DEAD(ish) Read Online Free PDF Page A

ball, wondering why Lazarus is so suddenly
pissed with me. Then I wake up and I'm in jail again, and Linda is
standing by my bed, smirking.
    "What's the matter, lover? Did I wake you
from a nice dream?"
    Bitch.

The Body
    (Linda)
    Trent's decided to go all noble and chivalrous on
me. Hell, why do men have to DO that at the worst possible
time?
    He's out of hospital, and he's barely looking after
himself, and he's determined to continue with the case. My case.
The one that nearly turned him into dead. I tried yelling at him, I
tried arguing, I tried telling him he's a bloody idiot. But he just
shrugged and said he was going to keep investigating. Stubborn
little shit.
    ****
    (Trent)
    Thank God, I'm out of the house. And better
yet, Linda is off tormenting Mike, or something. She's a nice chick
in some ways, Linda – and a pain-in-the-arse psycho chick in
others. I think maybe I liked her better when she was moping. Now
she's bustling around 'helping' me and she's got sex on the mind
despite a distinct lack of hormones, and ... god. Remember what I
said about not letting her near your trousers? Well, it's hard to
run away with a broken shoulder. You know?
    I haven't yet worked up the courage to go
back to the jail – too many nasty memories. So I decide on
following up the other loose end. Lazarus and Geordie. I'm about to
grab my car keys from their nail when the reach makes my shoulder
stab painfully and it occurs to me that driving was probably on the
list of things that I shouldn't be doing that I didn't listen to. I
call a cab, grab a beer, and wait.
    ****
    I clamber carefully out of the cab, chucking
a $20 note back to the driver.
    "Thanks for being gentle, mate," I say, and
shut the door.
    I glance over at Mike's place. A
second-storey window's broken. Kids, probably. I've never
understood the fascination with breaking stuff – stealing I get,
but random destruction's beyond me. I think about going to check it
out, but I couldn't be bothered right now. My shoulder's starting
to ache, and I just want a cup of coffee to wash down a painkiller
or two.
    The front door of Lazarus and Geordie's place
opens, and Geordie trots out toward the mailbox. He's dressed in a
short bathrobe and, as far as I can tell, nothing else.
    "GEORDIE!" I yell, waving gingerly.
    He looks up and peers at me carefully, then
grins.
    "Trent, baby!" he yells, "what are you
doing in that ridiculous sling? It makes you look pale, dearie –
positively wan !"
    I walk across the road to him and get
air-kissed.
    "Oh, my god, what have they done to
you?" he asks, taking in the bandages. "Come on, you need a nice
cup of coffee – you head in, I'll just grab the mail and follow.
And make yourself comfy , you hear?" he bellows the last bit
after me.
    God, can you imagine Geordie doing anything covert? Ever?
    I head for the lounge chairs, pausing to take
a couple of huge pills out of their foil. Horse-pills, my father
used to call them when they were this size. I sit down, and despite
my best intentions, start to relax as Geordie comes in, dumps the
mail on the counter and starts to fuss around me. He brings me a
pillow, asks me ten times if I'm comfortable enough, and finally
decides that what I really need is coffee.
    "Here you are, dearie!" he grins as he hands
me the mug, "I put in lots of milk to cool it down and," he winks,
"I irished it up a little for you! Best medicine in the world!"
    I take a cautious sip to wet my throat, and
nearly choke anyway. Cripes, Geordie wasn't joking about irishing
it up – there's enough bourbon in here to kill any pain. I
swallow the pills and wash them down with the alcoholic coffee, and
then remember the warnings about codeine and alcohol consumption.
Ah well, it's not like I was planning to drive home anyhow.
    "Mike is going nuts ," I explain to
Geordie, "Poor man is stuck in a cell with only his guilt and a
vengeful ghost haunting his arse. Oh, and getting shot at when he
ventures out, of course. Geordie, if there's