Read Chase Baker and the God Boy: (A Chase Baker Thriller Series Book No. 3) for Free Online

as if the temperature in
Florence has risen by one hundred degrees. I slide off the bed exhausted, make
my way across the length of the apartment to the bathroom, stare into a cracked
mirror at my distorted face, the crack making it look like my skull has been
fractured vertically down its center. The face peering back at me is withdrawn,
eyes red, scruffy covered skin, pale and sallow. Maybe it’s the result of
having spent most of the afternoon drinking. But then, it could be something
else. It could be that already the God Boy is affecting me. Getting under my
skin. Touching my soul.
    I wash my face, dry it, avoid any
further contact with the stranger in the broken mirror.
    Out in the living room, I dig into
the left chest pocket of my bush jacket and produce the letter that came with the
bronze key one month ago … to the day I realize. Peering down at the page, I
view a hand-drawn illustration of an eight-armed Kali holding what appears to
be shrunken hearts in the palms of six of her hands while with the seventh she
holds a sword and in the eighth, a severed head that’s still alive.
    The full frontal illustration is
accompanied by an equally detailed one of the statue’s backside. There’s an
area of the upper back that’s been boxed out in pencil. Inside the box is
written one word in big capital letters: KEY. Below that are written the words:
    Chase, they are coming for me.
The evil ones. Do not lose this key. It’s all that separates my life from
certain death. I never stopped loving you.
    Elizabeth
    Once more, I open my wallet, slide
out her photo, peer into Elizabeth’s green eyes. I feel their power as if she
were standing right before me in my apartment. Again, I pull the bronze key out
of my shirt, feel the solid object in my hand. I can only wonder if it’s the true
Kali key. And if that is the case, what secrets will the statue reveal once
unlocked?
    “Are…you…alive?” I say at the photo
as if expecting an answer.
    Returning the letter to my shirt
pocket and the photo to my wallet, I grab my shoulder-holstered Colt .45 where
it hangs on the wall-mounted hat-rack, slip it on over my shoulders. Then,
grabbing my leather jacket from the hook beside it, I slip that on. I pull the
automatic from the holster, thumb the clip release, make a check the nine-round
load. Cocking one into the chamber, I engage the safety and return the piece to
its resting space beneath my left arm, grip inverted for easy access.
    “I’ll be back, Lu.”
    Unlocking the deadbolt, I open the
door and exit the apartment, the pit in my stomach telling me that although my
new assignment to find the God Boy has yet to begin, I’m already in way too
deep.

 
6
     

     
    Arrival at the Elbow.
    Part of me thinks it would be
hilarious to enter through the window I was tossed out of just this afternoon.
But I’m not feeling very entertaining right now. I’d rather cry than bust a
gut. And anyway, a team of blue-overalled workers are busy installing a new picture
window in place of the one that was shattered by my rather compact, but solid, five-foot
nine-inch, one hundred eighty-five pound frame.
    As usual, Matt is behind the bar
still wearing his ABCD, AC/DC black cotton tee.
    “No more trouble, Chase,” he says,
popping the top on a green bottle of Heineken for me. “You’re costing me a
small fortune in glass. Not to mention the words ‘Fiddlers’ and ‘Elbow’ I’ll
need to have stenciled on it. You know how much one of those artists charge?”
He says “artist” like “ arteest .”
    “Don’t tell me, Matty,” I say, grabbing
the beer, taking a quick swig. “Tell Joe muscles over there. And we’re in Florence
for God’s sakes. Everywhere you turn you see a starving arteest . Make a
trade for crisps and beer.”
    Matt purses his lips, crosses
sinewy arms, concealing the ABCD on his T-shirt as if seriously contemplating
the idea.
    Four stools down, Calum is