Solo
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About this ebook
Solo introduces readers to the Lucid trilogy (American Dreamer, Tomorrow's History, and Gods and Dreamers), novels by Christopher and published by Dreaming Big Publications, a publishing house based in the United States. Solo takes reader into the Lucid universe (or universes) and whets their appetites for the three novels making up the trilogy.
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Solo - Christopher McMaster
Who will catch the killer, when the killer is from a different reality? It takes a dreamer to stop a dreamer ...
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Solo
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I found him sitting on a stool in the corner of a run-down bar. Real ambiance for the alcoholic, but he wasn’t one of those. He was just pretending, like he did with the rest of his life, at least the waking part. I didn’t give a shit what he did here, whether he was a drunk, a garbageman, a bagger at a grocery store, or that asshole at the DMV you had to deal with when you renewed your license.
He was the last one, by the way. He actually worked at the Department of Motor fucking Vehicles. But that wasn’t why I was going to kill him.
He couldn’t see me from where I was standing. I’d wait to introduce myself. Pretending to be a drunk sitting at a bar meant he had to drink, so I’d wait until he had at least two, maybe starting his third. If need be, like if he nursed those two too slowly, I’d buy him that third. He’d take it as well, because he was that type of guy. This was the first real look I’d had of him. Most of what I caught were just glances, or following him from a distance, so far back that he’d never suspect someone was tailing him. I knew the back of his head, the shape of his body, how he walked.
I saw more of what he left behind, after he had finished and was no longer around. That was, literally, the stuff of nightmares.
The bartender looked at me, trying to decide what he was seeing. I gave him a warm smile to sew a little confusion and buy some time. He turned back to his bar and poured a drink for a real alcoholic sitting farther up. I had to be careful with my costume. Even this place didn’t want whores inside hassling their Johns, and it was the girls on the corner I modelled myself on. A few changes should be enough to pull it off. Tight jeans with a glittery belt around my waist instead of very short shorts or a mini skirt. A blouse tight enough to show off my tits without revealing too much of them through a thread bare halter top, or a piece of coloured elastic they called a ‘tube top’ in this time and place. And flat soled shoes rather than heels. I could