By Peter Corris
Gareth Greenaway used to be no longer all he appeared, yet Cliff Hardy was once used to that. What he used to be now not used to used to be the shadowy international Greenaway used to be to guide him into - neurosurgeons, psychological sufferers, AIDS victims, all excited by their very own goals and delusions. Peter Corris's different books contain "The January Zone", "The Greenwich Apartments", "The Empty seashore" and "Deal Me Out".
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It was once larger than a resort, this nameless room on a secluded facet highway of a small kingdom city. No sign in to signal, no questions requested, and for 5 dollars a guy may have 3 hours of undisturbed, illicit lovemaking. Then one night a guy with a knife grew to become the affection nest right into a demise chamber.
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Additional resources for Man in the shadows: a short novel and six stories
There were no physical signs; he didn’t twitch or dribble, but he had the air of an alien, of someone for whom everything around him was strange and new. ’ ‘I don’t know. That’s the problem. I can’t remember. ’ ‘Southwood Private Hospital. ’ That was the first flicker of aggression I’d seen; he opened his eyes wider as he spoke and seemed to be flinching back, although in reality he didn’t move a muscle. I didn’t react; I’d seen enough psychoanalytical movies to know how to behave. ‘Go on,’ I said.
He wrote something on a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard. ’ ‘No, a friend. ’ ‘I’m afraid she’s dead, sir. ’ I was aware of Greenway standing behind me. The Bondi colour had drained from his face. I drew him away towards the car. ’ ‘Okay. Just park the car down the street a bit, put the keys in the glove box and get lost. There’s no need for you to be part of this. ’ I gripped his arm and propelled him towards the car trying to look like someone giving and receiving support. ‘No fancy ideas either.
I want a drink. I’ve got some beer in the kitchen. ’ ‘Okay. But don’t get any ideas about pissing off. ’ He walked unsteadily down the passage to the kitchen and came back with two cans of Reschs Pilsener. He popped the cans and handed me one. ’ I took a sip and told him in as few words as I could manage. I felt I needed to watch and listen to him a bit more before deciding what to do. He nodded, apparently respectfully. ‘Pretty good. I thought you might be that good. ’ ‘Shit, you’ve got a nerve.