Dead of Winter Read Online Free PDF Page A

Rorschach, the mask-wearing vigilante from
Watchmen
. I’m Watching
You , it proclaimed, in bold black letters.
    An eye looked out from the ‘ o ’ in
You
.
    ‘Yes?’ asked a voice behind the door. ‘Who is it?’
    ‘Open up, Richard, and stop being such a dick.’
    The door opened. Behind it stood a man with face furniture consisting of cheap sunglasses, anarchist earrings, studded eyebrows and a greasy barcode moustache. His hair was brown and shoulder-length, draping a puffy face with eyes the colour of wet concrete. A saggy, lit joint dangled from his mouth, releasing a sweet pungent aroma. He wore an unwashed T-shirt with the legend: Don’t hit kids – they have guns now , and a pair of ragged Diesel jeans exposing more underwear than denim.
    ‘I keep telling you the password is
Mister Mxyzptlk
. He’s Superman ’s nemesis,’ said Richard. ‘I should get you to say his name backwards, just like Superman does to get him to disappear.’
    ‘We can deal with Superman’s angst later,’ said Karl, pushing into the room. ‘Right now,
I’m
the one in need of help.’
    Richard Rider was in his forties going on sixteen, a child of the Sixties lost in the years of zeroes. His tiny flat was filled to capacity with superhero memorabilia, including statues, busts and endless rows of American comic books packed neatly into exposed wooden drawers. Posters of numerous mutants and flying beings covered the ceiling like some eerie, claustrophobic skin. A framed picture of Richard smiling alongside legendary
Marvel
creator,Stan Lee, took pride of place on a desk with multiple computer screens buzzing with artificial life.
    ‘Want some Coke?’ offered Richard.
    ‘That’s always a dodgy question, coming from you. Any coffee?’
    ‘No. Don’t you know caffeine’s a killer? I’ve some weed, if you want to try that?’
    ‘I’m dopey enough, thanks.’
    ‘You being a writer would find it relaxing. Opens up your mind.’
    ‘Opens up your mind, but closes down your brain cells.’
    ‘Suit yourself,’ said Richard, sitting down in front of the army of computer screens. ‘How’s the writing coming along, anyway?’
    ‘It ain’t.’
    After some more perfunctory chit chat, Karl finally got down to brass tacks.
    ‘What I really need is some info, Richard. I’m hoping you captured it on one of your spy cameras.’
    ‘
Self-containment
cameras,’ corrected Richard. ‘If you must know, Karl, I’m compiling an electronic account of life in Belfast, for future generations to enjoy. A bit like Samuel Pepys’ diary.’
    ‘More like Peeping Tom’s, you mean.’
    ‘WWW?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The information you’re looking for. Who, when, where?’
    ‘Oh…me, last Tuesday, outside my place in Hill Street.’ Karl sat down on chair beside Richard, but only after removing a nude Homer Simpson doll. ‘Roughly seven in the morning.’
    ‘What happened to your cousin, the cop? Didn’t he used to supply you with this stuff?’
    ‘He’s not my cousin. Ex brother-in-law. It’s a long story, so don’t bother asking. Besides, no matter what they say about the long arm of the law, your reach is longer. You’re a legend.’
    ‘Flatterer.’ Richard smiled proudly, broadcasting disjointed teeth enmeshed in silver wire. He began tapping the keyboard.
    ‘Hill Street?
Hmm
. Let’s see what we can come up with…’
    The screen blackened, and then turned grey. A monochrome picture of falling snow emerged. The picture looked grey and very hazy.
    ‘Is that the best you can get?’ asked Karl, not too impressed. ‘Snowy static?’
    ‘That’s real snow, not static. I’m trying to zoom in without losing perspective or pixel count. What time did you say?’
    ‘Roughly after seven in the morning, or thereabouts. The newspapers and milk had already been delivered a few minutes before seven, according to the shop owner, so it was shortly after that I went out to collect them.’
    Richard hit the keyboard. The picture slowly