I Spy... Three Novellas by Josh Lanyon

Author:Josh Lanyon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance, GLBT, action adventure
Publisher: Josh Lanyon
Published: 2017-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

I Spy Something Wicked

Josh Lanyon

Chapter One

The Glock was taped beneath my seat. I freed it, reached for the magazine in the glove compartment, and palmed it into the frame. I scanned the empty car park, the black windows of the house in front of me.

I spy with my little eye…

Nothing moved. The bronze autumn moon shone brightly through the barren branches crosshatching the bell-cast rooftops.

I turned off the radio in the dashboard console, cutting off Jack White midnote. “Dead leaves and dirty ground” was about right. I unlocked the door of the Range Rover, got out, and crossed the deserted lot, boots crunching on gravel, breath hanging in the chilly October night. There was a hint of wood smoke in the air; the nearest house was roughly eight kilometers away. A full five miles to the nearest living soul.

I walked past a large banner sign lying facedown in the frosty grass and studied the building’s facade. Two stories of battered white stone. Broken finials and dentils. Arched windows—broken on the top level, mostly boarded on the bottom. The narrow, arched front door was also boarded up. Once upon a time, this had been some founding family’s mansion; in the early part of the last century, it had operated as a funhouse. Now it looked like a haunted house. That was appropriate since I was there to meet a ghost.

I went around to the side of the long building, found a window where the boarding had been ripped away. I hoisted myself up and scrambled over the sill.

Inside, moonlight highlighted a checkerboard floor and what appeared to be broken sections of an enormous wooden slide.

According to Stephen, it was a long time, decades, since the place had operated officially, but it was still a popular place for teens to romance—and vandalize. Especially around Halloween. That was two nights away. I didn’t anticipate any interruptions.

I proceeded, soft-footed, along an accordion strip of mirrors, some broken, some not, my reflection flashing past: a man of medium height, thin, dark, nondescript. The pistol gleamed in my hand like a star.

Down a short flight of stairs, a twist and a turn, another short flight down. I froze. At the bottom of the steps, a woman sat hunched over. She wore tattered French knickers and a blonde wig. It took a couple of seconds to realize she was covered in cobwebs. One of those mechanical mannequins. I glanced at her in passing and saw that someone had bashed her face in.

A floorboard squeaked. I spun, bringing the pistol up. Jesus. He’d arrived before me. I was getting sloppy in my old age.

The shadow raised its arms high. Hands empty.

“Christ on a crutch, Hardwicke. I don’t think much of your taste in meeting places.”

I lowered my pistol. “Malik.”

He was still bitching. “Really, old boy. Don’t see why we couldn’t have done this in more comfortable surroundings. Some place civilized where we might have a drink and a chat.”

Why? Because I thought I might have to kill him.

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