Doyle After Death Read Online Free PDF

that seemed apt. We paused on the sidewalk and I glanced at Bertram. “What do you think, Bertram—­are we ghosts? I mean—­what we just saw . . . how alive was that, getting your head cracked in and not caring much afterward . . .
    â€œI look transparent to you, Nick? Misty around the feet and what have you?”
    â€œNah. Me?”
    â€œNope. I’ll tell you somethin’. Was I to punch you hard in the face, you would feel it, same as Brennan felt that crack on the head. You wouldn’t like the punch, either. Knock you on your ass, same as on Earth. “
    I smirked. “Says you! How much punch you got?”
    â€œWant to bet on it? Five Fi ’s says I can knock you down.”
    â€œFive what?”
    â€œLook in your pockets.”
    I fished in my pants pocket, found some folding money, and unfolded it. Fiona’s face stared back at me where Lincoln’s should be. She’s on all the money except hundreds. The hundreds have a picture of an old gent with the long gray hair—­the Lamplighter. But I didn’t have C notes. Just four fives, a ten, and a twenty, in local money. It was reminiscent of American money, except for that half-­turned face of Fiona’s. She looked impish. Seemed to me her image winked at me, as I looked at it.
    â€œThe money’s called . . . Fionas ?”
    â€œTown council calls it Pass Cash . But Fionas , that’s a kinda nickname. They put some honored resident on it, every twenty years or so. The town council does, I mean. So—­you wanta bet I can’t knock you down? I’ll risk double, you take ten if I don’t knock you down. You can have a swing at me . . .”
    â€œYou say it hurts when someone hits you, in the afterlife. I just died, man, that was enough pain for a while.” I put the money away. “That the boardinghouse?” I pointed at a two-­story weathered brick building half camouflaged by an old growth of ivy. A wooden hanging sign projected over the open door read THE OSSUARY . A breeze gusted up Main Street from the sea, making the sign swing gently on its wrought-­iron support.
    â€œThat’s it, yeah. Let’s see if they’ve got room.” We started across the square, and he went on: “If they’re full up, you can bunk with me if you want. I got a little place. Or maybe at Jocelyn’s—­I saw her let her robe fall open for you.”
    â€œMaybe it was for you.”
    â€œNaw—­it was you she was looking at.”
    â€œWouldn’t think they’d have sex here.”
    â€œSure as fuck do.”
    I smiled. ­“People get pregnant?”
    He grinned. “Nope. They sure as fuck don’t. There are some children here—­but they’re kids who passed on from Earth. I hear eventually they can grow up. Now, about sex, everybody asks about that . . . it’s not exactly the same. It’s not so moist and sweaty and . . . heavy. Maybe it’s better in a lot of ways. But then again, some things are the same as in the Before. We have knuckleheads here, too.” He nodded at the two young men who flanked the doorway. One was a tall, lanky black man, his hair cornrowed, a gold grill on his front teeth; his pal was a freckled, pale young guy, his light brown hair cornrowed, too. I saw they had dirt on their shoes and hands. ­People can get soiled in the afterlife.
    â€œYou got any more of that frip there, cowboy?” the black kid asked. Looked about twenty-­two.
    â€œNah,” Bertram said. “The shit grows wild—­go pick some, Mo.”
    The young black man frowned. “Just fucking call me Mohammed—­I don’t like Mo. Told you that.”
    Bertram shook his head. “Too many syllables in Mohammed. You got to earn more syllables. But I’ll call you ’ hamm-­ed if you want.”
    The white kid snickered. “