I Kill Monsters: Fury (Book 1) by Tony Monchinski

Author:Tony Monchinski [Monchinski, Tony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: vampires, horror, vampire, horror noir, action, splatterpunk, tony monchinski, monsters
Publisher: Permuted Press
Published: 2014-10-03T00:00:00+00:00

35.

7:00 P.M.

Boone met the old black man in a park a few blocks from the record store. He’d have rather they’d met at the store itself so he could have checked out Keisha’s ass.

It was a humid August evening and there were a few people in the park. Young men shooting hoops, older men and women sitting around small concrete tables with checker and chess boards etched into them. In a little bit when it was less humid there would be more people.

The old man sat at one of the tables. He was turned in his seat, facing the park, his back to the towering chain link fence. He sat with his cane across his knees in his windbreaker. Boone didn’t understand how old people could be cold on the hottest of days.

“Blind.” Boone greeted him as he sat down across from the man.

“Mr. Mojo himself,” the old man smiled behind his sunglasses.

“What you got for me, pops?”

“Never one much for pleasantries, was you Mojo?”

“How’s that fine daughter of yours?”

“Okay, maybe we skip those then.”

Boone watched a guy on the court shoot and miss. “Lot going on in this city of ours.”

“Sure is.”

“You bring your cards?”

The old man turned in his concrete chair to face the young man.

“Yeah.” There was a little surprise in his voice that Boone would ask. “Why, you want a reading?”

“I don’t believe that shit. But…I don’t know. Yeah.”

The man across from Boone reached into his jacket and produced a deck of oversized cards.

“Let’s hear the question first.” He laid the cards face down on the concrete table between them.

“It’s not so much like it’s a question but…” Boone tried to put his concern into words. “It’s more like a dream I been having. Dreams.”

“These dreams bothering you enough for you to ask me about them.”

“Shit, nothing bothers m—yeah, alright, I guess they do.”

“Tell me about them then,” invited the old man.

“I see this guy on his back on a beach. Thing is, this beach—there must have been some crazy battle there. Everything’s burnt and black. There’s bodies in armor everywhere, but they ain’t bodies—they’re bones. I mean, like entire skeletal systems and parts of them scattered all about…and this guy? He’s on top of them.”

“What kind of armor? Kevlar?”

“No, I mean like, antiquated shit. Like, not even medieval shit. Real old shit. Roman or something, I don’t know.”

The old man prodded. “Go on.”

“The sky’s all black except for the sun. And that sun, Blind, it’s red, crimson, like blood. Something big and nasty rises up, spreads its wings, covers it up…”

“And then?”

“And then nothing. That’s it. That’s the dream.”

“You been reading too much Terry Brooks.” The old man shook his head.

“Who?”

“Forget it.” He picked up the cards on the table and laid them down one at a time, forming three separate piles. Boone turned in his chair and leaned back against the fence, the chain link sagging behind him. He watched the ballers while the old man laid the first pile on the second, then that larger pile on the third.

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