Glimpse of the Antichrist

Out of the goodness of his heart, Angus McCloud, the big-ass ghost bartender at Think-A-Holic Lounge, allows me to keep one copy of each of Michael Casher's novels behind the bar, in a little cubbyhole that he doesn't have any use for. Just in case a customer at the Lounge recognizes me and wants to buy one of these books. Being the alter ego of Michael Casher (and, therefore, not the Real McCoy, I am repeatedly told) makes me all excited. I don't really give a hoot who's who in all this monkey business as long as I get to participate.

I think Angus started doing this because I was such a good tipper in the beginning and he thought I'd sell a lot of books (for which he'd get a small commission on each sale, of course). But, ever since I found that treasure trove of his at McCloud Castle, I've been tipping him a strict fifteen percent. And no one has ever asked to see one of Michael Casher's books or recognized me as a science fiction author's alter ego since day one. But I am eternally optimistic.

My optimism was about to pay off this past Friday night when this androgynous-looking person (see pic) came into the Lounge and walked right up to me. He or she or it didn't hesitate for a moment to tell me that he/she/it knew I was an author. I was stupefied and in a mild state of shock.

"But I can't seem to find your books anywhere," he/she/it said. Despite hearing this voice there was no immediate gender recognition on my part.

"Is that right?" I replied, trying not to sound like I had a snoot full of think-a-hol.

"Yeah," he/she/it responded, "and I've been to just about every bookstore in the galaxy. Do you happen to have any of your sci-fi thrillers on hand?"

"Sure thing," I said, jerking my chin at Angus, who promptly pulled out a paperback copy of Michael Casher's first novel from the cubbyhole. I gave it to the would-be fan, who was busy pulling an e-book reader out of a messenger bag.

"Say," he/she/it said around a tongue that was wriggling and straining with the effort of trying to decipher the strange-looking low-tech book, "how do you work this thing?"

Angus was unable to stifle a laugh at this point and I felt a sudden urge to evacuate myself. As I headed for the men's room I could hear he/she/it asking Angus if batteries were included and if the book came with a full warranty. I didn't wait to hear his answer.