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CHAPTER ONE He stared at the drop of golden amber liquid on the tip of his finger. It glistened in the neon glow of a beer sign behind the bar, beaded up and hiding his fingerprint underneath. He imagined for a second he could see the twirl and swirl of the unique lines that only he owned in all the world. Fingerprints, the ultimate identifier. “Are you going to bet?” Jake shot a look at Amanda behind the bar. She had one hand behind her back, a bottle of what was on his finger hidden in her grip. “Double or nothing?” he shot her a cocky grin. “You’re on,” she snapped back with a smile. He put the tip of his finger on this tongue, transferring the drop onto his taste bud. He let it roll around a minute, savoring the miniature volcano of heat on just that one section of his tongue. It made the rest of his mouth water in anticipation. “Dewar’s,” he announced. Amanda pulled the hidden bottle from behind her back and showed him the label. “I’m impres...

CHAPTER FIVE This time he went for drinks. It was after noon which meant five o’clock somewhere by his reckoning and besides, it was his house and he could do as much day drinking as he liked. Gretchen trailed down the stairs, belting on her skirt under her untucked silk blouse. She had one of his old robes tossed over a shoulder and handed it to him as he passed her a tumbler with a stingy splash of bourbon in the bottom. He was out of rum. “Ice?” she asked. He pointed toward the kitchen and proceeded to sip his neat, like a gentleman is supposed to do. She came back with her ruined drink and sat in an arm chair opposite him on the couch. The picture window looked out over his front yard and the real estate housing development going in across the pasture. The light coming in gave her red hair a slight glow as she touched the glass to her lips and didn’t drink. Jake didn’t mind. He would just add what she left to his glass later. Waste not, wan...

CHAPTER THREE Jake almost fell when the door opened and Gretchen stepped around the end of the shower. He was sure his mouth dropped because she wore the gold necklace he got her as a gift and nothing else. “Got room for me?” she asked. It was a rhetorical question because Jake wasn’t stupid, and neither was she. He had installed the shower himself. It was the width of the room, partitioned by a single pane of glass with an entry on either side that led to four shower heads. There was a giant picture window on the exterior wall, double paned for energy and tinted so anyone standing in the shower could see the width of what once was his empire and now belonged to a developer he no longer called friend. “Save me some hot water,” Gretchen scooted around the end of the glass partition and turned on a second spray of steamy water. He still thought of it as her end, he mused as his eyes travelled over the rest of her. Same Gretchen, same lines, sam...

"I must confess Marshal, you are not the man I expected you to be." Eldridge turned his head to take in the room. Empty whisky bottles liked the shelves like glass flytraps. Judging from the number of black bodies crawling and buzzing around them, they were effective at that task. "Not a Marshal," Eldridge answered. "Not anymore." He pointed to an empty spot on his chest where a tin star might have been. "I was misinformed," the women's lips compressed into a thin line of determination. "Never the less, I have heard of your reputation." Eldridge blinked away some of the cobwebs gumming up his eyes, but he could do naught for the ones that fogged up his mind. He wondered for a brief moment how the woman came to be in his room and glanced over her shoulder to the open door leading out to a hallway beyond. She walked right in. Some alarm bell went off in the back of his skull. If she could walk right in while he was...

GOOD EATS CAFÉ “You him?” “Him who?” Tinker shrugged. “I mean, I am a him. A he. All man. You can check if you want.” “You’re talking fast.” “I’m a fast talker,” Tinker leaned against the bar. He tried to make it look like he was relaxing, but really it was to hide more of his body. The guy sitting on the stool two spots down and on the other side of the counter was dark. He wore black clothes, dusky skin and the black eyes of a predator. He made people nervous. It must have been a vibe or something because even though the café was crowded, the stools on either side of him were both empty. Tinker couldn’t help but notice that it left a lot of room for the guy to draw either of the two blasters he wore on the side of his hips. “Fast talking is a sign of nerves,” the man said. He blinked slow. Tinker wondered if it was on purpose. Maybe it was, but he didn’t think so, because if it was on purpose, it made the dark eyed man look dim-witte...

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