Clay Cross: The story continues

Clay Cross first appeared in 2015, the book making the point that pulp fiction is but a blink from reality. The original aim was to bring a 1950’s private eye into late C20th Newport; but how to do it? Eventually inspiration struck—expressed in the introduction to the original book, Clay Cross:

When James Finn ran down the priestess daughter of Ginny Mambo in a Louisiana bayou, he never imagined the consequences. 

When Laura Finn begins a search for her husband, the nightmare begins. Imprisoned in ‘soul bottles’ by the houngan, Ginny Mambo, they are inadvertently released in an inferno caused by one seeking to escape a similar fate.  

In what becomes a nightmarish blaze that sees the release of hundreds of imprisoned souls, Laura and James Finn are transformed into Djinn, creatures of fire and dust seeking form. James Finn finds himself trapped in the persona of Clay Cross, a cold war warrior and misogynist private eye, in fact, a composite of every pulp novel he’s ever read. 

The equally cultured Laura Finn has mutated into Sheri Lamour. Earthbound and heralding a new age of Djinn, both become the playthings of two competing Loa, Damballa and his brother, Baron Samedi. Clay Cross, now a noir Don Quixote out of his depth and far from his comfort zone, is pursued through time by a vengeful Ginny Mambo, horrendously changed in her quest for immortality. 

Clay Cross is a swirl of Voodoo and Noir, mangled metaphors, and flights of misplaced hyperbole. In it, comedy, horror and tragedy fused in a 1950’s private eye out of his time.

This collection continues the story, Cross and Lamour’s adventures ranging from the near to the far future with occasional forays into the past.  It is, essentially an ode to old time pulp fiction and noir  cliche.

But this is where I need your help. The back cover is as yet unfinished, the present text just a place holder for what is to come. Below are a few suggestions. Any feedback/preference for one or another would be most welcome. Currently the first one is my favourite, but its a moveable feast or, perhaps, amuse-bouche.

“Sheri, you ever think we’re in a goddamned comic book?”

“We’re all in a goddamned comic book, Clay. Some call it life.”

“Some call it lots of things.”

 

The Chronicles are an ode to pulp, the mangled poetry of noir cliché and two unlikely heroes, Clay Cross and Sheri Lamour 

OR

Sheri, you ever think we’re in a goddamned comic book?”

“We’re all in a goddamned comic book, Clay. We just turn the pages."

"Some call it life.”

"Some call it lots of things."

 

The Chronicles are an ode to pulp, the mangled poetry of noir cliché and two unlikely heroes, Clay Cross and Sheri Lamour

OR

Sheri, you ever think we’re in a goddamned comic book?”

“We’re all in a goddamned comic book, Clay. We just turn the pages until the end."

“We don’t have an end, Sheri—we’re Djinn.”

 

The Chronicles are an ode to pulp, the mangled poetry of noir cliché and two unlikely heroes, Clay Cross and Sheri Lamour