Cold Pulp Trio by E.R. White Jr

Cold Pulp Trio by E.R. White Jr

Author:E.R. White, Jr.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder, mystery, short stories, detective, hard boiled crime, detective anthology


The End

If you enjoyed this, you will love my novel.

Scrambled Hard-Boiled

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006QCMG30

Caveman

I woke up with my skin exploding.

I shot up out of my bed and as soon as my feet hit the floor, the burning itch ceased.

The alarm had already switched back to a simple audio beep instead of telling my in-link to spam my skin nerves. Thinking the time, I realized I had overslept fifteen minutes. No wonder my implants zapped me.

Too much vodka last night. Stumbling to the bathroom to take a piss, I tasted my tongue and got nauseous from its rough texture. Leaning over the sink and slapping out a shot of water into a paper cup, I drank it and did it again…and again.

Too much, too fast. I leaned over the crapper and gave it all back to the moon.

Shaking from the effort, with my throat aflame with stomach bile, I got some more water and drank it…this time slowly.

My head throbbed. Thrusting my hand into the med-slot next to the sink, I felt the prick of the needles on my palm, rapidly followed by the cool spray of heal-skin over the area where my blood had been sampled. The light went green above the slot, and I took out my hand. A few seconds later, a fix-it pad was spat out. I slapped it on my thigh and looked at myself in the mirror.

It wasn’t pretty.

Bloodshot eyes with bags, pasty skin, thinning mousy brown hair, cut short. A few centimeters shy of two meters in height and a body that had been missing regular workouts lately. Going soft.

Like I said, it wasn’t pretty, but it was pretty much normal.

I got in the shower cube, spread-eagled and thought it on. The cleanjuice hit me and as soon as it started it was over, and I was blown-dry.

After slipping on my coveralls, I went into my kitchen nook, heated up a cup of tea and grabbed a food bar. In five minutes, I was done, and it was time to go to work.

By the door hung my gun and holster. I strapped it on and started to open the door, but paused.

The fix-it pad had helped me feel human, but something still wasn’t right. I looked over at my kitchen nook, gave in and went over and opened a drawer, took out the vodka container, flipped open the top and took a couple of swigs.

Man had been abusing alcohol since the dawn of time, and he still hadn’t found a cure for a hangover. Time was the only remedy and the best you could do was to put it off until you had the time to deal with the uncomfortable healing process. Hair of the dog.

That’s what I told myself…for about the fourth day in a row.

I took the tube to work. Inside the cramped car was a mixture of all types. Some were obvious techies, miners, electricians and the like. A few were junior engineers or lower management, while the rest were non-descript worker bees. A smattering of kids was thrown in for good measure.



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