“Okay, I’ll be generous. Even though you broke your word.” Thorne chuckled. “I’ll be in touch with the paperwork.”
“Run it past Cash. I don’t have a fixed address yet.” Or even a promoter. He needed to give Cash a call and hire him outright. Jesus, being free was complex.
“But you’re not living under a bridge, are you?”
“No. Or rather, it’s a four-star bridge in the centre of London. With a big bathtub and a phone.” Get the hint, Thorne, I’m dead on my feet.
“Good.” Another chuckle. “I’ll set things up. Can’t wait to punch your lights out in New York City.”
“You can try.” Brooklyn grinned. “Good fight, Thorne, thanks for that.”
“Six months, Brook. It’s a deal.” Thorne laughed again. “New York City is practically home for you.”
“Hah. Funny. Good night.” Brooklyn waited for the huff of laughter and put the phone down. Dead on his feet? He felt dead, knackered, and then microwaved. Nothing penetrated the thick fog in his brain.
No numbers, no future fights. All remained remote and paled behind the one thing he needed: sleep. But he only really needed sleep so he could be coherent when he met Nathaniel tomorrow to tell him he loved him too. This time, he wouldn’t make an idiot of himself.
As the perceptive reader will have noticed, Counterpunch is written in British English (I’ve recently read a review where a reviewer pointed out all the “mistakes” in a book that was not written in American English, largely because it was originally published by a British writer in Britain—so I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page about spellings such as “towelled” and “armour”).
All joking aside, Riptide Publishing was kind and gracious enough to allow me to retain the British spelling despite possible complications with a mostly American audience, but in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to write about British characters in anything but British English. It just sounds wrong. To make the confusion complete, however, in line with Riptide’s guidelines, punctuation is American (apologies, British and Commonwealth readers).
I’m not a native British speaker, so I’ve relied to a large degree on my partner (English and hobby boxer) for the lingo and all judgement calls regarding language use. I’ve also checked with some work colleagues (male and female and of various ethnic groups) about natural usage.
My Brit-checkers Kate Cotoner, Sal Davies, and Erastes have done an outstanding job and deservedly thwapped me over the head for bastardising their native language in the first draft, and I remain eternally grateful for both the thwapping and the education. As always, all mistakes that persist are entirely mine.
Thanks to everybody at Riptide who gave this book a second lease of life—above all, my editor Gordon who’s guided me with the right mix of patience, firmness, and enthusiasm. No doubt he’s making me a better writer with every book we do together.
Many thanks go to Rhi (see what I get up to while you are off writing your own book?); Kate (the mind reader aka The Outsourced Brain); Gil; Marleen (for yoga input); Kate, Erastes, and Sal for Brit-checking; and Audra and Marcie and all my other droogs at Goodreads, Facebook, and LiveJournal. This work would be a lot harder without you. And not nearly as much fun.
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For a full list, go to aleksandrvoinov.com/bookshelf.html.
Aleksandr Voinov is an emigrant German author living near London, where he works as an editor for a financial magazine. His genres range from horror, science fiction, cyberpunk, and fantasy to contemporary, thriller, and historical erotic gay novels.
In his spare time, he explores historical sites, and meets other writers. He single-handedly sustains three London bookstores with his ever-changing research projects. His current interests include special forces operations during World War II, preindustrial warfare, European magical traditions, and how to destroy the world and plunge it into a nuclear winter without having the benefit of nuclear weapons.
Visit Aleksandr’s website at www.aleksandrvoinov.com, his blog at www.aleksandrvoinov.blogspot.com, and follow him on Twitter, where he tweets as @aleksandrvoinov.
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Aleksandr Voinov, Counterpunch
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