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    Death Can Dance Too: and Other Stories of Mayhem, Machines and Monsters
    Death Can Dance Too: and Other Stories of Mayhem, Machines and Monsters
    Death Can Dance Too: and Other Stories of Mayhem, Machines and Monsters
    Ebook93 pages1 hour

    Death Can Dance Too: and Other Stories of Mayhem, Machines and Monsters

    By Brett McKean

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    About this ebook

    The smart pulp shorts in this six-story collection will slam you against the wall, punch you in the gut, then whisper harsh truths in your ear. You will not learn anything from these stories. They will not make you a better person. There are no themes, metaphors, or lyrical language. There is a little philosophy. And lots of blood. The stories are transparent, an apple is an apple, a chair is a chair. A thing with tentacles and claws crawling out of the depths is not a representation of your deepest fears or postmodern society. You should start running.

    This collection’s stories span multiple genres: crime, thriller, horror and sci-fi. Here are some teasers:
    - A DJ playing a private party for wealthy Russians regrets getting the gig.
    - A landlord discovers a cave of horrors in his basement.
    - A girl is driven to crime by her love for a painting.
    - On a far flung planet a trader has a strange encounter with a religious cult.
    - A famous musician seeks immortality.
    - Padding your resume with a volunteer experience was never so deadly.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBrett McKean
    Release dateJul 28, 2012
    ISBN9781476052106
    Death Can Dance Too: and Other Stories of Mayhem, Machines and Monsters
    Author

    Brett McKean

    Hello! My name is Brett McKean and I write genre fiction. I live in Minneapolis.

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      Book preview

      Death Can Dance Too - Brett McKean

      The smart pulp shorts in this six-story collection will slam you against the wall, punch you in the gut, then whisper harsh truths in your ear. You will not learn anything from these stories. They will not make you a better person. There are no themes, metaphors, or lyrical language. There is a little philosophy. And lots of blood. The stories are transparent, an apple is an apple, a chair is a chair. A thing with tentacles and claws crawling out of the depths is not a representation of your deepest fears or postmodern society. You should start running.

      This collection’s stories span multiple genres: crime, thriller, horror and sci-fi. Here are some teasers:

      - A DJ playing a private party for wealthy Russians regrets getting the gig.

      - A landlord discovers a cave of horrors in his basement.

      - A girl is driven to crime by her love for a painting.

      - On a far flung planet a trader has a strange encounter with a religious cult.

      - A famous musician seeks immortality.

      - Padding your resume with a volunteer experience was never so deadly.

      Death Can Dance Too: and Other Stories of Mayhem, Machines and Monsters

      By Brett McKean

      Copyright 2012 by Brett McKean

      Smashwords Edition

      Table of Contents

      1. Death Can Dance Too

      2. The Pitcher Plant

      3. Quadplex

      4. The Unmasked Assister

      5. The Amazing Disappearing Man

      6. The Tin Ear Painting

      Death Can Dance Too

      At least there was a dress code at the Luna Dei: no jeans, no baseball caps, no t-shirts. Like all dress codes, its purpose is to keep out undesirables such as the hoodlums and house party drunks who decide to rip it up at the club. The clientele at the club I was playing was fairly high end, or what passes for high end in Minneapolis. Now, don’t get me wrong, the club scene there is up and coming. It isn’t Vegas or San Francisco, but it’s up and coming.

      I flew coach from Vegas that afternoon. I was late getting to the airport, but luckily my vinyl and the flight case with my turntables and mixer made it on the plane somehow. In Minneapolis, one of the owners of Luna Dei picked me up in an old rusted out Toyota. He wore a white t-shirt and jeans. His hair was messily spiked, it was the only part of him ready for the evening. He shook my hand and smiled the smile reserved for VIP customers about to drop half a grand on table service.

      Great to meet you face to face, he said.

      You too.

      You know Darrin Belton? he asked.

      Yeah.

      He played here last year.

      I nodded, Cool.

      Also we’re getting, or we’re really hoping to get, DJ Acropolis in September. He’s a friend of mine.

      Great.

      Oh, before I forget, He handed me three worn laminated tickets, each the size of a credit card, that read, One domestic bottle or rail mixed drink. I could redeem them at the bar during the night.

      From the few times I’ve been in Minneapolis, I get the impression that they’re about six months behind the coasts in terms of the music they played. This is fine by me, but you have to keep this in mind when choosing your set list.

      I play and record electronic-dance music. This is a general description; people familiar with the genre would know better how to classify it. It’s dance music, little to no vocals, driving bass and synthesizers. Come down to the Pinnacle on Tuesday nights in Vegas if you want to check me out. You can find me on the web too, of course.

      We arrived at the club, I set up my equipment and did a sound check. I asked the owner what there was to eat in the area, hoping to get comped something from the kitchen. Instead, I got what I asked for and so around seven I walked to a pizza place down the street, had a couple slices and a couple beers. After, I walked around downtown Minneapolis and peeked in the clubs where I could convince the bouncers to let me look around. I dropped my card everywhere. At nine I headed back to the Luna Dei.

      A local DJ named H-Fly started the night off, his set leaned towards Chicago House music. He got the crowd warmed up nicely. I went on at eleven and by then the dance floor was getting crowded.

      To start I did my scratching routine where I quickly mix snippets of different tracks and show off my quick fingers. The crowded responded to every move; they were ready. I pushed up the faders on my best slab of vinyl. The crowd became a wave, moving up and down to the beat.

      A tall beautiful brunette with white skin leaned against the bar. She wore a slinky dress that was various shades of dark blue. Her pose said, I’ve seen it all and if you hit on me, I’ll be patient for about three seconds before I snub you.

      Earlier, she arrived with a group of about ten, men and women. I saw Rusting Toyota answer his cell and run over to the door. He escorted them to the best table and the waitress brought out top shelf bottles of vodka and whiskey. The men wore dark suits and the women dark dresses, they looked European and wealthy. I thought I caught the brunette in blue looking at me, but I wasn’t sure. Most of the group was loud and drunk, but there was a core of three men that stood sober and alert, keeping their hands folded in front of them.

      A drunk guy in a sweat stained shirt, beer in hand, started talking to the go-go dancer who shimmied and dipped on a three-foot pedestal. She made a little motion to one of the bouncers and he walked over to the shithead. The bouncer, his black suit and purple tie ballooned by his large shoulders and chest, slapped the drunkard on the shoulder and talked to him while leading him away. The dancer didn’t miss a move.

      I thumbed through my vinyl, looking for a forty-five: my remix of Venus Nine’s Flower Sandwich. I put it out a month ago; sales are sluggish at the moment. As I pulled out the forty-five in its paper sleeve, I saw trouble sliding into my peripheral vision. But oh, how trouble can move. The brunette in the blue dress was navigating towards me through the crowd. I smiled at her and she leaned in.

      Hey, I’m lovin’ your set. That new Alpha Train Wave mix you spun was great!

      Thanks, I think its better than the original.

      Yeah, I think so too. She had an accent that sounded Russian. She stood about five feet ten with heels, with straight black hair parted in the middle and flowing down to her shoulders. Her firm build held her steady despite being a little drunk. After leaning towards me to hear or be heard in the din she always returned to her regal stance, shoulders back, head held up.

      You’ve got good taste in music, she said, but I think you might be a little weak on the scratching. She said pretending to scratch a record.

      Oh really? Maybe you have an itch I could scratch for practice?

      I held up a finger and slowly moved the fader, changing the song, a slightly slower track with ethereal synthesizers, heavy reverb and a droning bass line. She laughed and then listened to the new track swaying her hips. "I think you’re letting your needle jump the groove Mr. DJ, keep it on the proper track

      Okay, Beauty in Blue, I’ll stick to my tunes.

      Myka’s my name. Are you always this forward with women?

      I tilted my head a little, Only with you. I held her eyes and let a smile wash over my face. She caught it and

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