Just had a HUGE insight into Colts character that will basically change everything. But in the meantime, heres an excerpt of what I have so far from COLT COLTRANE AND THE GHOST PLANE OF NEW YORK. #NaNoWriMo2014 I’ll sleep when I’m dead. It was a personal motto even before my life became one long smear of nightmares. The world doesn’t wait while you give your brain a little shut-eye. Bad guys get away, evidence slips between the cracks, long incubated plans begin to hatch. By the time you wake up, you’re too late to stop any of it. Of course, now I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to, and you’d think I’d be happy about that, but you never know how much you want something until you can’t have it. I manage to steal an hour or two at a time. It’s just enough to keep me sane, but never enough to fill the cracks or heal the wounds. Most nights, when I close my eyes, the ghosts in my head pop to life and play the same movies over and over. My dead wife is the star attraction, back from the grave to have her revenge, the hate pouring out of her rotting skin along with the rest of her insides. She plunges her fist into my chest, grabs my still-beating heart, and everything goes cold and dark. Next thing I know Im a wide-awake sack of earthquakes soaked in moonlit sweat, wondering whether it’s punishment or luck to be alive. * Clutch McIntyre’s bot-run club, The Parts Bin, did fine business during the wee hours for folks who couldn’t lasso the sandman. Most of them were bleary-eyed zombies playing the one-armed bandits and swilling bottom shelf booze while halos of cigarette smoke circled their heads. I didn’t go for the gambling—Clutch got enough of my money replacing all of Petey’s gadgets and gizmos when they broke. But at least he didn’t charge me for the gin. Nothing cut through the residue of a nightmare better than a tart gimlet, and I was working on my third double. Oblivion would find me in short order, and I would likely finish up the night where I’d finished so many of them lately: on Clutch’s shop couch. That was fine by me. Petey stood guard beside me, his motor purring contentedly as he awaited his next command, or for me to tell him another one of my many stories from my old days with the LAPD. I counted on the sound of Petey’s machinery more than ever to let me know I wasn’t alone in this world. Anyone who thought a bucket of bolts and wires can be a best friend didn’t know my sidekick, who had saved my bacon so many times he qualified as a local superhero, not that anyone important in this town noticed. I wondered what Petey dreamed about when he sat there like a giant steel idol. Did he relive our adventures? Like the time his circuits were fried in the desert by that scrap hound Schroeder? Or when we zoomed through the city sewers in a mechanical crab on wheels to take out a Takahashi monster? Probably not. If bots could dream, they would be too much like us, and this world had enough problems. Clutch McIntyre took my empty glass and washed it in the tub of suds behind the bar. “I think you’ve had enough, pal.” He wore a lot of hats in this joint: owner, bot mechanic, talent scout, muscle, and as it turned out, a half decent drink mixer as well. The Octo-Keep, his robot bartender, was being fitted with a new set of hoses in the garage out back. Clutch could have appointed one of his lackeys to do this kind of work. Heck, he could have retired to Palm Springs a year ago on the money that flowed through this place, but the Bin was his baby. And truth be told, I didn’t think I’d do so hot if he decided to leave. Clutch was the only non-bot I could trust, apart from my assistant, Darcy. “Come on, one more,” I said. “Nope, sorry. As your friend and someone who benefits regularly from your business, I can’t allow it. You really look like shit, Colt. Have you been to a doctor lately?” “You’re giving me health advice now? I might as well ask a serial killer for dating tips.” The mechanic laughed. “I bet some serial killers are aces at romance, or they wouldn’t make such good killers. But seriously, have you looked at yourself? You’re all, I dunno, peaky.” I sighed and stood up. The world went catawampus for a moment, and I fell against Petey for support. “Probably has something to do with the diesel fuel you’re serving in this place.” “Hasn’t hurt business yet. The couch is all ready for you out back. I even had Simpson put out a blanket and pillow. I bet if you toss him a nickel, he’ll tuck you in and tell you a bedtime story.” I wondered if I would make it that far without Petey having to carry me. Then again, what good was having a bot for a sidekick if it couldn’t do a little heavy lifting now and then? “Thanks for everything, Clutch. Really.” He waved a towel at me. “Aw shucks, don’t go getting all sentimental on me now. I’ll see you in the morning. You’re buying breakfast.” “Deal.”
Posted on: Sat, 01 Nov 2014 16:26:03 +0000