Gloria?”
“Like I said earlier, David, this is a new beginning for us. No inhibitor chip. No programming. Just you and me.” She laughed. “Of course, you’ll have to dispose of Kathy’s body first. But then, you’re getting pretty good at that sort of thing, David. Wouldn’t you say?”
She stepped up close to me and ran her cold, metal fingers through my hair, the way lovers do. The sensation was like being touched by the icy hand of death itself.
“I want to make a real go of it this time, David. How about you?”
Well, what could I say?
That’s love for you.
The Devil's Bones
“You wish to see them now?” the girl said. “The bones?”
Carter stared at her through a rolling column of smoke. The hand he was using to hold up the opium pipe suddenly felt heavy and dropped to the tabletop with a dull smack. The girl was young, full-lipped, skin the colour of coffee; he’d never seen a woman as beautiful in his life. And as the opiate surged through his system, she seemed to grow more beautiful by the second. Carter found his usually sceptical, suspicious self sputtering like a spent Catherine wheel in the Mexican night. Right now, he would follow this girl anywhere.
“Where are they?” he said, the words tumbling from his dry mouth like stones.
The girl stood up, gently took the pipe from his slackening grip and placed it back in its cradle. She beckoned him to stand with a jerk of her head. As she turned to walk away her beaded dress shifted, parted, allowing the briefest glimpse of brown flesh. Rising on unsteady feet, Carter followed the girl eagerly out into the night.
Chavinda was a beautiful city located high in the mountains of Michoacan, veiled from the outside world by a curtain of tall pine trees. The story that had led him here was too good to resist, but as he followed the sensual figure of the young Mexican girl down the cobbled main street, he wondered if this was all just a big joke. Chavinda was a small place, estimated population about fifteen thousand. It seemed hard to believe that the Devil himself had once walked these quaint, cobbled streets.
The locals called Chavinda ‘the place of ropes’. He hoped he wasn’t about to hang himself with this back street deal.
“I’ve heard stories about the bones,” he said conversationally, as they left the main esplanade and began descending a stone staircase between buildings. “Lots of stories. I’ve heard so many I really don’t know what to believe.”
She stopped abruptly on the steps, turning to him with a steady, mirthless glare. “What is the worst you have heard?”
Carter had to steady himself. The opium had turned the contents of his head to a thick soup. He didn’t like the way the girl’s expression had become so severe, so suddenly unsexy.
“The worst?” he said. “That the bones are magical. That they contain a great power. Stuff like that.”
The girl searched his face. “You really are that naïve,” she said.
Before he could ask her what she meant, she was walking away.
They continued down the steps and into a narrow sandy-floored alley. Long rows of single storey adobes with red tiled roofs crowded in on both sides. Squinting, Carter was unable to see the end of the run.
The girl stopped at the third house on the right and pushed open the unlocked door. Fingers of moonlight crept across a dark room. On a table near the back wall a cluster of candles fluttered around a garish crucifix. The sight of several stray cushions and a small portable television perched precariously on a stool told him this was the living room. Another room, possibly a bedroom, lay beyond a beaded curtain on the right. In the silence, he heard a woman’s voice mumbling, as if in prayer.
“I live here with my mother,” the girl said. “She has watched over the bones for the better part of a decade now. But she is very ill. You will understand soon enough.” She gestured for him to go through the beaded
“Like I said earlier, David, this is a new beginning for us. No inhibitor chip. No programming. Just you and me.” She laughed. “Of course, you’ll have to dispose of Kathy’s body first. But then, you’re getting pretty good at that sort of thing, David. Wouldn’t you say?”
She stepped up close to me and ran her cold, metal fingers through my hair, the way lovers do. The sensation was like being touched by the icy hand of death itself.
“I want to make a real go of it this time, David. How about you?”
Well, what could I say?
That’s love for you.
The Devil's Bones
“You wish to see them now?” the girl said. “The bones?”
Carter stared at her through a rolling column of smoke. The hand he was using to hold up the opium pipe suddenly felt heavy and dropped to the tabletop with a dull smack. The girl was young, full-lipped, skin the colour of coffee; he’d never seen a woman as beautiful in his life. And as the opiate surged through his system, she seemed to grow more beautiful by the second. Carter found his usually sceptical, suspicious self sputtering like a spent Catherine wheel in the Mexican night. Right now, he would follow this girl anywhere.
“Where are they?” he said, the words tumbling from his dry mouth like stones.
The girl stood up, gently took the pipe from his slackening grip and placed it back in its cradle. She beckoned him to stand with a jerk of her head. As she turned to walk away her beaded dress shifted, parted, allowing the briefest glimpse of brown flesh. Rising on unsteady feet, Carter followed the girl eagerly out into the night.
Chavinda was a beautiful city located high in the mountains of Michoacan, veiled from the outside world by a curtain of tall pine trees. The story that had led him here was too good to resist, but as he followed the sensual figure of the young Mexican girl down the cobbled main street, he wondered if this was all just a big joke. Chavinda was a small place, estimated population about fifteen thousand. It seemed hard to believe that the Devil himself had once walked these quaint, cobbled streets.
The locals called Chavinda ‘the place of ropes’. He hoped he wasn’t about to hang himself with this back street deal.
“I’ve heard stories about the bones,” he said conversationally, as they left the main esplanade and began descending a stone staircase between buildings. “Lots of stories. I’ve heard so many I really don’t know what to believe.”
She stopped abruptly on the steps, turning to him with a steady, mirthless glare. “What is the worst you have heard?”
Carter had to steady himself. The opium had turned the contents of his head to a thick soup. He didn’t like the way the girl’s expression had become so severe, so suddenly unsexy.
“The worst?” he said. “That the bones are magical. That they contain a great power. Stuff like that.”
The girl searched his face. “You really are that naïve,” she said.
Before he could ask her what she meant, she was walking away.
They continued down the steps and into a narrow sandy-floored alley. Long rows of single storey adobes with red tiled roofs crowded in on both sides. Squinting, Carter was unable to see the end of the run.
The girl stopped at the third house on the right and pushed open the unlocked door. Fingers of moonlight crept across a dark room. On a table near the back wall a cluster of candles fluttered around a garish crucifix. The sight of several stray cushions and a small portable television perched precariously on a stool told him this was the living room. Another room, possibly a bedroom, lay beyond a beaded curtain on the right. In the silence, he heard a woman’s voice mumbling, as if in prayer.
“I live here with my mother,” the girl said. “She has watched over the bones for the better part of a decade now. But she is very ill. You will understand soon enough.” She gestured for him to go through the beaded
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