her head. Departing and arriving trains quaked the sidewalk. People brushed past her to get to the stairs, as if they had somewhere important to be. “I’m going to Sugar’s. See what she knows about the…TWAT.”

Priorities are weird.

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