Free Aaron Conners - Tex Murphy 02 by Under a Killing Moon Page A

gave way to the more conventional form of hunger. I hadn’t eaten anything worthwhile for a couple of days, and I was hankering to find a menu with items I could pronounce. Visions of a steaming bowl brimming with chili and a slab of corn bread with honey butter appeared before me. My bar tab and I were about to get a little fatter.

UAKM - CHAPTER SEVEN
    The rain had let up, and clouds the color of fresh bruises mottled the cold, bloody sky. It was late afternoon, and the daylight was fading quickly as I flew home. It was December 7, and the days were getting shorter and grayer. I’d read somewhere that, at this time of year, primitive cultures had feared the sun was dying. For weeks prior to the shortest day of the year, the people would exhort their deity du jour to spare them and bring back the sun. Then the days would start to lengthen again, and everyone would celebrate (generally with some type of orgy), eat and drink to excess, and maybe sacrifice a few virgins for good measure. New Year’s celebrations hadn’t changed much.
    The only difference was that now we knew the sun wasn’t dying - it was killing us.
    Between the eroded ozone layer and the radiation-saturated atmosphere, we were all helpless chunks of stew meat in a large, toxic Crock Pot. I heard rumors that the government was going to enact a “time reversal,” switching business hours from A.M. to P.M. It seemed like a healthy idea to me, having people sleep through the most hazardous part of the day, but it wouldn’t affect me like it would most people. I’d always been a night person.
    As I started my approach to Chandler Avenue, I saw that the unmarked police speeder hadn’t moved. I circled around and landed on the other side of the Brew & Stew. If the cops happened to see me in the diner, so be it. I was ravenous to the point of apathy. I climbed out of the speeder and locked it up.
    It was almost dark now, and the street was quiet, except for the sound of occasional raindrops plopping into greasy puddles. The air was wet, and the smell of damp earth was thick. Ahead of me, the warm light from Louie’s café reflected off the slick pavement like a welcome mat. The wind picked up, and I raised my collar. I was glad for the warmth of my overcoat. I’d had it for a long time and wore it wherever I went. It was my big, khaki-colored pal who never asked stupid questions or wanted to leave until I was good and ready.
    I felt a pleasant anticipation, like I always did when I went to the Brew & Stew. Louie LaMintz ran a joint that wasn’t for everyone, but it suited me fine. There was always some savory aroma billowing in from the kitchen, maybe a lamb stew or a batch of spicy chili. Almost any time of day or night, there were at least two or three loyal patrons bellied up to the bar, arguing some topic with beery breath. Everyone had their own reason to love Louie’s diner. The beer was always ice cold, and as for the Armageddon blend…well, it was the kind coffee that would’ve made Juan Valdez cry for mercy. You couldn’t help but feel welcome in the diner. It didn’t matter that Louie and most of the regulars were Mutants.
    I paused just outside the double doors and thought about the nearly empty wallet in my back pocket. Louie never seemed too concerned about running me a tab - he said he knew I was good for it - but it didn’t make me feel any less parasitic. Rationalization had always been one of my dominant traits - the others being a lack of patience and inappropriate spasms of sarcasm - but there were no two ways about it: I was
    freeloading. For an instant, I considered going back to my office and toughing it out.
    As I turned away, I spotted a shiny penny lying on the sidewalk, a few inches from the toe of my wing tip. I bent down and picked it up. I was hungry, thirsty, and a stone’s throw from being utterly destitute, but now I had a lucky penny.
    The door burst open, and I heard raspy, drunken laughter over the smooth sounds