It started off quietly.
Bored, Dance had lain back there resenting the heat. They’d parked on the last one of three concrete house pads at the end of a rough-graded gravel street. The developer abandoned the project some time ago, …
Drin hasn’t been watching the sky, so he is startled by a spattering of warm, almost hot, rain banging huge droplets down on his back, each drop soaking through his hair and splotching big wet ellipses in the dust on …
Drin turns his head and looks at Emma, who rests her head on her arm on the open door of the Jeep. “You need a break?” he asks her.
She sighs, and rubs her eyes. She’s never going to be …
“But did you have that little zero-g closet right away?” Emma asks.
Dance blinks at her, spreads his hands. “I don’t know. I only know when it starts squirming and wanting to stay out loose all the time.”
She frowns …
“Did you send the dossier? Nobody’s reported back.”
“Give him a second,” Bennie tells his phone, and cracks open a can. “Let him do his thing.”
“His thing,” Auren’s voice on the phone makes it clear, “is a great big …
TS: message from Anonymous Server:
Having fun on the road/
Bringing me howlin’ moon boys/
we gonna party down/
Where the rubber meets the sea/
Gotta get me some etoufee/
and some sugar beignets/
Ain’t never liked my catfish in …
Dance’s shoulder sockets are loudly tired of this position, lying on his side. Either side. Other positions make other bones complain louder. He decided to sacrifice the shoulders for awhile. This can be a serious decision for a concert violinist. …
An interesting anonymous message pops up on Bennie’s LRT, probably where it shouldn’t be possible.
It appears to be a scanned document.
The document has been crumpled repeatedly and unfolded.
The paper was printed with an older style of music …
Bennie prefers to toss an empty house immediately after the owners have departed. It means he gets more time, of course, before they come back and scare the crap out of him for staying too late.
But also he gets …
The point of Turner is that he cannot be found.
Bennie, sitting in a truckstop outside of Hangrenade, OR, is scribbling sketches in his LRT. No one, no fucking one, has come sniffing his bait, and he’s just getting ready …