The Blacker Death: An Ebola Thriller - Plot & Excerpts
I’d gone through half a bottle of booze and a pack of Pall Malls watching the news until they ran out of experts and I ran out of gas and passed out in the chair. When I opened my eyes, it was light out, and the cat was batting a cigarette butt around the floor like it was a hockey rink. “Hey, Bobby Orr, cut it out,” I said. “I just swept that floor.” She jumped up in my lap, rubbed against me, and purred. “How the hell am I supposed to be mad at you when you do that?” Cats are like women. They know how to get whatever they want. I petted her awhile, and set her down and tried to straighten things up a little when I heard Izzy coming down the stairs. “Good morning,” she said, looking first at me, then at the liquor bottle I was jamming into the wastebasket. “Morning,” I said. “Were you up all night?” “Pretty much. Want some breakfast?” “That would be nice.” She was sizing me up like I was a bum they’d dragged out of the gutter for a line-up. “I look that bad, huh?”
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