Read Online Greasepaint by David C. Hayes - Free Book Online Page A

Monty hangs up the cell phone and throws it on the couch. He manages to get the towel reattached and bends over the coffee table, grabbing a cigar and lighting it.
    He turns and heads back to look out of the window, a big grin on his face.
    As Monty stares out, the shape moves in behind him. Monty’s grin drops as he sees the reflection of a clown in the window. Monty grabs the cigar out of his mouth, unsure of just what is happening…or how.
    â€œWhat the fuck!”
    He starts to turn. A white gloved hand shoots out and grabs Monty’s throat. Monty is pushed back. He struggles against the shape, but can’t make any headway. Monty is finally slammed against the glass of the large windows, his greasy head squeaking against the pane. The erratic movements cause the towel to drop once again.
    â€œWhat…do…you…want…?” Monty gasps.
    There is no response. The shape rams Monty’s head into the glass. Repeatedly. The glass cracks and splits. The expensive, up-to-code security glass designed for the top of tall buildings is very durable. The shape bashes Monty’s head into the glass again and again and again. After a while, the skin on Monty’s head splits causing blunt force lacerations. Blood sprays and smears. The shape only stops when the glass finally cracks all the way through and shatters.
    Monty is not thrown through. The stiff breeze from the now-open window jogs Monty a bit, preventing him from slipping into total unconsciousness. He grins at the shape, eyes focusing on the large, red nose of his assailant.
    â€œYou’re another…goddamn…Emmy…” Monty smiles as blood seeps from his mouth. His large, white teeth are uncharacteristically stained.
    The broken glass leaves a large shard sticking up into the air like a stalagmite the width of an average man. Say, the size of Monty. The shape pushes Monty backward, his lower back positioned over the shard.
    The shape pushes down. As the shard pierces Monty’s back, his eyes go wide. The shape uses its own body weight to force Monty down, little by little, as the glass shard digs deeper and deeper. Blood gushes and Monty can only open and close his mouth in complete agony. It takes a full two minutes of concerted effort from the shape to push the glass through Monty’s spinal column. Once that has been breached, the rest of the job goes a bit quicker.
    Monty’s torso tumbles from the broken window to the street below. The lower half of his body just slides to the floor of the penthouse.
    The shape disappears. Crime scene investigators will have no luck finding Monty’s cell phone.

Chapter Nine
    Angela sleeps. This is a luxury since the personal assistant to Monty Reigns was on call, twenty-four-seven. The room is frilly, complete with stuffed bears and a four poster bed of faux-Victorian design. The attached bathroom is simple and neat. The room represents everything her professional life is not: prim, proper and stable. Her ever-present “Monty Reigns Direct Line” cell phone lays next to her alarm clock on the doily-laden nightstand.
    The cell phone vibrates, rattling against the wood of the stand. Angela, used to ridiculous demands late in the evening, reaches over automatically. She barely turns her head on the pillow before the phone is to her ear.
    â€œIt’s late, Monty.”
    Angela swings her legs over the bed and sits up, reaching for and turning on the lamp. She is wearing a long, oversized T-shirt with a cartoon cat frowning. It reads, “Insomina is for winners.” Angela stands, phone to her ear, and walks past the open bedroom window.
    â€œHello? Monty?”
    Angela paces, back and forth, in front of the window. She continues to call out to Monty, but receives no answer. She stares at her phone for a moment to see if the signal had been lost when a blurry, multi-colored shape passes in front of the bedroom window. Angela doesn’t have the first