Cat-man Jones

By Leif Bodnarchuk and Ian Pearce

** Profits from this title go to MSF / Doctors Without Borders **

Belfast is gripped by a snowstorm. Danby, a writer's assistant, has to get home before the city grinds to a halt.

As the weather worsens, people disappear; birds attack; Danby hears voices, and will lose his mind until a stranger steps in.

Cat-man Jones has seen it before: there's nothing real about reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781326202507

Book preview

Cat-man Jones

CAT-MAN JONES

by Leif Bodnarchuk and Ian Pearce

Copyright

© 2015 Leif Bodnarchuk and Ian Pearce

ISBN 978-1-326-20250-7

Cover artwork by Ian Pearce

Authors photo by Elaine Bodnarchuk

Published by Lulu

Dedications

To Lauren, Elaine, Lars, Vala, Bruce, Bandit, pizza, crisps, and cats everywhere. But mostly Skinny Rodney, RIP.

All profits from this title will be donated to

Doctors Without Borders / Medecins sans Frontieres

www.msf.org.uk

1

‘And as he gently fucked his son into bed… what the fuck?!’

Clark stared at the page, his face purpling.

‘Three times now!’

He stabbed the big keys on his desk phone and pulled a cigarette from the pack.

‘Larry Tennison – pronto,’ he commanded, receiver wedged onto his shoulder. He lit the cigarette one-handed from his Las Vegas lighter.

‘Larry? They fucked it up Larry. Again! It’s a kid’s book for Christ’s sake!’

This is a regular afternoon in the office. Clark Borstal is my boss. He’s around 50, and probably began Operation Bald in his 20s. I’ve been working here for 3 years and in that time he’s gone from stringy comb-over to hair-valence. He’s finally accepted defeat up top, but still won’t shave the rest of it. So his head is like an Easter egg wearing a grey cape.

The unfortunate recipient of Clark’s rant was his lit-agent Larry in New York. The five-hour time difference meant afternoons here were frantic, bordering on violent like today. While Clark broadsided obscenities (not at me for a change) I looked outside.

The snow was getting heavier.

A bobble-hatted woman sailed by the window, toppled by the wind. I wanted to go home.

I thought about Maggie at home with the kids and the dog, and envied her. The weather headlines these last few days had been sensationalist:

WORST BLIZZARD IN DECADES

TOTAL WHITEOUT

The press rolled out this pantomime every year. We lived in northwest Europe and it was the arse-end of January. Snow should be a given. Something had been bothering me lately