Wrong Ways Down (Downside Ghosts) by Stacia Kane

Author:Stacia Kane [Stacia Kane]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Urban fantasy
Publisher: 4/13 Publishing
Published: 2013-08-03T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

AYE, WERE FUCKING dumb of him to think a new day could mean anything good. He stood inside a squat on Foster and looked at the bags in his hand, trying to calm down enough to listen to what Bumberjack were telling him.

“Told me them could handle what ghosts be out there, them did,” Bumberjack said. His voice were more slurred than usual; Terrible guessed them bags had been fuller when he bought em. When he bought em off Slobag’s men. “Told me I start buyin offen them, you get me, buyin them product, they help me out an be keeping me safe from that spook out there.”

“Ain’t a fuckin ghost.” It came out harder then he meant it to; Bumberjack shrank away. Shit. Terrible took a deep breath. “Ain’t a ghost, dig? Slobag lyin, tryin get people moving over to he.”

“But be a spook killed Slick, I’m hearing—”

“Weren’t a ghost killed Slick. True thing, aye? Were seen. Were a living one, not dead.”

Bumberjack ain’t looked convinced. “Why Bump ain’t got the Churchwitch in? Slobag men sayin can keep me safe from the spooks.”

Bumberjack weren’t usually so dumb. That bag Slobag’s men gave him musta been stronger than usual. Well, aye, them was tryna steal customers, wasn’t they? Coursen what they offered now were better than normal. Then after people made the switch Slobag’d start cutting their shit deep again.

“Bump ain’t got the Churchwitch in,” he said, real slow, “causen we ain’t needing her in. No ghost, dig? No ghost, no need for the Churchwitch. Iffen a ghost were around, she’d be in it. Aye?”

“But—”

“Naw, no but.” Terrible glared at him. “An no ghost. Ain’t wanna even be hearing that shit again, dig? I hear you saying that shit, I come back. You keep you fuckin mouth shut.”

“Aye, aye, okay, I ain’t saying on it. Swearing I ain’t.”

“He say any else to you? What you saying to he?”

“Ain’t said much.”

“Who else he chattering with?”

Bumberjack shrugged. “Ain’t seen. Ain’t were watchin, aye?”

Terrible pulled out his phone without responding and sent a text to the street-man number; a minute or two later a shadow covered the doorway of the squat, a shadow which became Soft Mike. “Aye?”

“Change these out.” Terrible held up the two bags he took offen Bumberjack. “Give he fresh. I taking these, aye? Ain’t worry on the paying.”

The day ain’t had gotten any warmer out, neither. Last day of the year. And the good mood he’d had that morning were totally gone, replaced by a feeling of … foreboding, he guessed. Foreboding. Had the feeling something weren’t right, like before the day ended he were gonna wish it had never started.

Ain’t helped that when he got outside with Mike, Mike said, “Why come Bump ain’t doin anything on this ghost we got out there?”

Terrible yanked a cigarette out of his pocket to give him something to do with his hands. Something besides punching Mike. “No fucking ghost. Ain’t knowing where you getting that shit. No ghost.”

“Heared be the Cryin Man, I heared.

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