The Gender Experiment: (A Thriller) Read Online Free PDF

stumbled down the dark alley, choking on the stink of garbage. How much farther was the park? As he passed another dumpster, his foot caught on something and he tripped. Smashing down on one knee, he cursed in pain. Then he cursed the growing despair in his heart. When the throbbing subsided, he turned to see what he’d fallen over. Big, yet pliable. What was it? He crawled forward, curious and a little stoned.
Oh shit.
A human body. A homeless drunk who’d passed out?
    No.
A young person in nice clothes. With bullet holes in the chest and pelvis. Jake could smell the blood and piss and other disgusting things that still seeped from her body. His stomach heaved, and he fought the urge to vomit. He’d never seen a dead person before, even though he’d covered the crime beat as a reporter for six months. Before they’d fired him and he lost everything.
    He moved closer and stared at the pale face illuminated only by a half moon. Not a woman after all. A young man with a narrow, sculpted profile. A rent boy? Maybe killed by an angry client or a gay-hating bigot? Was the guy really dead? Jake felt his neck for a pulse and didn’t feel one. He glanced around, suddenly fearful. What the hell was he doing here? What had happened to his life? If he didn’t get it together soon, he could end up just like this poor guy. Tears welled in his eyes. Grief for the dead young man, and for himself and what had become of his promising life.
    Jake shook off the dark thoughts and pulled himself into a squat, ready to stand and move on. He had to find a place to sleep soon and something to cover up with. His jacket alone wouldn’t be warm enough tonight.
    The shrill sound of a cell phone cut into the dark silence, startling him. The dead man’s pocket chirped, his ringtone set to an unsettling electronic beat. A creepy feeling ran up Jake’s backbone. Whoever was calling didn’t know the guy was dead. But the phone tempted him. This dude no longer needed it. Jake slipped his hand into the nylon jacket pocket and pulled out the cell. A phone would be useful for his job search and for calling about rooms to rent. He’d pawned his phone to a friend for cash—to hold until he could buy it back. But it wouldn’t be any time soon. For a long moment, he hesitated. His life would be so much easier with a phone… even for a few days. When the ringing finally went silent, he slipped the cell into his own pocket. Jake glanced around. Was anyone watching him? He shook it off. Probably just a little pot paranoia.
    Maybe the dead man had a little cash too.
    Guilt twisted his gut and made his stomach heave again. Disgusted with himself, Jake promised to make up for this bullshit by doing volunteer work later, when he got it together. With shaky hands, he searched the body’s pockets and found a set of keys, followed by a wallet with a driver’s license showing through a clear-plastic sleeve. Zion Tumara, age twenty. The guy looked younger, with a smooth face and a skinny body. Who had shot him and why? Jake’s natural quest to find answers—buried recently by his overriding struggle just to survive—surfaced in his pot-spacy brain. The need to know had driven him through journalism school and into an investigative reporter position at the Denver Post. He’d loved every moment of his job there.
    But he’d failed a random drug test and been fired—even though pot was legal in Colorado! Soon after, his car had broken down and he’d been evicted. His father, who hated the pot smoking, refused to help him, except for keeping him on his phone service. New in Denver, Jake only had one good friend, but the guy lived with roommates who hadn’t been willing to let Jake crash with them. He slept in his car for a while, then sold it when he needed cash and ended up on the streets. Somewhere in his brain, he knew the weed was a problem and that he had to quit, but he hadn’t been able to yet. At the end of a miserable day of being homeless and