Free Dead Man's Hand by Richard Levesque Page B

of a zombie massacre.
    She stared at the dead man’s hand, still
impotently typing her name the way Max Patterson had typed it
compulsively all the times he’d messaged her in life. Pixel put her
hand to her mouth and turned away in horror.
    “ Pete…” she
started.
    “ Fulfilled the contract on
your father. And then he saved you from the satyrs and had you in
the car with the cooler. When you asked what was in it, he couldn’t
help himself, had to say what it was, maybe to impress you, but
couldn’t say whose hand it was.”
    “ And he killed Rincon,
too?”
    “ Probably the same night.
Probably showed Clancy the trophy and then threw it away. He’d
never considered the possibility of what could be done with that
hand until you told him. And when you started asking questions, he
just plugged Rincon’s name in. Probably the first thing that came
into his mind. And then he didn’t know how to back out of the lies
once they’d started.”
    “ So my father’s
really…”
    “ I’m sorry,
Pixel.”
    I didn’t want to say more, but I knew that
Max Patterson’s handless body had likely been in Pete’s trunk as he
drove Pixel home that night. I was sure Pixel would figure that
out, too, without my telling her.
    The tears started falling then, big drops
spilling over her lower lashes and onto her cheeks. I decided it
would be the decent thing to offer a hug, so I put my hands on her
shoulders. She turned her face into my chest and started
sobbing.
    I held her, watching over her shoulder as
the hand continued typing her name.
    She got it together after a minute or so and
took a few deep breaths as the tears abated. I leaned back, my arms
still around her, and looked down at her.
    It was one of those things that just
happen.
    I hadn’t meant it, hadn’t planned it, but my
eyes went down her blouse. It was only a second of staring at the
swell of her breasts, and then my eyes were up again, looking over
her shoulder, not wanting to make eye contact.
    No silver crucifix hung around her neck, no
martyred figure dangled in her cleavage.
    I didn’t know how she knew the werewolf from
the Gaudy Mirage, whether she’d paid him or if he just owed her a
favor. It didn’t matter. She’d set me up, and I’d fallen for
it.
    Idiot , I thought.
    I just stood there with her like that, not
sure what to do. As vulnerable as she was now, I might have been
able to provide more than comfort. A few more hugs, some rubbing of
her back, and maybe I’d be behind that curtain of beads that
separated this room from her bedroom. It would be lousy of me, but
it would be fitting revenge for all she’d put me through the last
couple of days and nights.
    Instead, I just leaned forward and kissed
the top of Pixel’s head, a fatherly gesture, intentionally so, and
one calculated to hurt as much as to comfort.
    “ Sorry, kid,” I said.
“Better luck next time, huh?”
    Then I turned and walked across the room. At
the open door, I turned for a moment to see her still standing
there, not having moved, the dead man’s hand still on the tablet.
She’d have to figure out what to do with it now. And for a second
or two, I thought of closing the door again and walking back to
her.
    But then through the open window beyond her,
there came a distant howl on the evening air.
    The moon was still full, and my people were
out there, calling to me.
    I stepped out into the hall and pulled the
door closed behind me.
    * * * * *
    Author’s
Note
    Thank you for
reading Dead Man’s Hand. I had a lot of fun writing it and hope you
enjoyed reading it. I’ve been a fan of hard-boiled noir-style
mysteries for a long time. When I started developing the idea of a
lawyer who represented the undead, I decided that it just made
sense to give the story the same feeling as those older stories
I’ve enjoyed for so long. It was a lot fun developing Ace and the
world he inhabits.
    As an independent novelist, it’s
both challenging and rewarding to get my books into