Moonlight Rises (A Dick Moonlight Thriller) Read Online Free PDF Page A

my dad’s embalming room. I was strictly forbidden to enter the place. Not because there was always a stiff or two lying naked and ripped open from caudal to clavicle on one of the two stainless steel tables, but because the place was filled from top to bottom with sharp instruments. Plus electric saws and toxic chemicals that would kill me in an instant if I even swallowed one sip.
    Despite repeated warnings however, I couldn’t stop my little boy curiosity from getting the best of me. I remember when I finally worked up the courage to sneak down into the subterranean depths at dawn, staring goo-goo eyed at the naked fat man laid out face up on the far table, a clear hose inserted into his right side draining the blood that collected inside a silver vat, while another hose inserted into his left side filled him with psychedelic blue embalming fluid.
    To my right sat a silver casket. Its doors had been left open. I remember thinking how cool it would be if I could just hop up inside the casket, close the doors, and pretend I was Count Dracula for a while. Seemed like a cool enough game to play in the creepy but fun basement of my dad’s funeral home. Without a second thought, I shuffled over to the empty casket in my Superman-feet jammies, and set both hands on the rim.
    That’s when the doors slammed closed.
    It was also the first time I ever experienced real pain. The kind of pain that not only takes your breath away, but that locks up your voice box, so that even screaming out is a physical impossibility.
    As luck would have it . . . or what would later turn out to be bad luck . . . my old man wasn’t far behind me. After raising the casket doors, he checked my hands to make sure they weren’t shattered. Only when he assured me they were in fact only bruised but not broken was I able to scream out in agony. He hugged me, dried my tears, and put my swelled black-and-blued hands on ice for the rest of the morning. Then he took my TV privileges away for an entire week.
    That’s when the real pain set in.

    First I hear the tinny jingle of a single medical staple hitting the hard floor.
    Then I see several rapid-fire flashes of red just before passing out.
    When I come to, the Obamas are standing at the front of the room. One of them is looking out through a crack in the door. They obviously know that someone is coming, and that means they have to exit the premises. Pronto.
    “We’ll be back, Mister Moonlight,” warns the lead Obama. “And we want what we come for, yes dude?”
    “By all means . . . dude.” But I have no idea what box and even more no idea about my new client Peter Czech having paid me a visit.
    The Obamas scoot out the door.
    I roll onto my good side, and heave all over the bed.

CHAPTER 4

    A FEW MINUTES LATER Lola walks in, carrying a white vase filled with fresh flowers in her hands. She takes one look at me and drops the flowers to the floor. The vase shatters.
    So do my nerves.
    I don’t realize it, but the little staple flicking/popping incident has left a puddle of blood on the bed. On the opposite side sits a pool of my own brown bile.
    Moonlight the attractive.
    I sit up, feel more of that electric pain shoot up and down my side. I pull off the covers, and somehow swing my legs around.
    “You’re out of your head!” Lola says, voice trembling.
    I pull out the intravenous lines.
    “No, I’m out of my bed, and we have to go. I stay here, I’m a dead man.”
    “Richard, it’s the hospital. You leave you’re a dead man.”
    I slide off the bed. Stand. A bit wobbly. But once I get my breath back, I know I can manage without falling flat on my face. I shuffle to the closet, find my clothes. I toss them to Lola.
    “Help me with these. I’m telling not asking.”
    She’s still wearing those Jackie Os. Tight jeans, black sweater. Hair long and pulled back in a ponytail. I can’t help but wonder where Some Young Guy has run off to. Or if he even exists in the real world. Maybe I