Read The Clock Winked (The Sagittan Chronicles Book 2) for Free Online Page B

sleek voice replied. “We
give you help. You get information, you share. Is simple.”
    Samson sat back in his chair, musing thoughtfully.
“Information, you say. That is my field. I will consider it.”
    “Did I mention?” the voice added. “This
not choice. Do you have remember of your
deceased wife? Eliza?”
    Samson's jaw clenched. “Of course I remember her. What are
you insinuating?”
    “Is true, that her body still missing?”
    Samson said nothing.
    The voice on the other end chuckled softly. “We know where
body is. We have pictures.” He paused. “A phone call. Tomorrow. Between 8:15 and 9:15.”
    The phone went dead.
    A moment later, Samson's favourite paperweight lay shattered
in pieces on the floor across the room.
    *****
    In Southern Pomegranate City, few police officers bothered
to patrol. Everyone knew that the two gangs who roamed the streets had their
own system of law that governed the two prominent races which inhabited the
area. Most interesting of the gang leaders was a character named Rathead, who
rarely made appearances, but was a bit of a legend through all of Pomegranate
City. Children in school played a game of tag called Rathead and the Ghosts,
where one child would pretend to be Rathead and hide, while the other children,
pretending to be the ghosts of the people who he had killed, had to find him
and haunt him.
    It was a rather morbid game for children, Salve had always
thought. Currently, he was pursuing a story about the system of law that ruled
the streets here, but finding people to interview was a decidedly difficult
task. He glanced at the card in his hand. It read “Lawrence Zebigular, MD, 23
Traffick Lane” in spidery handwriting.
    The house was painted white and surrounded by a high cement
fence with a gate in the middle. The cement had been decorated with spray
paint; a series of illegibly scrawled letters and two stripes of blue splayed
predominately across the wall.
    He rang the bell. An elderly man came to the gate and
unlatched it, allowing Salve to enter.
    “Hello there, young man,” he said.
    “Hello. You are Mr. Zebigular?” Salve asked.
    “I am.”
    “A pleasure to meet you. I am
Sauvignon Pincer, but you can call me Salve.”
    “Well, come in then. No need to stand out here in the
danger.” Mr. Zebigular led him into the living room. It had one lamp, two
chairs, a short table under the window, and not much else. “Please, sit down. I
will bring the tea.”
    A moment later he bustled into the room with a tray, two
cups, and a pot of tea. “Now,” he said, placing the tray on the small table.
“What can I do for you?”
    “I’m doing an article on gang law in Southern Pomegranate
City,” Salve said. “Do you know much about this?”
    “Oh dear,” Mr. Zebigular said. “You shouldn’t want to do an
article on that. The law is a secret, only told to those who need to know. I
know very little, and wouldn’t want to break my vow, which guarantees my
protection. Let’s talk about the Clock of Legend. I think it is most
interesting, you know. They say it is the end of the time, that the Clock
predicts the end of the world.”
    “It is very interesting, sir,” Salve agreed.
    “You know, I have some history of my own related to the
Clock,” Mr. Zebigular said with a look on his face which clearly stated, ‘I’m
going to reminisce whether you like it or not.’ He continued, “My father once
told me a story of my great, great, great, great uncle who was actually there
at the construction of the Clock. It was a number of years before the
technological revolution...”
    Salve listened patiently as Mr. Zebigular told him his
entire family history, and then proceeded to flip through each page of his photo
album, describing every family member in painstaking detail.
    “If the end of the world does come,” he said, “this is very
important for you to know.”
    “Do the gangs know about the end of the world?” Salve asked.
    “Oh no, no,” Mr.