McEdifice in: MYCOPHAGE! Part 1

Cliff “Edge” McEdifice is MYCOPHAGE the intoxicating new thriller from Timothy the Talking Cat, Straw Puppy and the ghost of Michael Crichton.

It is the Year 1995 and Cliff “Edge” McEdifice (ancestor of future soldier Chiselled McEdifice) is entangled in a web of conspiracy, tendrils and webs.

Part 1: Whose Looking at You Doll

The name’s Cliff. My friends call me Edge. My doctor calls me Mr McEdifice. My parole office calls me a piece of shit. I’m ex-special forces, ex-cop, ex-CIA and ex-husband. I’m your worst nightmare or your only hope, sometimes I’m both.

My office is an old five and dime on main street Nowheresville, in the shittiest state in the USA. You know the one, hell you probably live in it.

This dame walks into the office.

“I’m not a dame,” she says in accent that you can buy from the best schools or steal by watching English TV shows on cable.

“Makes no difference to me sweet cheeks,” I say.

“A dame is an honour conferred by Her Majesty the Queen that is the equivalent of Knighthood but for women. I have no such honour.”

“Look, it’s just what guys like me call, you know, a person of the female persuasion. A chick, a gal, a doll.”

“A doll is close enough,” she says and then she grabs each of her own ear lobes and tugs at them real hard.

POP!

Like latch had released the front of her face falls open to reveal a mechanism of cogs, wheels and blinking lights.

“Jeez Louise! You ain’t joking! You are some kind of robot!” I says.

“How did you know my name is Louise?” asked the robot, her voice all tinny and electronic now.

“Makes no difference to me if you are called Robbie the Robot or Freddy the Frigidaire. What are you doing in my office?”

The living, walking living doll puts her face back and sits down all lady like as if she ain’t a mess of gears, levers and microchips from Japan.

“I need you to solve a murder Mr McEdifice.”

“Who’s the stiff?”

“I am. I want you to find out who killed me.”

And with that smoke began to curl out her ears and a different voice echoed from her ample chest and began to intone: “This unit will self destruct in 50 seconds, please ensure you are at least 60 metres away before this unit explodes.”

“Damn”, I said and fled from the office,