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cloud.
    ‘Wiseguy,’ he rumbled.
     
    ATOM’S JOURNAL
     
    Here’s the way I see it. A skeleton with a needle and thread. It lives in a house filled with anchors and flamethrowing equipment. Outside, a threading blizzard. Authority like a scorpion in a monster truck. Exhausted denizens lank as locked boxers. God’s massive shell discarded at the edge of the universe. All that’s missing is a raven with a plan behind its hard eyes.
     
     
     

3 WE’VE BEEN COURTEOUS
    Â 
    â€˜These words poison my life.’
    Eddie Thermidor liked to think of the mob network as a Frankenstein’s monster, more sensitive than its creator. It was, but that wasn’t saying much. Born with a glass eye, he became the sort of driver who was oblivious to anyone coming the other way. Now that he had a snorting stable of chauffeurs this attitude informed his business affairs. No-one had done so much to redeem the use of flamethrowers up close.
    He was sat at a heavy marble table in a stone hall. Thermidor’s gang fort was no apartment knock-through like Betty’s midtown - this here was custom-built, the outer walls so thick they took up more groundspace than the inner chambers. Industrial gothic was tempered by Bren Shui, the art of exchanging negative energy with the environment through the correct placement of firearms around the home.
    He replaced the receiver, the brittle slam echoing. ‘Sammy Transam on the tumbler,’ he said. ‘Says someone sorta took over the chaos at the Creosote.’
    Nada Neck and Shiv were sat on a low couch by the wall. Three creases appeared in Nada Neck’s forehead - one for each nerve impulse. ‘Didn’t Transam used to go round sellin’ insulation in the form of codeine? Perhaps it has turned finally upon him.’
    â€˜So his brain’s flipped like a flounder? I’ll push him off a roof so tall he’ll be dead o’boredom before he hits the sidewalk.’
    Shiv examined the set of ratchet knives which rested open on his knees. ‘I take him. Wet one of these here thinnies.’
    â€˜Shiv Shiv Shiv. I’m touched. Hear that Neck? Artist inspired. Flurry o’ knifework and your guts unspool to the carpet. Salt the blade before lunging probably. Hold that thought Shiv okay? Kitty was on - I want her in here ready to salute the floorboards.’
    â€˜Uh she’s downstairs boss she’s here,’ said Nada Neck.
    â€˜What? What do I need Kitty Stickler in my life?’
    â€˜You said you wanted her here.’
    â€˜On my order, not turnin’ up like this is some village coffeehouse for the talkin’ about of flowers and bunny rabbits eh?’
    â€˜Sorry, boss, you’ve lost me.’
    â€˜Shiv thinks,’ whispered Shiv without looking up, ‘that Necky only plays dumb.’
    Kitty started stamping her heels and everyone noticed she was in the room.
    â€˜Kitty - to what in the devil’s plan do I owe the pleasure.’
    â€˜Salute the floorboards huh?’ She went over to a table and tore a shocker out of the pack, lighting up. ‘“These words poison my life!” You know I nearly died today?’
    â€˜That an inconvenience in your case?’
    â€˜Oh ha ha you think it’s the true fun bein’ there haranguin’ slobs from that stage?’
    â€˜Sure it’s all we talk about round here - whether yours is the true fun. If it’d be the same for those of us with movin’ parts.’
    Kitty stalked up to the heavy table, gripped its corners and glared across it into Thermidor’s one living eye. ‘You’ve shot up in my estimation Eddie - like when they discovered the Brontosaurus could sit back on its ass.’
    Thermidor stuck out his jaw like the tray of a cash register. ‘Well now this is real read-all-about-it factual information you’re givin’ me Kitty. A man like me just might not be able to find room for it in his