Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine Carries On!

Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine carries on!

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Issue #32 >>>>>> Predators At Play! WINTER 2003 Cover artwork copyright © James “Toonman” Oddie Futures MYSTERYFMAM Anthology Magazine JANUARY - FEBRUARY 2006 INSIDE MYSTERY FICTION ISSN 1521-5318 PUBLISHER: LIDA E. QUILLEN Featured Authors... CO-PUBLISHER: ARDY M. SCOTT DEATH OF THE MALLORY QUEEN FOUNDER & EXECUTIVE EDITOR: BABS LAKEY Lawrence Block 2 ART DIRECTOR: GIN E.L. FENTON (GINELF) YOUR BLOOD IS SWEET: A TOBIAS TALMO TALE MANAGING EDITOR: BARRY ERGANG Rus Morgan 11 EDITORIAL STAFF: VIRGINIA LO MONACO, MARLENE SATTER, STUFFED SHIRT Barry Ergang 21 CHICK LANG, MARY SCHENTEN, ALFIE EDITORIAL CONSULTANT: EARL STAGGS GNAWING SUSPICION Chick Lang 30 ARTISTS: GIN E.L. FENTON, TERESA TUNALEY, KEVIN DUNCAN, HOW I LEARNED TO PLAY THE HARMON CON GAVIN O’KEEFE, LAURA GIVENS, TERI SANTITORO, VIVIAN PRINCE, PAUL CAMPBELL Robert L. Iles 34 CARTOONISTS: KEVIN DUNCAN, GEORIANN BALDINO, BLOOD SECRETS R. B. Swets 42 DAN ROSANDICH THE PERFECT MARRIAGE Neil Davies 45 SPOT ILLUSTRATIONS: GIN E.L. FENTON THE FRISCO FRAME Arthur C. Carey 48 THE HIT MAN Nancy Sweetland 58 COVER ARTIST FOR THIS ISSUE CAPTAIN SQUARE AND THE TURK’S HEAD GIN E.L. FENTON (GINELF) Charles G. Mossop 63 THE PENITENTIARY SON Timmy Waldron 77 FMAM WEBSITE: WWW.FMAM.BIZ NO STRINGS ATTACHED Mark SaFranko 84 WEBMASTER & REVIEW CO-ORDINATOR: CATHERINE CHANT THE DEEP SIX Lox Crabtree 92 FAME PRODUCTION MANAGER: ARDY SCOTT THE LOOKDOWN Frank Foster 99 FMAM LIST MANAGER: KIMBERLY BROWN MINOR FEAR John Hawﬁeld 108 FMAM MASTHEAD LAYOUT & DESIGN: HER EYE IN THE SKY Ron Savage 124 GIN E.L. FENTON (GINELF) THE SAMARITAN Tom Brennan 129 BRAINSTORM Telett Lyketes 133 FMAM THE ENVELOPE, PLEASE Charles Schaeffer 139

KINGSPORT, TENNESSEE LITERARY, POETRY, MAINSTREAM... COPYRIGHT © 2005 SIMPLIFY, UNITE, DELIGHT LIDA E. QUILLEN AND Kristin R. Masterton 127 FUTURES MYSTERY ANTHOLOGY MAGAZINE STORIES AND ARTWORK © AUTHORS AND ARTISTS COLUMNS - INTERVIEWS - REVIEWS EMAIL: [email protected] OR [email protected] THE INFORMANT Bret Wright 27 MORAL JUDGMENTS G. Miki Hayden 56 FMAM PDF ADVERTISING RATES THE CRIME LAB GUY John L. French 61 BETWEEN THE COVERS WEBMASTER & REVIEW CO-ORDINATOR Catherine Chant 83 STARFIRE Mary O’Gara 96 FULL PAGE: $30.00 1/4 PAGE: $7.50 MURDER-GO-ROUND Harriet Klausner 116 1/2 PAGE: $15.00 BUSINESS CARD SIZE: $5.00. SPOTLIGHT ON TERESA TUNALEY Bret Wright 132 FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 1 FMAM SPECIAL GUEST AUTHOR... >> Alﬁe recommends: paws over this one—a Chip Harrison story by the superb Lawrence Block, it’s an affectionate send-up of Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe tales, the Lawrence Block traditional detective story, and luminaries in the mystery ﬁeld.

Eccentric detective Leo Haig and his assistant, Chip Harrison, take on the

am going to be murdered,” Mavis Mallory There’s a whole roomful of tanks on the top “Isaid, “and I want you to do something ﬂoor, and other aquariums, which he wishes I about it.” would call aquaria, scattered throughout the Haig did something, all right. He spun around house. in his swivel chair and stared into the ﬁsh tank. (Well, not the whole house. The whole house

2 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine is a carriage house on West Twentieth Street, Haig’s been quoting a lot of lines lately about and on the top two floors live Leo Haig and the rich abundance of the universe we live in, Wong Fat and more tropical fish than you could especially when I suggest he’s spending too shake a jar of tubifex worms at, but the lower much on fish and equipment, and looking at two floors are still occupied by Madam Juana our client I had to agree with him. We live in an and her girls. How do you say filles de joie in abundant world, all right. Spanish, anyway? Never mind. If all of this “Murdered,” he said. sounds a little like a cut-rate, low-rent version She nodded. of Nero Wolfe’s establishment on West Thirty- “By whom?” Fifth Street, the similarity is not accidental. “I don’t know.” Haig, you see, was a lifelong reader of detec- “For what reason?” tive fiction, and a penny-ante breeder of tropi- “I don’t know.” cal fish until a legacy made him financially in- “And you want me to prevent it.” dependent. And he was a special fan of the “No.” Wolfe canon, and he thinks that Wolfe really His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?” exists, and that if he, Leo Haig, does a good “How could you prevent it?” She wrinkled enough job with the cases that come his way, her nose at him. “I understand you’re a genius, sooner or later he might get invited to dine at but what defense could you provide against a the master’s table.) determined killer? You’re not exactly the phys- “Mr. Haig—” ical type.” ”Huff,” Haig said. Haig, who has been described as looking like Except that he didn’t exactly say huff. He a basketball with an Afro, huffed in reply. “My went huff. He’s been reading books lately by own efforts are largely in the cerebral sphere,” Sondra Ray and Leonard Orr and Phil Laut, he admitted. “But my associate, Mr. Harrison, is books on rebirthing and physical immortality, physically resourceful as well, and—” he made and the gist of it seems to be that if you do a tent of his fingertips “—still, your point is well enough deep circular breathing and clear out taken. Neither Mr. Harrison nor I are body- your limiting deathist thoughts, you can live guards. If you wish a bodyguard, there are larg- forever. I don’t know how he’s doing with his er agencies which—” deathist thoughts, but he’s been breathing up But she was shaking her head. “A waste of a storm lately, as if air were going to be ra- time,” she said. “The whole Secret Service can’t tioned any moment and he wants to get the protect a president from a lone deranged as- jump on it. sassin. If I’m destined to be murdered, I’m will- He huffed again and studied the rasboras, ing to accede to my destiny.” which were the fish that were to-and-froing it “Huff,” Haig huffed. in the ten-gallon tank behind his desk. Their lit- “What I want you to do,” she said, “and Mr. tle gills never stopped working, so I figured Harrison, of course, except that he’s so young I they’d live forever, too, unless their deathist feel odd calling him by his last name.” She thoughts were lurking to do them in. Haig gave smiled winningly at me. “Unless you object to another huff and turned around to look at our the familiarity?” client. “Call me Chip,” I said. She was worth looking at. Tall, willowy, richly “I’m delighted. And you must call me Ma- curved, with a mane of incredible red hair. Last vis.” August I went up to Vermont, toward the end “Huff.” of the month, and all the trees were green ex- “Who wants to murder you?” I asked. cept here and there you’d see one in the midst “Oh, dear,” she said. “It sometimes seems to of all that green had been touched by an early me that everyone does. It’s been four years frost and turned an absolutely flaming scarlet, since I took over as publisher of Mallory’s Mys- and that was the color of Mavis Mallory’s hair. tery Magazine upon my father’s death, and

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 3 you’d be amazed how many enemies you can Refused her permission to reprint a story from make in a business like this.” Mallory’s in one of the anthologies she edits?” Haig asked if she could name some of them. “Actually,” our client said, “I fear I did some- “Well, there’s Abner Jenks. He’d been editor thing rather more dramatic than that. You for years and thought he’d have a freer hand know Bart Halloran?” with my father out of the picture. When I re- “The creator of Rocky Sledge, who’s so hard- shuffled the corporate structure and created boiled he makes Mike Hammer seem poached? Mavis Publications, Inc., I found out he’d been I’ve read him, of course, but I don’t know him.” taking kickbacks from authors and agents in re- “Poor Lotte came to know him very well,” turn for buying their stories. I got rid of him and Mavis Mallory purred, “and then I met dear took over the editorial duties myself.” Bart, and then it was I who came to know him “And what became of Jenks?” very well.” She sighed. “I don’t think Lotte has “I pay him fifty cents a manuscript to read ever forgiven me. All’s fair in love and publish- slush pile submissions. And he picks up some ing, but some people don’t seem to realize it.” freelance work for other magazines as well, “So there are three people with a motive for and he has plenty of time to work on his own murdering you.” historical novel about the Venerable Bede. Ac- “Oh, I’m sure there are more than three. Let’s tually,” she said, “he ought to be grateful to not forget Bart, shall we? He was able to shrug me.” it off when I dropped him, but he took it harder “Indeed,” Haig said. when his latest got a bad review in Mallory’s. “And there’s Darrell Crenna. He’s the owner But I thought Kiss My Gat was a bad book, and of Mysterious Ink, the mystery bookshop on why should I say otherwise?” She sighed again. upper Madison Avenue. He wanted Dorothea “Poor Bart,” she said. “I understand his sales are Trill, the Englishwoman who writes those mar- slipping. Still, he’s still a name, isn’t he? And velous gardening mysteries, to do a signing at he’ll be there Friday night.” his store. In fact he’d advertised the appear- “Indeed?” Haig raised his eyebrows. He’s ance, and I had to remind him that Miss Trill’s been practicing in front of the mirror, trying to contract with Mavis Publications forbids her raise just one eyebrow, but so far he hasn’t got from making any appearances in the States the knack of it. “And just where will Mr. Hallor- without our authorization.” an be Friday night? “Which you refused to give.” “Where they’ll all be,” Mavis Mallory said. “At “I felt it would cheapen the value of Doro- Town Hall, for the panel discussion and recep- thea’s personal appearances to have her make tion to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary too many of them. After all, Crenna talked an of Mallory’s Mystery Magazine. Do you know, I author out of giving a story to Mallory’s on the believe everyone with a motive to murder me same grounds, so you could say he was merely will be gathered together in one room?” She hoist with his own petard. Or strangled by his shivered happily. “What more could a mystery own clematis vine, like the woman in Doro- fan ask for?” thea’s latest.” Her face clouded. “I hope I haven’t “Don’t attend,” Haig said. spoiled the ending for you?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him. “I’m Ma- “I’ve already read it,” Haig said. vis Mallory of Mavis Publications. I am Mallo- “I’m glad of that. Or I should have to add you ry’s—in fact I’ve been called the Mallory Queen. to the list of persons with a motive for murder- I’ll be chairing the panel discussion and host- ing me, shouldn’t I? Let me see now. Lotte Ben- ing the celebration. How could I possibly fail to zler belongs on the list. You must know her be present?” shop. The Murder Store?” “Then get bodyguards.” Haig knew it well, and said so. “And I trust “They’d put such a damper on the festivities. you’ve supplied Ms. Benzler with an equally And I already told you they’d be powerless strong motive? Kept an author from her door? against a determined killer.”

4 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine “Miss Mallory—” verse,” he said loftily. “Further, she engaged us “And please don’t tell me to wear a bullet- not to protect her but to avenge her, to solve proof vest. They haven’t yet designed one that her murder. I am perfectly willing to undertake flatters the full-figured woman.” to do that.” Huff. “You’ll attend the reception I swallowed, reminded again that we live in Friday night, of course.” an abundant universe. “You’ll be killed,” Haig “To watch our client get the ax?” said flatly. “Or the dart from the blowpipe, or the poi- “Yes,” said our client, “I rather suspect I shall. soned cocktail, or the bullet, or the bite from I’m paying you a five thousand dollar retainer the coral snake, or what you will. Perhaps you’ll now, in cash, because you might have a prob- see something that will enable us to solve her lem cashing a check if I were killed before it murder on the spot and earn the balance of cleared. And I’ve added a codicil to my will call- our fee.” ing for payment to you of an additional twenty “Won’t you be there? I thought you’d planned thousand dollars upon your solving the cir- to go.” cumstances of my death. And I do trust you “I had,” he said. “But that was before Miss and Chip will attend the reception Friday night? Mallory transformed the occasion from plea- Even if I’m not killed, it should be an interesting sure to business. Nero Wolfe never leaves his evening.” house on business, and I think the practice a sound one. You will attend in my stead, Chip. “I have read of a tribe of Africans,” Haig said You will be my eyes and my legs. Huff.” dreamily, “who know for certain that gunshot I was still saying things like Yes, but when he wounds are fatal. When one of their number swept out of the room and left for an appoint- is wounded by gunfire, he falls immediately to ment with his rebirther. Once a week he goes the ground and lies still, waiting for death. He all the way up to Washington Heights, where a does this even if he’s only been nicked in the woman named Lori Schneiderman gets sixty finger, and, by the following morning, death dollars for letting him stretch out on her floor will have inevitably claimed him.” and watching him breathe. It seems to me that “That’s interesting,” I said. “Has it got any- for that kind of money he could do his huffing thing to do with the Mallory Queen?” in a bed at the Plaza Hotel, but what do I “It has everything to do with her. The wom- know? an—” he huffed again, and I don’t think it had He’d left a page full of scribbling on his desk much to do with circular breathing “—the and I cleared it off to keep any further clients damnable woman is convinced she will be from spotting it. I, Leo, am safe and immortal murdered. It would profoundly disappoint her right now, he’d written five times. You, Leo, are to be proved wrong. She wants to be mur- safe and immortal right now, he’d written an- dered, Chip, and her thoughts are creative, other five times. Leo is safe and immortal right even as yours and mine. In all likelihood she now, he’d written a final five times. This was will die on Friday night. She would have it no how he was working through his unconscious other way.” death urge and strengthening his life urge. I “If she stayed home,” I said. “If she hired tell you, a person has to go through a lot of bodyguards—” crap if he wants to live forever. “She will do neither. But it would not matter if she did. The woman is entirely under the in- Friday night found me at Town Hall, predict- fluence of her own death urge. Her death urge ably enough. I wore my suit for the occasion is stronger than her life urge. How could she and got there early enough to snag a seat live in such circumstances?” down front, where I could keep a private eye “If that’s how you feel, why did you take her on things. money?” There were plenty of things to keep an eye on. “Because all abundance is a gift from the uni- The audience swarmed with readers and writers

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 5 of mystery and detective fiction, and if you want tery story in the New York Review of Books. Ac- an idea of who was in the house, just write out a cording to him, mystery fiction had drawn its list of your twenty-five favorite authors and be strength over the years from the broad base of sure that seventeen or eighteen of them were its popular appeal. Now other genres had more in the house. I saw some familiar faces, a wom- readers, and thus mystery writers were missing an who’d had a long run as the imperiled hero- the mark. If they wanted to be artistically im- ine of a Broadway suspense melodrama, a man portant, he advised them, then get busy pro- who’d played a police officer for three years on ducing Harlequin romances and books about network television, and others whom I recog- nurses and stewardesses. nized from films or television but couldn’t place On Mr. Porterfield’s other side was Janice out of context. Cowan, perhaps the most prominent book ed- On stage, our client Mavis Mallory occupied itor in the mystery field. For years she had the moderator’s chair. She was wearing a strap- moved from one important publishing house less and backless floor-length black dress, and in to another, and at each of them she had her combination with her creamy skin and fiery hair, own private imprint. “A Jan Cowan Novel of its effect was dramatic. If I could have changed Suspense” was a good guarantee of literary ex- one thing it would have been the color of the cellence, whoever happened to be Miss Cow- dress. I suppose Haig would have said it was the an’s employer that year. color of her unconscious death urge. After the last of the panelists had been intro- Her panelists were arranged in a semicircle duced, a thin, weedy man in a dark suit passed around her. I recognized some but not others, quickly among the group with a beverage tray, but before I could extend my knowledge then scurried off the stage. Mavis Mallory took through subtle investigative technique, the en- a sip of her drink, something colorless in a tire panel was introduced. The members in- stemmed glass, and leaned toward the micro- cluded Darrell Crenna of Mysterious Ink and phone. “What Happens Next?” she intoned. Lotte Benzler of The Murder Store. The two sat “That’s the title of our little discussion tonight, on either side of our client, and I just hoped and it’s a suitable title for a discussion on this she’d be safe from the daggers they were look- occasion. A credo of Mallory’s Mystery Maga- ing at each other. zine has always been that our sort of fiction is Rocky Sledge’s creator, dressed in his stan- only effective insofar as the reader cares deep- dard outfit of chinos and a tee shirt with the ly what happens next, what takes place on the sleeve rolled to contain a pack of unfiltered page he or she has yet to read. Tonight, though, Camels, was introduced as Bartholomew Hal- we are here to discuss what happens next in loran. “Make that Bart,” he snapped. If you know mystery and suspense fiction. What trends what’s good for you, he might have added. have reached their peaks, and what trends are Halloran was sitting at Mavis Mallory’s left. A swelling just beyond the horizon.” tall and very slender woman with elaborately She cleared her throat, took another sip of coiffed hair and a lorgnette sat between him her drink. “Has the tough private eye passed and Darrell Crenna. She turned out to be Doro- his prime? Is the lineal descendant of Sam thea Trill, the Englishwoman who wrote gar- Spade and Philip Marlowe just a tedious out- dening mysteries. I always figured the chief moded macho sap?” She paused to smile pleas- gardening mystery was what to do with all the antly at Bart Halloran, who glowered back at zucchini. Miss Trill seemed a little looped, but her. “Conversely, has the American reader lost maybe it was the lorgnette. interest forever in the mannered English mys- On our client’s other side, next to Lotte Ben- tery? Are we ready to bid adieu to the body in zler, sat a man named Austin Porterfield. He the library, or—” she paused for an amiable was a Distinguished Professor of English Litera- nod at the slightly cockeyed Miss Trill— “the ture at New York University, and he’d recently corpse in the formal gardens? published a rather learned obituary of the mys- “Is the mystery, if you’ll pardon the expres-

6 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine sion, dead as a literary genre? One of our num- on a policeman’s salary, and another cop ber—” and a cheerless smile for Professor Por- named Seidenwall, who wears clothes that terfield “—would have us all turn to writing could. They knew they’d been gathered to- Love’s Saccharine Savagery and Penny Wyse, gether to watch Leo Haig pull a rabbit out of a Stockyard Nurse. Is the mystery bookshop, a hat, and it was going to be a neat trick because store specializing in our brand of fiction, an it looked as though he didn’t even have the idea whose time has come—and gone? And hat. what do book publishers have to say on this “We’re here to clear up the mysterious cir- subject? One of our number has worked for so cumstances of the death of Mavis Mallory. All many of them; she should be unusually quali- of you assembled here, except for the two gen- fied to comment.” tlemen of the law, had a motive for her murder. Mavis certainly had the full attention of her All of you had the opportunity. All of you thus fellow panelists. Now, to make sure she held exist under a cloud of suspicion. As a result, the attention of the audience as well, she you should all be happy to learn that you have leaned forward, a particularly arresting move nothing to fear from my investigation. Mavis given the nature of the strapless, backless black Mallory committed suicide.” number she was more or less wearing. Her “Suicide!” Gregorio exploded. “I’ve heard you hands tightened on the microphone. make some ridiculous statements in your time, “Please help me give our panel members full but that one grabs the gâteau. You have the attention,” she said, “as we turn the page to nerve to sit there like a toad on a lily pad and find out—” she paused dramatically “—What tell me the redheaded dame killed herself?” Happens Next!” “Nerve?” Haig mused. “Is nerve ever required What happened next was that the lights to tell the truth?” went out. All of them, all at once, with a great “Truth? You wouldn’t recognize the truth if it crackling noise of electrical failure. Somebody dove into one of your fish tanks and swam screamed, and then so did somebody else, and around eating up all the brine shrimp. The Mal- then screaming became kind of popular. A shot lory woman got hit by everything short of tac- rang out. There were more screams, and then tical nuclear weapons. There were two bullets another shot, and then everybody was shout- in her from different guns. She had a wavy- ing at once, and then some lights came on. bladed knife stuck in her back and a short dag- Guess who was dead. ger in her chest, or maybe it was the other way around. The back of her skull was dented by a That was Friday night. Tuesday afternoon, Haig blow from a blunt instrument. There was was sitting back in his chair on his side of our enough rat poison in her system to put the huge old partners’ desk. He didn’t have his feet Pied Piper out of business, and there were trac- up—I’d broken him of that habit—but I could es of curare, a South American arrow poison, in see he wanted to. Instead he contented him- her martini glass. Did I leave something out?” self with taking a pipe apart and putting it back “Her heart had stopped beating,” Haig said. together again. He had tried smoking pipes, “Is that a fact? If you ask me, it had its rea- thinking it a good mannerism for a detective, sons. And you sit there and call it suicide. That’s but it never took, so now he fiddles with them. some suicide.” It looks pretty dumb, but it’s better than put- Haig sat there and breathed, in and out, in ting his feet up on the desk. and out, in the relaxed, connected breathing “I don’t suppose you’re wondering why I rhythm that Lori Schneiderman had taught summoned you all here,” he said. him. Meanwhile they all watched him, and I in They weren’t wondering. They all knew, all of turn watched them. We had them arranged the panelists from the other night, plus two old just the way they’d been on the panel, with De- friends of ours, a cop named Gregorio who tective Vincent Gregorio sitting in the middle wears clothes that could never be purchased where Mavis Mallory had been. Reading left to

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 7 right, I was looking at Bart Halloran, Dorothea “He passed the drinks,” Dorothea Trill remem- Trill, Darrell Crenna, Gregorio, Lotte Benzler, bered. “So that’s how she got the rat poison.” Austin Porterfield and Janice Cowan. Detective “I certainly didn’t poison her,” Jenks whined. Wallace Seidenwall sat behind the others, sort “Nor did I shoot her or stab her or hit her over of off to the side and next to the wall. If this the head or—” were novel length I’d say what each of them Haig held up a hand. There was a pipe stem was wearing and who scowled and who looked in it, but it still silenced everybody. “You all had interested, but Haig says there’s not enough motives,” he said. “None of you intended to act plot here for a novel and that you have to be on them. None of you planned to make an at- more concise in short stories, so just figure they tempt on Miss Mallory’s life. Yet thought is cre- were all feeling about the way you’d feel if you ative and Mavis Mallory’s thoughts were pow- were sitting around watching a fat little detec- erful. Some people attract money to them, or tive practice rhythmic breathing. love, or fame. Miss Mallory attracted violent “Some suicide,” Haig said. “Indeed. Some death.” years ago a reporter went to a remote county “You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” in Texas to investigate the death of a man Gregorio said. “You’re saying she wanted to die, who’d been trying to expose irregularities in and that’s fine, but it’s still a crime to give her a election procedures. The coroner had recorded hand with it, and that’s what every single one of the death as suicide, and the reporter checked them did. What’s that movie, something about the autopsy and discovered that the deceased the Orient Express, and they all stab the guy? had been shot six times in the back with a high- That’s what we got here, and I think what I gotta powered rifle. He confronted the coroner with do is book ’em all on a conspiracy charge.” this fact and demanded to know how the man “That would be the act of a witling,” Haig had dared call the death suicide. said. “First of all, there was no conspiracy. Per- “ ‘Yep,’ drawled the coroner. ‘Worst case of haps more important, there was no murder.” suicide I ever saw in my life.’ ” “Just a suicide.” Gregorio just stared at him. “Precisely,” said Haig. Huff. “In a real sense, all “So it is with Miss Mallory,” Haig continued. death is suicide. As long as a man’s life urge is “Hers is the worst case of suicide in my experi- stronger than his death urge, he is immortal ence. Miss Mallory was helplessly under the in- and invulnerable. Once the balance shifts, he fluence of her own unconscious death urge. has an unbreakable appointment in Samarra. She came to me, knowing that she was being But Miss Mallory’s death is suicide in a much drawn toward death, and yet she had not the stricter sense of the word. No one else tried to slightest impulse to gain protection. She kill her, and no one else succeeded. She un- wished only that I contract to investigate her questionably created her own death.” demise and see to its resolution. She deliber- “And shot herself?” Gregorio demanded. ately assembled seven persons who had rea- “And stuck knives in herself, and bopped her- son to rejoice in her death, and enacted a little self over the head? And—” drama in front of an audience. She—” “No,” Haig said. Huff. “I could tell you that she “Six persons,” Gregorio said, gesturing to the drew the bullets and knives to herself by the three on either side of him. “Unless you’re force of her thoughts, but I would be wasting counting her, or unless all of a sudden I got to my—” huff! “—breath. The point is metaphysi- be a suspect.” cal, and in the present context immaterial. The Haig rang a little bell on his desk top, and bullets were not aimed at her, nor did they kill that was Wong Fat’s cue to usher in a skinny her. Neither did the stabbings, the blow to the guy in a dark suit. “Mr. Abner Jenks,” Haig an- head, the poison.” nounced. “Former editor of Mallory’s Mystery “Then what did?” Magazine, demoted to slush reader and part- “The stopping of her heart.” time assistant.” “Well, that’s what kills everyone,” Gregorio

8 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine said, as if explaining something to a child. breath, although the room didn’t get all that “That’s how you know someone’s dead. The dark, and there was a balancing huff from Haig. heart stops.” “The room went dark,” he said. “That was Miss Haig sighed heavily, and I don’t know if it Mallory’s doing. She chose the moment, not was circular breathing or resignation. Then he just unconsciously, but with knowing purpose. started telling them how it happened. She wanted to make a dramatic point, and she “Miss Mallory’s death urge created a power- succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. ful impulse toward violence,” he said. “All seven “As soon as those lights went out, everyone’s of you, the six panelists and Mr. Jenks, had mo- murderous impulses, already stirred up by Ma- tives for killing the woman. But you are not mur- vis Mallory’s death urge, were immeasurably derous people, and you had no intention of augmented. Mr. Crenna drew a Malayan kris committing acts of violence. Quite without con- and moved to stab it into the heart of his com- scious intent, you found yourselves bringing petitor, Miss Benzler. At the same time, Miss weapons to the Town Hall event. Perhaps you Benzler drew a poniard of her own and circled thought to display them to an audience of mys- around to direct it at Mr. Crenna’s back. Neither tery fans. Perhaps you felt a need for a self-de- could see. Neither was well oriented. And Ma- fense capability. It hardly matters what went vis Mallory’s unconscious death urge drew through your minds. both blades to her own body, even as it drew “All of you, as I said, had reason to hate Miss the bullet Mr. Porterfield meant for Mr. Jenks, Mallory. In addition, each of you had reason to the deadly blow Mr. Halloran meant for Cowan, hate one or more of your fellow panel mem- the bullet Miss Cowan intended for Miss Trill, bers. Miss Benzler and Mr. Crenna are rival and the curare Miss Trill had meant to place in booksellers; their cordial loathing for one an- Mr. Halloran’s glass. other is legendary. Mr. Halloran was romanti- “Curare, incidentally, works only if intro- cally involved with the panel’s female mem- duced into the bloodstream; it would have bers, while Mr. Porterfield and Mr. Jenks were been quite ineffective if ingested. The rat poi- briefly, uh, closeted together in friendship. Miss son Miss Mallory did ingest was warfarin, which Trill had been very harshly dealt with in some would ultimately have caused her death by in- writings of Mr. Porterfield. Miss Cowan had ternal bleeding; it was in the glass when Abner bought books by Mr. Halloran and Miss Trill, Jenks served it to her.” then left the books stranded when she moved “Then Jenks tried to kill her,” Gregorio said. on to another employer. I could go on, but Haig shook his head. “Jenks did not put the what’s the point? Each and every one of you poison in the glass,” he said. “Miss Lotte Ben- may be said to have had a sound desire to mur- zler had placed the poison in the glass before der each and every one of your fellows, but in Miss Mallory picked it up.” the ordinary course of things nothing would “Then Miss Benzler—” have come of any of these desires. We all com- “Was not trying to kill Miss Mallory either,” mit dozens of mental murders a day, yet few of Haig said, “because she placed the poison in us dream of acting on any of them.” the glass she intended to take for herself. She “I’m sure there’s a point to this,” Austin Por- had previously ingested a massive dose of Vita- terfield said. min K, a coagulant which is the standard anti- “Indeed there is, sir, and I am fast approach- dote for warfarin, and intended to survive a ing it. Miss Mallory leaned forward, grasping phony murder attempt on stage, both to pub- her microphone, pausing for full dramatic val- licize The Murder Store and to discredit her ue, and the lights went out. And it was then competitor, Mr. Crenna. At the time, of course, that knives and guns and blunt instruments she’d had no conscious intention of sticking a and poison came into play.” poniard into the same Mr. Crenna, the very The office lights dimmed as Wong Fat oper- poniard that wound up in Miss Mallory.” ated a wall switch. There was a sharp intake of “You’re saying they all tried to kill each other,”

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 9 Gregorio said. “And they all killed her instead.” “and die she did. She wanted me to solve her “But they didn’t succeed.” death and I’ve solved it, I trust to the satisfac- “They didn’t? How do you figure that? She’s tion of the lawyers for her estate. And you’ve dead as a bent doornail.” got a good case to write up. It won’t make a “She was already dead.” novel, and there’s not nearly enough sex in it to “How?” satisfy the book-buying public, but I shouldn’t “Dead of electrocution,” Haig told him. “Ma- wonder that it will make a good short story. vis Mallory put out all the lights in Town Hall by Perhaps for Mallory’s Mystery Magazine, or a short-circuiting the microphone. She got more publication of equal stature.” than she bargained for, although in a sense it He stood up. “I’m going uptown,” he an- was precisely what she’d bargained for. In the nounced, “to get rebirthed. I suggest you come course of shorting out the building’s electrical along. I think Wolfe must have been a devotee system, she herself was subjected to an electri- of rebirthing, and Archie as well.” cal charge that induced immediate and perma- I asked him how he figured that. nent cardiac arrest. The warfarin had not yet “Rebirthing reverses the aging process,” he had time to begin inducing fatal internal bleed- explained. “How else do you suppose the great ing. The knives and bullets pierced the skin of a detectives manage to endure for generations woman who was already dead. The bludgeon without getting a day older? Archie Goodwin crushed a dead woman’s skull. Miss Mallory was a brash young man in Fer-de-lance in nine- killed herself.” teen thirty-four. He was still the same youthful Wong Fat brought the lights up. Gregorio wisenheimer forty years later. I told you once, blinked at the brightness. “That’s a pretty un- Chip, that your association with me would certain way to do yourself in,” he said. “It’s not make it possible for you to remain eighteen like she had her foot in a pail of water. You years old forever. Now it seems that I can lead don’t necessarily get a shock shorting out a line you not only to the immortality of ink and pa- that way, and the shock’s not necessarily a fatal per but to genuine physical immortality. If you one.” and I work to purge ourselves of the effects of “The woman did not consciously plan her birth trauma, and if we use our breath to own death,” Haig told him. “An official verdict cleanse our cells, and if we stamp out deathist of suicide would be of dubious validity. Acci- thoughts once and forever—” dental death, I suppose, is what the certificate “Huh,” I said. But wouldn’t you know it? It would properly read.” He huffed mightily. “Ac- came out huff. cidental death! As that Texas sheriff would say, it’s quite the worst case of accidental death I’ve ever witnessed.” This story was originally published in Mr. Block’s collection Like a Lamb to Slaughter (Arbor And that’s what it went down as, accidental House, 1984). death. No charges were ever pressed against any of the seven, although it drove Grego- Lawrence Block was given the Grand Master rio crazy that they all walked out of there un- Award by the Mystery Writers of America in 1994. touched. But what could you get them for? He has won Edgar and Shamus awards four times Mutilating a corpse? It would be hard to prove each, and the Japanese Maltese Falcon Award who did what, and it would be even harder to twice. His newest best sellers are All the Flowers prove that they’d been trying to kill each other. are Dying and The Burglar on the Prowl. He As far as Haig was concerned, they were all and his wife Lynne are enthusiastic New Yorkers acting under the influence of Mavis Mallory’s and relentless world travelers. For more info, visit death urge, and were only faintly responsible his web site: for their actions. http://www.lawrenceblock.com “The woman was ready to die, Chip,” he said,

10 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine FMAM FEATURE AUTHOR... >>

Rus Morgan Alﬁe recommends: paws over this one—another case for the perspicacious Dr. Talmo, a forensic specialist who combines modern science with old- fashioned deduction.

Copyright © A unique and bizarre murder leads Dr. Talmo to grim revelations—and a solution he’d rather not reach. Your Blood Is Sweet Your BloodYour Is Sweet A Tobias Talmo Tale Rus Morgan 2006 Paul Campbell 2006 Paul Copyright © Copyright Illustration Illustration

he ﬁrst and only time I saw Leonard Barsky Kansas City General had commissioned me to Twas through the window of the Magnetic give three lectures over three days, and I was Resonance Imaging Laboratory in the Kansas on the third day. City General Neurology ward. He was dead. The hospital gave me an executive suite in Uniquely so. the building. My contact at the hospital, Dr. Carl The victim of a gruesome murder—he had Martin, Head of Cardiology, called me as soon been murdered from the inside out. How? By as the body was discovered and explained the whose hand and for what reason? circumstances. He added, “Dr. Talmo, I am sorry All we had was a note which read, “Your blood to bother you at this time in the morning, but I is sweet.” consider it most opportune to have someone Was this written by a vampire or was it a ma- with your experience on the premises when cabre clue? we’ve been subjected to this horrible event.” I am a Forensic Anthropologist by profession I had spent a couple of pleasant hours with and spend my time in teaching and counseling. my colleagues at a local bistro the night before,

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 11 and this phone call came well before my in- “I will need your clearance with them to sit in tended rising time. I yawned. “An interesting on the investigation.” way to die, Dr. Martin. Give me the particulars.” “I will tell them—and please, please try to “Leonard has been with us about seven years. keep this out of the media.” Everybody liked him. He is—was—our Elec- “I’ll do what I can, Dr. Martin, but I do not con- tronics Technician. A genial, well-liked bachelor, trol the police. Oh yes, I will need clearance into one of his duties was the care and feeding of your personnel records and with your head of the two Magnetic Resonance Imaging ma- security and your IT Manager. We will also need chines we recently installed in the Neurology your permission to search this wing from top to Lab. They are expensive, state-of-the-art, and bottom.” very powerful. They were his children, and he “You have it. I’ll give my people a call. Do you allowed no one else to service them.” think it might be an inside job?” Martin was audibly shaken but he continued, “Everybody but me is a suspect until proven “In the nature of this business he does—did— innocent, Dr. Martin—even you.” much of his work at night. The unit he was He giggled nervously. It rang oddly from a working on had slipped slightly in its calibra- man of his stature. “I suppose so, but I can give tions. Not enough to distort the results, but we you an ironclad alibi for my time this morning.” pride ourselves on our accuracy. Last night he “I assume so, but that remains to be seen for shut everything down in that department and the rest of the staff.” worked under portable lights to recalibrate.” It was easy to tell Kansas City Police Lieuten- “Why such rigid precautions?” ant Udeme Okomolu was an ex-basketball “He himself was a cardiac patient. Four days player. I am six feet tall but I could easily walk ago he was forced to take time away from his under his outstretched arm. As big as he was, if charges long enough to have two steel stents he put both arms out at the same time, the Ni- lodged in the arteries leading to his heart. They gerian would look like a surprised praying man- were inserted in a routine procedure right next tis—all long arms and large head on the end of door in the Catheter Lab. He rested for a day an elongated neck. He looked down at me in and then went happily back to work.” the hallway with that big, easy smile that very “And it is common medical knowledge that large people reserve for the rest of us. I intro- there is at least a two-week waiting period af- duced myself, and his handshake extended ter stents are inserted before submitting to an halfway up to my elbow. He gave me his name MRI.” and handed me a pair of plastic footies and “Yes.” waited patiently for me to put them on. When I “Who found him?” was finished, he motioned me to follow and “The duty guard discovered him this morn- stooped slightly to lead me through the door ing at five minutes to five. Just thirty minutes into the control room. ago.” A number of criminalists were dusting, pho- “Did the guard go into the room?” tographing and cataloguing. Okomolu turned “No. He recognized it as a crime scene so did to me. His manner was easy but quite formal. not open the door, since Barsky was obviously “Please don’t touch anything, Dr. Talmo. We are beyond help.” not finished detailing in here yet. “How do you know it was murder and not an He paused for a moment while he assessed accident or suicide?” the progress of his team, then spoke to me “A note was found on the console in the con- while his eyes traveled around the room. “Dr. trol room. Initial supposition is that the mur- Martin filled me in on your background, includ- derer wrote it.” ing your ongoing consulting for the FBI. My I digested that for a moment. “Are the police captain also said some favorable things about here yet?” your past successes in the private sector. I wel- “As we speak.” come your interest, but it is only fair to tell you

12 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine that my tolerance will disappear if you discover off and everything was dark again.” anything on this case and do not share it with “Was it manual or accidental?” me first.” “Manual. The design of the switches allows I smiled in return and tried to placate the gi- for no accidental engagement. Somebody ant. “Point taken, Lieutenant. What do you have turned the main power on purposely. The main so far?” switch is down the hall in a panel which is in a He pointed through the window at the MRI. service room. All service rooms have spring We could see the late Leonard Barsky lying on locks. When the door is shut it automatically his back. Even from where we were, you could locks, and you need a key to open it from the see his face locked in pain. Rigid scarecrow legs outside. After the power was turned on, the kill- extended from his waist. With his right arm ex- er must have come back in here and turned the tended begging heaven and his left hand flat- MRI switch up to maximum power, watched tened across the front of his bloody lab coat, he Barsky die and turned it off again. Then the kill- was a study in terminal terror. er went back down the hall and turned the Okomolu had a gallon plastic zip bag in his main power off.” left hand. He waved it at the crime scene. “I’ve “Are there any prints on the panel or this con- never seen anything like this in my twenty sole?” years on the force. I didn’t realize those huge “Wiped clean. ‘Nada.’” magnets were that strong. He was evidently I looked up at the corner of the room. “All that leaning toward the machine when the power traffic ought to be on camera.” came on. The magnets were on just long “No, dammit! Sometime after Barsky turned enough to suck the stents right out through his the lights off, someone sprayed black paint on chest wall. The stents stuck inside the tube, all the critical cameras and we got zip.” then dropped onto the table when the power “I would like to see all the discs from the cam- was cut off. They were lying there like a pair of eras on this floor for the entire evening. Can bloody bullets when we went in. All his other you arrange that?” tools ended up in there in the same pile.” “Yes, but what do you expect to see?” “He had the power off though, didn’t he?” “I’m not sure I’ll see anything, but I’ll tell you if He scratched his lofty head. “Yes. I’ve looked I do. Please have them delivered to Executive at the engineering records for the building. Suite B.” Last night Barsky informed engineering that he He stepped away and spent a few moments would turn the power off in this whole equip- on his radio. He turned back to me and said, ment wing for a maximum of one hour begin- “It’ll be about an hour, and they’ll be on your ning at four a.m. That was correct—it went off bed.” at exactly four as a result of the master switch “Thanks.” I pointed to the bag in his hand. “Is being disengaged. In checking the records in that the note?” the computer here in the control room, I learned “Yes.” the switch to the MRI here on the console was “May I see it?” locked off at three fifty-five. Then the main It was a common piece of five-by-seven note- switch was thrown at four a.m. Barsky would paper from one of the hospital’s pads. There have done both of those and then come back were probably a thousand such pads in the here to go to work. At four-thirty, the power in hospital. The note was neatly printed, appar- the wing came on unexpectedly and would ently with a Magic Marker. The message ran di- have lit everything up. That would have been a agonally, corner to corner, in large red hand-let- hell of a surprise to Mr. Barsky. The MRI was entered block capitals. It read: “Your blood is gaged at exactly four-thirty one and immedi- sweet. K.” ately opened up to full power. At four thirty- I held the note up to the light. The ink had four the switch to the MRI was disengaged and bled through the pulp paper, but there was at four thirty-five the power in the wing went nothing else there—and probably no finger-

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 13 prints either. I gave it back to him. “Someone re- Bureau of Investigation’s Audio, Video and Im- ally hated him. I wonder who—and why? And age Analysis Division with a request for acceler- who is ‘K’? Any ID and background on Mr. Bar- ated identification of the spot. sky?” Okomolu buzzed me. I put his abruptness He shrugged. “Local records show he did not down as part of his nature. “Doc, our man exist before he walked into this hospital seven dropped out of thin air seven years ago. The years ago, and we get nothing on his finger- only thing we’ve got so far is his physical de- prints either. On top of that, his Social Security scription, approximate age and ethnicity—the Number is safe-scanned.” name is certainly bogus. Makes me think he I was incredulous. “You mean the hospital might have been in the Witness Protection Pro- hired him without checking his background?” gram, and we all know they are sealed.” I could “Martin tells me that was because he was in a tell he started to hang up the phone then he non-patient position. He was a whiz at elec- remembered something else. “Oh, his hair is tronics and came with recommendations. He dyed dark and he’s wearing blue contacts. His filled a badly needed position and they took eyes are naturally brown, and we found some him at face value. We’re checking those recom- very interesting bits of brown stage hair and a mendations now.” can of black spray paint in the trash barrel in a ”Might be worthwhile to run his DNA through ladies’ room on the fourth floor.” the national bank and see if we get a match. Oh I swallowed the piece of cheese I had in my yes, Dr. Martin gave his permission to search mouth. “Stage hair? As from a wig?” the entire floor.” “Yes.” “As we speak.” This was indeed significant information. “Any “Please have your people itemize anything prints on the can?” non-medical and indicate where it is found.” “No.” He was puzzled, but agreed. “Is there some way you can get around the sealing of the WPP records?” Later I munched some junk food in my room “My captain says there isn’t any way.” while watching the surveillance disks. I saw the I took a sip of coffee for the same reason a normal routine of the Neurology Lab until just smoker drags on a cigarette. “How soon for the before 4 a.m. This part of the floor catered only DNA match?” to transient patients so there was very little traf- “We’ve asked for acceleration. Maybe today. fic. All personnel on the floor had been notified You still going to be here?” of the repair plans and had gradually vacated “Dr. Martin has asked me to try to see this to the lab section because it was going to be in an end. I have nothing else scheduled for about the dark. The crew had already handled their ten days.” I looked at my travel clock. “Security, sanitizing tasks, including the MRI Lab, and was Human Resources and IT folks are due here in totally off the floor when the murder occurred. about half an hour. If I turn up anything I’ll be in The cleaning ladies were in the distant part of touch.” the wing. “Okay,” he said and was gone. At 4 a.m. on the disk, my screen went dark as it should have. I let it run. At 4:20 a small light I opened my door after the second knock. Two spot came briefly on screen, moved a bit, and men and a woman greeted me. then disappeared into denser darkness. It was A man’s eyes always concentrate on the at- camera number four, which was in the side hall- tractive woman first. She was handsome and as way across from the main bank of outside win- tall as the two men. She was mature, gray-head- dows. Had ambient light caught my murderer ed, with wary green eyes and a brilliant smile. in the act of defiling the camera lens? Dressed conservatively in a dark pantsuit, she I did a bit of cut-and-paste, then sent the cut had big shoulders like a swimmer and still trim in an email to an old colleague in the Federal hips. Her purple silk scarf was knotted carefully

14 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine at her throat. Her name was Carol Chesney and handshake and made for the door. she was the Vice President of Human Resourc- As he left, he smiled triumphantly in es. Her companions deferred to her and let her Chesney’s direction but made no direct eye shake my hand first, after which she side- contact. She shrugged her shoulders as though stepped me and flowed into my room like she it was of no importance. Intrigue in Camelot, owned it. perhaps? As she moved past, something nagged at me Captain Progress indicated I should take care like a splinter under my fingernail, but I could of the lady first, but I wanted time with both of not immediately pull anything out of the mist. them, so I thanked him for coming to my room My mind has a funny way of amassing incon- and then asked him how many guards would gruities. It will go on and on, piling one on top normally be on duty in the wee morning of the other until one comes along that trig- hours. gers another and suddenly, like jackstraws, the He said, “There are four patrolling on that whole stack begins to sort itself out. shift—one on each floor.” Behind her was a bulky black man in a secu- “Do they have contact with each other?” rity uniform with captain’s bars on his collar. Dr. “Yes, each other and the office. Each shift has Martin had told me that a requirement for pro- at least four other men in the office watching motion within the hospital was completion of the monitors. When the lights came back on the Boot Camp at the Kansas City Police Acade- briefly, the guard on this floor was informed my, so the man I was looking at was profession- that the cameras were compromised and told ally trained. His name was Andrew Progress, to find out why. He was the one who discov- and he was a twenty-five-year veteran at the ered Barsky at four-fifty-five and called it in.” hospital. His wide grin made it easy to like him, “Who brought in the police?” and we were immediately comfortable with “I did. As senior officer I received the call at each other. home and was told the situation, so I immedi- Jacob Freeman was a different breed. He was ately called in the authorities while I was still the company geek. Like a concert pianist, he dressing. They and I arrived about the same entrusted only the tips of his fingers to me in time.” his handshake. He had a high forehead, a re- “Did your guards see anyone on the floor— ceding hairline, a shirttail out, and a mind that anyone?” responded mostly to numbers. He rubbed his face. “There were ten nurses Technicians like him are first class because and a hundred and twenty-two patients in the they can’t stand the dissonance of anomalies. It other wing. In this wing—two cleaning ladies, was easy to visualize him over in the corner by Baumgartner, who is new, and Leeman, but himself surrounded by the innards of a com- they were on the other side. Usually they split puter. My direct gaze embarrassed him. the wing, but in this special instance they both I invited them in. I dealt with Freeman first worked the same side until the lights were to because he was so ill at ease. He listened to me come back on.” for a few moments, then sat down at my laptop “What time were the cleaning ladies spot- and began to tap the keys. Judging from his ted?” speed in comprehending my request, it was He consulted his notes. “Three-thirty-three obvious he had received instructions from Dr. for Baumgartner on the other side. Leeman on Martin. In about thirty seconds he jotted some- this side at three-thirty-six.” thing on my notepad then got up. “You sure there was no one else in this “Doctor, your password is on your notepad wing?” and there’s an icon on the desktop. That gives He nodded. you executive access to all records as requested “Anything unusual on the floor, Captain?” by Dr. Martin—until the password is rescinded.” He looked at Chesney and back to me. “I’m He reluctantly slipped me another limp sure Ms. Chesney can add more to this, but my

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 15 guards ran a quick search of the floor right after “Was this the lady who was supposed to be we found Barsky and found Mrs. Baumgartner here or on the other side of the wing?” sleeping in a linen room. She was sent home by Chesney looked intently at the screen. “Yes— this lady for two days without pay.” the far side. That’s Mrs. Baumgartner. She’s the “What time was she found?” one I sent home.” He looked at his notes again, then at her. I ran the disk forward to the second cleaning “Five-forty-three, and Ms. Chesney was imme- lady. Both Chesney and Progress agreed she diately notified by cell phone.” was the one responsible for this side. Anchored on each side by high, prominent “What’s her name?” cheekbones, Chesney’s wide smile was daz- Chesney said, “Leeman, Betty Leeman.” zling white. If she was born with that set of “I need to speak with both of them.” I turned teeth she was indeed fortunate. I knew I had to Chesney. “Can you see that they are here as seen that smile before. She was very quick. Be- soon as possible?” fore I was able to mask the flicker of recogni- She checked her watch. “Leeman is just about tion, she caught the cognizance in my eyes and to get off. I’ll tell her to come up, and I’ll send a tipped her head. To bridge the moment and car to pick up Baumgartner.” keep the ball rolling in my court, I turned and plucked a bottle of water from my refrigerator. I had just finished making a pot of coffee when In the time I took to offer it to both of them and the knocker on my door was given a tentative be declined, I was able to place that smile. clunk. I opened the door to Betty Leeman. She “Are you still modeling?” was of particular interest because she was re- “An occasional Senior Citizens ad.” sponsible for this side of the wing. One bony, “You were number one for a number of years. careworn hand was raised to hit the knocker How did you get to here?” again. She let it drop limply to her side as I in- Her smile was rueful, “Youth passes with time. vited her in. She moved painfully past me, fa- Eventually you wake up with some wrinkles voring one leg with arthritic awkwardness. you can’t cover with anyone’s cosmetics. I re- Domestics earn their pay the hard way and tired for a few years, repositioned myself, and show the wear early. It was difficult to tell how took on other challenges. I’ve been here four old this woman was. But I could tell she had years and enjoy every minute of it.” been through the mill, although she was fresh- Captain Progress was lost in this interchange. ly showered and her hair was combed close to I brought him up to date briefly. His eyes were her head. A rueful half-smile showed a snaggle wide with new respect when he looked at her. tooth in front. Her brown, weather-beaten face “Tell me about the sleeping cleaning lady.” supported blue eyes which looked directly at “It’s very simple. She’s been on the job less me for a moment, then dropped respectfully to than a week. She was caught sleeping on the my knees. In that flash I saw little pretense but job. Gave me some cockamamie story about sensed great strength of purpose. being drugged. I had to make an example of After the pleasantries, during which she de- her, so I suspended her for two days without clined a cup of coffee, I led her over to the vid- pay.” eo to let her see herself on screen. She drew a I turned on the DVD player and fast-forward- breath sharply. ed to the spot I had marked showing the clean- “That’s the first time I ever seen me on the ing lady disappearing along the hall. She was a TV.” tall, old crone hunched over the cart she was On screen a clock was plainly visible at the pushing down the hall. Her frazzled hair stuck end of the hall. “Is the time there correct?” out around her head like thatch from a hay “Yes, sir.” wagon. There was a wall clock visible in the “Where did you go from there?” subdued light at the end of the hallway. The “I ain’t normally supposed to work on any- hands showed 3:33 in the morning. thing on the other side of the wing, so when

16 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine the power went off I scooted into a linen room twelve-thirty?” and sat down for an hour.” She smoothed her hair while she thought. “You were alone?” “Five or six floor nurses. That other cleaning “Yes, sir.” lady and Mrs. Leeman—and I think the guard “Where did you spend the rest of the time af- slipped in for a cup of coffee.” ter the power came on?” That was twice she had mentioned “that oth- “I had already done the MRI Console Room er” cleaning lady. I studied her more closely. so I went on about my business on the rest of “What ‘other’ cleaning lady?” my side.” She sighed. “I only been here a week and I “What you are telling me is that you never don’t know everybody. She must have been came near this end of the floor after the power from a different floor. Real pleasant sort. Didn’t was shut down?” seem pressed for time though—she was still in “Yes, sir.” there when I left to start my rounds.” “Thank You, Mrs. Leeman.” “Thank you, Mrs. Baumgartner, you’ve been very helpful.” Sharon Baumgartner looked almost like her vid- I started her for the door when she stopped eo. A sack dress and a thatch of mouse brown and looked at me. “Do you think I’m going to be hair over broad, humped shoulders. The weary fired?” kind of shoulders that come from years of emp- I patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll put in a good tying someone else’s trash and dusting some word with Ms. Chesney.” one else’s furniture. I offered her some coffee. “Thank you, sir.” She was not used to drinking coffee with her superiors, and she declined. I asked her to view I went back to my computer and noticed a new the video with me. email. I pulled it up. It was from the FBI. They She stood uncomfortably while I turned it on. must have pounced on my request. When the cleaning lady appeared walking ”Re your excerpt from the KCH disk, prelimi- away down the hall, Mrs. Baumgartner pointed nary diagnoses indicates a bright unknown ob- a bony finger and asked, “My eyes ain’t too ject approximately five and a half feet off the good anymore. Who’s that?” floor and two and a half feet in front of the cam- I tried to look unconcerned. “I thought that era. It disappears because the lens becomes was you.” obscured, probably by black spray paint. It may She snorted. “I know I look frowzy, but I ain’t be a piece of jewelry worn by the person who never wore my hair like that. That’s the other sprayed the lens. More detailed identification cleaning lady. Besides, I was in the linen room not probable. Advise if you wish us to pursue.” at three-thirty-three.” I went back to my spying. Mrs. Leeman kept “How can you be sure of the time?” popping up as the most logical suspect. She had “I come on at ten o’clock, take an hour lunch been with the hospital for five years, during and get off at seven a.m., Mr. Doctor. I had my which time she had had no entries in her file. tea break at twelve-thirty like usual, then I went There was nothing there until I delved into her into linen room number twelve to get some past via her application and Social Security num- supplies. I don’t remember anything after go- ber. An hour later, after tapping two or three of ing into that linen room. I don’t drink and I don’t my other sources, I had an answer of sorts. Betty smoke. Somebody put something in my tea had had a daughter named Charlotte. Charlotte that made me sleep for six hours and left me was married to Joseph McGregor of North Brook, with a terrible headache.” Illinois. Their union produced two children. First, “Ms. Chesney tells a different story.” Joseph Henry McGregor, Junior and second, She snorted. “When it’s my word against hers, Mary Katherine McGregor. The ‘K’ stood out in I guess you know whose they’ll take.” neon and her name rang a bell in my head. I con- “Who was in the break room with you at tinued to dig.

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 17 All had been sublimely normal in the charm- with honors. He was something of a poster boy ing suburb of North Brook, Illinois, until just for the University—he was a lifer at Illinois State three weeks after Mary Katherine’s thirteenth Prison when he received his degree. birthday. The answer was clear. Betty Leeman, mother Then she was brutally abducted from her of Charlotte, grandmother of Mary Katherine, own bedroom. She was repeatedly raped, bru- somehow learned of Cotter/Barsky’s release talized, and left to bleed to death in a culvert from prison and followed his travels. She knew with both her arms lopped off just above the enough about him to see through the WPP and elbows. track him here to Kansas City. She had more The inhuman fiend who abducted her, one than ample reason to hate this monster. She Raymond Cotter, served fifteen years of his life picked her time and exacted her own brand of sentence. At the age of 47, he had been pa- bitter vengeance. roled, as he was a model prisoner and was no Rarely do I become embroiled in the person- longer considered a threat to society. Raymond alities in my cases, but I really had to force my- Cotter had much trouble finding a community self to detach from the facts of this one. Putting that would accept him and his gruesome se- Betty Leeman in jail for avenging her daugh- cret, and he disappeared two years after he was ter’s death and her granddaughter’s horrible released. experience and death was the supreme irony. Charlotte Leeman McGregor and her two Betty lost a daughter and a granddaughter. A children came to live with mother Betty Lee- granddaughter who could not feel anything man when Charlotte’s fifteen-year marriage ever again and was sentenced to combing her foundered in the fallout from the abduction. hair for the rest of her short life with a hook in Charlotte committed suicide shortly thereaf- place of each hand. The searing memories of ter, leaving Betty with the grandchildren. After this triple atrocity would haunt Betty Leeman her mother’s suicide, granddaughter Mary for all time. Katherine McGregor withered away and died Wasn’t that pain enough? from complications resulting from Cotter hack- Yes, it was, but I had no professional or moral ing off her arms. choice. I surfed the archives of the Chicago Tribune. I called Lieutenant Okomolu, brought him up The Leeman-McGregor case had gotten more to speed and asked him to orchestrate a meet- press than Speck and his nurses. There was a ing in my room at 2:00 with all concerned per- picture of the young Cotter handcuffed in the sons present. He agreed. courtroom. Take away some hair, add twenty I crawled back into my laptop to do some pounds, a mustache and some glasses, and you more checking. I still had several thorns dig- had a damned good likeness of one Leonard ging into my side. I deep-surfed everyone in Barsky. the hospital whose name I had on my list. I I surfed Raymond Cotter and looked in detail flopped around in their backgrounds and at his prison record, including his prison pho- found no surprises. to—which confirmed his identity. Then I turned a corner in that library of infor- Raymond Cotter was Leonard Barsky. mation and there was the key that sorted all His prison time was exemplary. No alterca- my mental dominoes into one long gratifying tions, good time accrued, and a fondness for line. That one piece of information completed electronics. He received an A in every class in my puzzle. I rewarded myself with a snifter of electronics available to the prisoners. There my favorite Armagnac and sat back in a self- were records of correspondence courses with satisfied silence, inhaling its bouquet. New York University. I made a quiet phone call to a colleague on the NYU Staff who confirmed They were hushed and expectant as they filed that one Raymond Cotter had received an ad- into the room. Some sat on the bed, some on vanced degree in Electronics Engineering— the couch, and others the two chairs. All con-

18 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine centrated on me—and waited. their carts. I mentioned the hair on the one and I’ve never shared this information with any- told the group that we had found the wig in one but this is the moment I wait for in every the ladies’ room on the fourth floor. “The wig case. As they say about the bull in the ring, it is was abandoned because the guards were “the moment of truth” and, like the matador, I searching the floor and there was not enough am the one with the rapier. time to take it elsewhere.” I looked around the room. Okomolu had si- Then I scanned their faces while I dropped lently stationed one uniformed officer near the my bombshell. “And we know at this point door just in case the pigeon tried to fly the there was an accomplice.” coop. They swiveled their heads at each other like a I said, “Lieutenant Okomolu and I have col- flock of bobbleheads. As surprised as the rest, laborated on this murder and this is what we Okomolu watched all of them. have found.” I continued, “We know there is an accomplice Okomolu smiled his thanks. because it is physically impossible for Mrs. Lee- I locked onto Betty Leeman’s face. At first she man to make it from the Console Room down did not look at me, but as I spoke she raised her the hall to the Service Room, unlock it, flip the eyes to mine. There was pride there. switch in the panel, and get back to the Con- I really felt bad about what I was going to do sole Room in one minute. The lady wearing that but I continued, still looking straight at her. wig is the imposter. We can all see that it was a “First, Mrs. Leeman, I wish to express my heart- woman, tall and broad-shouldered. She spiked felt sympathy for the loss of your daughter and Mrs. Baumgartner’s tea, which resulted in Mrs. the brutality inflicted upon your granddaugh- Baumgartner taking an unscheduled nap in ter and their deaths as a result of it. Those were the linen room. So we have an accomplice who gruesome episodes no parent should ever have is the ‘other cleaning lady’ Mrs. Baumgartner to bear.” saw in the break room. Conclusion then is that Her face clouded with pain and her bony Mrs. Leeman was not alone in her quest for ven- shoulders drooped in grief. All eyes were now geance, right Mrs. Leeman?” on her, and it was obvious this was news to al- She nodded her head. most everyone. I continued, now addressing The room went silent like the silence in an the group: “Betty Leeman’s granddaughter underground tomb. When you first walk into Katherine was brutally raped, sodomized and one and stand still—and stop talking—and nearly dismembered while the girl was still turn out the lights—and just listen there is… alive. She was abandoned in a culvert to bleed nothing. In the absolute darkness you can ex- to death by one Raymond Cotter. Raymond quisitely feel everything and everyone around Cotter is—or was—Leonard Barsky.” you, but there is nothing. Everyone in my room A horrified murmur filled the room. I raised held their breath. The murderers because they my voice above it. “Betty Leeman found him, were about to be defrocked. The authorities bided her time, and concocted his bizarre mur- because they desperately wanted to file this der. Right Mrs. Leeman?” case under “Solved”. Her voice was barely audible through her I continued and all eyes swiveled to me. “We tears. “Yes.” started looking for someone else who had mo- I indicated the wall switch and asked the uni- tive, opportunity, and the means to assist in this formed officer near the door to dim the lights. killing, and only one person stood out.” I flicked All but ambient light left the room. As my eyes the disk to the spot floating in the gloom and adjusted, I spotted Ms. Chesney sitting on the pointed to the screen. “That person is here sofa. Even in the dim light, that smile was gor- spraying the cameras but unable to conceal geous. her dazzling smile even in the low light of the I flicked the remote on the DVD player, and hallway. That person is Betty Leeman’s fraternal we watched the two cleaning ladies pushing twin sister, Carol Chesney!”

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 19 All eyes burned into Carol Chesney. She We had anticipated a run for the door—but not jumped to her feet, her face livid, her body con- the window. torted with loathing. She spat the words out Like a fullback hunched over the ball streak- like red hot drops of iron. “That bastard! He ing for the goal line, Chesney bent over and stole the light of my life and turned my world charged the window. That dazzling smile upside down. Then he did unspeakable things seemed to hang in the air as she shattered the to her.” She turned to me, and was momentari- glass and disappeared. ly at a loss for words. Her anguish was deep and The silence was broken only by the mewing unending. of Betty Leeman. She had lost a granddaughter, She continued, more to herself than to us, a daughter and now her twin sister, and she and her voice dropped to a whimper. “Then he was going to spend the rest of her days behind chopped off her arms and left her dying in that bars remembering the evil that was Raymond filthy gutter. They didn’t kill him; they slapped Cotter. his hand and let him out of jail. They let him live, and laugh, and breathe—as though nothing Rus Morgan is a member of MWA, SMFS and happened.” Mensa. He has been many things while trying She turned and focused on me for the first to become a writer. He has published previous time. Her eyes brimmed with satisfaction. mysteries in FMAM and Mysterical-E. He has “When I threw that switch and watched those self-published three novels: Blackberries Got No stents fly out of that bastard’s chest, I heard my Thorns, The Voodoo Vortex and Luci. niece say ‘Thank you, Auntie,’ and my world came right again.”

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DEATH ON DELIVERY BY ANNE K. EDWARDS

our victim will be listed as having died from unknown Ycauses. The price is ten thousand dollars. Remember to pay once the service is started—or—you’ll be the next victim—at no charge. This is the deal and warning clients of a murder for hire ring are given. And this is the case that brought Hannah Clare out of retirement. “Death On Delivery,” Mystery ($16.50 paperback) is available from your favorite bookstore and online booksellers.

Copies can also be ordered from the publisher:

Something different in a gift Buy a murder Just send in a post card Twilight Times books, P.O. Box 3340, Kingsport, TN 337664 It’s that simple. www.twilighttimesbooks.com/

20 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine FMAM FEATURE AUTHOR... >> Revenge is a dish best served steaming. Barry Ergang

abel it instinct, intuition, or clairvoyance— I sensed his superﬁciality and was astonished Lwhen I met Theron Claymore, I immediately when Haskell announced him as the newest sensed a predator in our midst. member of our ranks. When he strode into the department along- Claymore gave the room and the occupants side Haskell, art director at Danforth Advertis- of its glassed cubicles a conquistadorial scruti- ing, I thought Claymore was a model. Tall and ny. Haskell then introduced him to each of us. blond, with appraising slate-blue eyes, he car- Haskell smiled benevolently beneath his ried himself with the erect conﬁdence one as- heavy mustache and indicated me. “This is Eric sociates with a California surfer. He lacked only Dennison, our senior artist.” the deep suntan. Despite my aversion, I murmured, “Nice to

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 21 meet you,” and shook Claymore’s hand. the pragmatism necessary to deal with Theron Within a short time my initial assessments Claymore’s sort. She never knew her child did. were confirmed. Claymore’s work had a drafts- Never knew, for instance, that the disfiguring man like competence but lacked the passion— “accident” in high school chemistry which be- if such a term may be used with regard to ad- fell one of my classmates had avenged an af- vertising—necessary to our type of illustration. front; never knew that during my first year at Haskell, however, apparently took to it. Perhaps Danforth, the occupant of an apartment in the Claymore’s greatest artistry was his ability to building next to mine died to prevent disclo- sell himself despite the charming sophistry of sure of what he had seen when, upon arriving the product. home from work one evening, I had carelessly Indeed, charm was his biggest commodity left the bedroom curtains open. and he used it like a chameleon, adapting him- My disregard of Claymore succeeded for a self to suit the various agency personalities while, but inevitably, like the schoolyard bully with whom he had to contend. His good looks who cannot bear to be ignored, he intruded and forceful manner endeared him to many of onto my parcel of the playground. I was bent the women, but he was equally adept at ban- over the layout on my drawing table late one tering with the men. He had none of the new- afternoon when he entered my cubicle and comer’s reserve and quickly became the focal peered over my shoulder. figure in the art department, magnet for the ir- “Which account is that for?” he asked. reverent remark or salacious joke. Tales of the “Ardis Cosmetics,” I said, not looking up. women he purportedly bedded were inces- “Oh, a biggie, huh?” sant. “Mm-hmm.” I had been handling the Ardis I was able to ignore most of it. In my five years artwork for over a year, though I did not tell him at Danforth I had, for self-protective reasons, so. kept distant from my colleagues, which allowed “Yeah, well, listen, man, a bunch of us are go- me to work with a relative freedom from inter- ing out for a drink after work. What d’you say?” ruption. What I could not ignore was Claymore’s “No, thank you.” camaraderie with Haskell, my immediate supe- “Why not?” A faint edge in his voice implied rior. Their time together was not spent exclu- he was unaccustomed to having his invitations sively on matters of agency business. They lin- refused. “C’mon, we’re goin’ over to Gerrity’s, gered in the corridors exchanging jokes and check out the action.” stories, they went out for drinks after hours, “Gerrity’s?” they lunched together—often with other de- “Oh man, you never been to Gerrity’s?” partment heads. During my tenure I had never I admitted I had not. socialized with the upper echelons; Claymore “It’s just the best place in the city to meet exerted a disproportionate amount of time in- babes. C’mon, we’ll have a good time. You might sinuating himself into their circles. get lucky and score.” My mother would have been appalled. When “Thanks just the same, I’d rather not.” she returned to the workplace after my father He moved to the back of the table, facing me, died, she performed her duties diligently and and leaned forward confidentially. “Listen, if reliably but shunned the intra-office politick- you’re worried about striking out, don’t. I know ing common among her colleagues and thus plenty of broads there I can set you up with. never received the promotions she deserved. “I Guaranteed you score.” He smiled raptorially. don’t understand them,” she would say of the The cavalier imprecision of his speech and other women in her office, “fawning and boot- the empty appetence it promised oppressed licking and backstabbing to be noticed. No me. I had barely looked at him, keeping my woman—or man either—should have to stoop gaze on the layout in the hope he would give that low.” up and leave. I glanced up and saw three artists, Up until her own death, she did not possess all of whom were single, standing just outside

22 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine my cubicle. One of them frowned at Claymore thing, don’t you?” and shook his head minutely, but Claymore As I sat down at the drawing table, I noticed a winked and turned back to me, waiting for my couple of other artists looking our way rather answer. expectantly. “Yes.” “For the last time, no thank you. I’ve no inter- “Why?” est in what you call ‘scoring’.” I scowled and adjusted the angle of the table. “Don’t be such a stuffed shirt.” He grinned I did not answer him. lasciviously and exaggerated an intake of “You wear a suit every day, too.” breath. “After all, a man’s gotta do what a man’s I nodded silently, my head lowered over an- gotta do.” other Ardis layout. “Then do it somewhere else if you please.” “You oughta lighten up, man.” “What’re you—gay? You like guys?” Except for the day we first met, when he had In truth I adored women—their tastes and dressed in a faultlessly tailored charcoal-gray textures and smells. One in the Danforth sales suit, Claymore wore blue jeans, boots, and tur- department I found devastatingly attractive. tlenecks or sports shirts. Sometimes he added But personal strictures forbidding intimate re- a sports jacket to his ensemble. Casual attire lationships which, in the event they fell apart, was management’s concession to “creative could lead to workplace disquietude, and the temperament,” and it was true that most of the revelations I was unwilling to risk, irrespective artists favored it. of success or failure, demanded that I maintain “Did it ever occur to you I might be comfort- a chaste, professional attitude toward her. able like this?” I said. “I already have plans,” I answered. He snorted. “You don’t know how to be com- “I bet. Needlepoint? Or are you just gonna fortable. You’re a stiff.” curl up with a book and some hot chocolate?” “I’m very comfortable—when I can work He laughed, dismissed me with a wave, and without unnecessary interruptions.” went off with the others. “A regular company man, eh?” He grinned The next morning, they regaled one another back at his waiting friends before speaking to with tales of their previous evening’s putative me again. “Regular loser‘s more like it.” conquests. That elicited the snickers from the others he When I returned from lunch that afternoon, I sought and, having attained his puerile victory, found Claymore in my cubicle idly examining a he left me alone. series of layouts tacked to the bulletin board Anger and humiliation bubbled within me. on the right-hand wall and others that sat on He baited me, I surmised, from a need to assert top of the supply cabinet beneath. “You got his imagined superiority. But never before had enough variations on this Ardis thing,” he said. anyone embarrassed me in front of my co- “Fussy client,” I muttered. Some clients have workers. specific ideas they want us to delineate, some Over the next few months I periodically en- almost prefer to be told what their advertise- dured jibes about my sexual preferences, man- ments should look like. Others, like Ardis, want ner of dress, and conscientiousness. Although I to see multiple possibilities from which they bore it with an outward stolidity bordering on can choose. Assembling their layouts, after con- self-abasement, I grew steadily embittered to- sulting with the account executive, the copy- ward his swaggering attitude which implied writer, and Haskell, often required weeks or the agency was merely another place in which even months of work. to “score,” the job a woman to be conquered. “Is there something I can do for you?” I asked. I experienced a small victory of my own when, I removed my suit coat, hung it up, and slipped one afternoon, Claymore and Audrey Merriam, a on the loose-fitting gray smock I kept on a hook copywriter, marched side by side into my cubi- on the left-hand wall. cle. Claymore wore his too-familiar smug smile, “No, just takin’ a break. You always wear that Audrey a look of angry determination.

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 23 “Eric,” she said, “we’d like your opinion on But then he went beyond verbal abuse, alter- something.” ing my fantasy and his own end. “Yeah, man, we need you to settle a bet,” Clay- After several months of work, I went to more said offhandedly, his eyes scanning the Haskell’s office to turn in the latest series of lay- latest series of Ardis layouts on the bulletin outs for Ardis Cosmetics. Haskell examined board. them, nodded approvingly, and then cleared “What is it?” his throat. His expression was uncharacteristi- His slate-blue eyes fastened on me. “It’s cally sheepish. about—” “Very nice, Eric. Up to your usual standard. “No, you don’t!” Audrey snapped. “Don’t you But…uh…I’ve got something I think they’ll like dare set him up.” Her voice softened when she better.” asked me, “Do you think it’s still mainly a man’s I gaped incredulously at him. world?” “Theron did some…extracurricular work. He So wholly unexpected was the question, it had some ideas of his own and tried them took a moment for me to collect my thoughts. out—on his own time,” he added hastily. “He Audrey’s dark eyes were tense behind her de- saw what you were doing and took it from signer-frame glasses, her posture taut. there.” He cleared his throat again. “His work is “I guess it depends on how you define your very good.” terms,” I said at length, “but if you mean women “But Ardis has always been my account.” are still subservient with respect to salaries, “I know, Eric, but…. Well, take the long view. benefits, and legislation, and chauvinistic and We’re all team players here. You of all people sexist attitudes fostered by the media, then I’d ought to know that.” say it is. I recently read a study—” “Yes, yes I do. But…why didn’t you tell me be- “Pay up!” Audrey thrust out her hand, palm fore?” up, at Claymore. He looked at his desktop a moment, then He glowered at me, as if I had betrayed an back at me. “Honestly? Because you’ve always unspoken pact, and extracted a five-dollar bill done excellent work for Ardis, and I wanted to from his pocket. He smacked it into her hand. see the finished product before I decided.” He “Like I said,” he growled, “women have already shrugged. “My gut hunch says Theron’s work castrated half the male population. This little will go over better.” wimp”—he jerked his chin in my direction—“is “Why not show them both of our concepts a prime example.” and let them decide?” He brushed at his mustache with a fingertip. In mid-summer, rumors began to circulate “I know this is upsetting, but there’ll be plenty that Haskell would be promoted to a creative of other work for you—for Ardis and other cli- directorship in September. Management at ents. Besides, all Theron did was make a few im- Danforth believed in promotion from within; provements on your basic ideas. Would you like therefore, based on seniority, I was the logical to see them?” candidate for the position of art director. An ex- What I answered, or whether I answered at citing prospect, it was something I had worked all, I do not remember. I did not return to my cu- a long time to achieve, risking decisions with bicle. I left the building and walked, I cannot re- regard to my “life choices,” as psychologists call where or for how long, in a feckless rage. It call them, that no one knew anything about. was suddenly clear that Claymore’s subtle do- I said nothing, nor was the rumor confirmed. minion over the art department was part of a The mere fact of its existence galvanized me, ploy to undermine my seniority and advance making even Claymore’s unwanted attentions his own objectives. My grasp on the art direc- bearable. I indulged a fantasy of firing him in torship, I sensed, had been weakened by Clay- front of the entire art department when I be- more’s inveigling schemes. I could imagine him came the new director. inverting my own fantasy and firing me. Or—

24 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine worse, perhaps—keeping me on as the con- and imagining how I would approach Clay- stant target for his verbal sallies. If I resigned more without putting him on guard. After eight and went elsewhere, I would have to start all days, three fewer than the original reservation over again, perhaps spend another five years called for, I flew back. establishing myself at another agency without Locating Claymore might present some diffi- the assurance of attaining a senior position. culty, but I suspected that Gerrity’s was the log- When I returned to Danforth, I said nothing ical place to find him. I went there in the middle more to Haskell and he said nothing to me. of the evening on the day of my return, but he Once, however, I thought I spied Claymore didn’t appear. The next day I arrived during smirking at me. “happy hour,” when the city’s businesses re- By that evening I had calmed down, red fury lease their employees to their own diversions. turned to white decisiveness. Claymore was a Gerrity’s was dim, noisy, and congested with steadily debilitating malignancy. Pragmatism people, strutting men and preening women, dictated his removal. I had two weeks’ vacation their faces hectic and brittle. There was a pa- coming up, and during that time I would kill thetic quality in the way some of them ap- him. proached others in a travesty of the mating ritual. The Monday morning I returned from my va- Within half an hour of my arrival Claymore cation, the agency thrummed with shock and appeared, grinning his assurance, waving hel- horror over the murder of Theron Claymore, los to people he recognized, occasionally peck- the Thursday before, by a person or persons ing the cheek or squeezing the shoulder of a unknown. My co-workers either moped mourn- woman he knew, “high-fiving” some of the men. fully or eagerly heaped on me the details they I had dressed to enhance rather than to con- had gleaned from newspaper reports and ceal my attributes in a reasonably snug blue from the police interrogators who had visited dress and a longish red wig. The only demure the agency. “You sure picked the right time to touch was a pair of cream-colored gloves. go away,” someone said. “This place has been I caught his eye easily enough, after which I somewhere between a morgue and a circus.” engaged in the immemorial gestures of a wom- By the time I arrived home that evening, I was an desirous of a particular man’s attentions. simultaneously elated and enervated. After Claymore took the cues without hesitation. Af- running the bath water, I went directly to my ter drinks and conversation laced with innuen- bedroom and undressed. I hung my suit neatly, does, I suggested he take me to his apartment. then removed my shirt and threw it into a ham- There we had another drink, and I submitted to per. I am small-breasted, and the bandeau I his kisses and touch, suppressing my loathing wear beneath my shirt to flatten my bosom in the knowledge that intimacy would be his does an admirable job of disguising my curves. nemesis. I took off the bandeau and, wearing only pant- At length I urged him to take me into the ies, regarded my suntanned reflection in a full- bedroom. Mistaking my eagerness for lust— length mirror. I slipped off the dark male tou- the impression I hoped to convey to gain the pee and finger-fluffed my own short-cropped, advantage I needed—he complied. I had almost mannishly cut brown hair. Finally, I brought no weapon, and would have to impro- stepped out of the panties and settled into the vise, catch him at a vulnerable moment. The soothing bath. heavy glass ashtray on his nightstand declared Killing him had been an absurdly simple retributive providence was my companion. task. He kissed and fondled me as we stood along- As planned, I flew to the Bahamas for my va- side his bed. He unzipped my dress and I let it cation. I immediately sent a postcard to the fall around my ankles. I stepped out of it, un- agency to establish that I had, indeed, been clasped my brassiere, let it slip slowly away away. I spent my days on the beach, tanning from my body, and posed for him until he

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 25 reached for me again. I suffered another em- I dressed calmly, wiped surfaces and items I brace, then bade him huskily to undress. had touched after removing my gloves, ascer- “We got plenty of time, baby,” he said, but tained I had left nothing behind to incriminate obediently sank onto the edge of the bed to re- myself, and departed. move his boots. His vulpine grin flooded me Mother would not have understood her with reminiscent fury—memories of months of pragmatic daughter Erica. But perhaps Clay- supercilious smiles and caustic remarks. more, of all people, would have. It was he, after I grabbed the ashtray off the nightstand and all, who had said, “A man’s gotta do what a smashed it against his temple. He howled and man’s gotta do.” toppled off the bed to his knees. Sometimes, so does a woman. “You bitch,” he moaned. “Don’t you mean son-of-a-bitch?” I said in the Managing Editor of FMAM and an Assistant lower register I affect at Danforth. Editor at Mysterical-E, Barry Ergang has had his Whether realization of my identity penetrat- fiction, poetry, and non-fiction appear in a vari- ed his pain and disorientation I could not de- ety of publications, print and electronic, includ- termine. I did not take time to gloat. He was ing Stereophile, Mindfire Renewed, Writers much taller and stronger than I; if I had to strug- Post Journal, Flashshot, The Listening Eye, gle with him I would surely lose the fight. I QPB Presents the World’s Best Shortest Stories, struck again with the ashtray, this time at the Mystery File, Mystery Readers Journal, Web back of his skull, and he fell forward to the floor, Mystery Magazine, The Pedestal Magazine, and still moaning. Moondance. http://www.geocities.com/b_er- I strangled him, appropriately, with my bras- gang/index.html siere. 2006 Gin E L Fenton Copyright © Copyright Spot Illustration Spot Illustration

26 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine It’s Twilight Time The Informant January - February 2006 Some writers are wall-flowers. They write in order to work out their demons or as a way to interact with a world they deem hostile or inscrutable. Others enjoy the solitude that is inherent in the world of the written word. Of course, there’s the other side of the spectrum, as well. There exists in the publishing business certain personalities whose birthright places them among the flamboyant and extroverted of the world. Publicity and a sense of entitle- ment come naturally to them. Somewhere between the painfully shy and the aggravatingly ostentatious lies the realm of talent and drive. Writers in this category are genuine and warm. They are comfortable in their own skins. They can maintain their individuality even when group-think is the order of the day. These are the true talents of the writing world; the work horses of subtle ambition. It is within this rarified realm that Lida Quillen moves with ease and self-assurance. As a motorcycle-riding, expert pistol-shooting, card-carrying member of Mensa, Lida Quil- len is anything but shy, and when it comes to the publishing industry, she has a lot to share. Like many writers, she’s loved the craft for as long as she can remember. “By 1995 I had garnered publication credits in over twenty print publications with my short stories, poetry, and articles.” But when she discovered the internet in 1997 she quickly realized that she was among a tiny population of writers whose work had actually seen print. “I was amazed at the number of highly talented and yet unpublished writers I kept meeting online,” she says. “I could feel their anguish and frustration at not being able to break into print.” Somewhere in the process of meeting these writers, an idea formed in Quillen’s head. She decided do something about what she saw as a misfortune of chance. In July of 1998, she created Twilight Times e-zine for the purpose of showcasing some of the great writers she’d met. “It was a chance to give these writers an outlet,” she says. In a natural progression from electronic magazine publishing, Quillen launched Twilight Times Books in January 1999. “I listened to writers who could not get their novels published. I started [the publishing company] to present the works of talented but under-published novelists.” Twilight Times Books began life as an e-publisher, publishing and distributing books in electronic formats. After ﬁve years Quillen decided upon a bold move for her publishing company. Where many e-publishers were jumping into the Print On Demand (POD) publishing arena, she decided to shepherd her company into the territory of traditional small press. “I listened to other e-publishers who went the POD route complain that they could not get

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 27 their books into bookstores and could not get in is not genre-specific, but works that are “ex- mainstream reviews. So, in November 2003, I emplary, that transcend genres and/or are decided to go with a traditional publishing beautifully written.” She adds that novelists model—by traditional I mean national distri- whose work has been published in Twilight bution and the author pays nothing. We’re pos- Times e-zine or Futures Mystery Anthology sibly the only e-publisher who has transitioned Magazine will be given first consideration to traditional print publishing as opposed to when Twilight Times Books and Paladin Time- POD publishing.” By 2005 Quillen was able to less Books are open for submissions. launch a new imprint to Twilight Times called Consideration is only the proverbial foot in Paladin Timeless Books, secure national print the door, however. There is a lot of work that distribution for her company’s products, and must come before an author submits a manu- acquire the rights to publish Futures Mystery script. “I am willing to look at any book, in any Anthology Magazine. genre, that is well-written and entertaining, but The company’s growth is steady, and Quillen the author must have a unique story to tell and is looking forward to the future. “In 2005 we [should have] obtained the services of an edi- gave authors twelve promo copies of their tor or talented friend and polished the book to print books at no charge. In 2006 we will offer a the best of his or her ability prior to submission. small advance to new authors and current au- One misconception writers have is expecting thors with new books.” She also plans to in- the first or second draft of their novel will be crease the marketing budget for new titles accepted for publication.” launched in 2006 and 2007. Her goal? “To be a Once accepted, an author should be prepared mid-list publisher with initial print runs of five for the process of publishing. “Another miscon- thousand–plus for each title by 2010.” ception is expecting a significant advance or a How does one go from an Internet e-publish- ten city book tour will be provided by a small er to a growing traditional small press? In a press publisher.” Instead, she says, an author world where a publisher is only as good as its should expect Twilight Times Books and Paladin last acquisition, Quillen has found a niche mar- Timeless Books to operate the same way as any ket that other presses all but ignore. “We ac- other publisher, but without the big budget. “We cept cross-genre books, or books with more of offer a standard royalty and we pay all expenses a literary flavor for publication. ” For an example pertaining to publication of e-books or print of this she points to Robina Williams’s Jerome books, including galley copies to reviewers, ed- and the Seraph (a free copy is included in the its, copy edits, press releases, as well as the for- Twilight Times SF/F sampler at http://twilight- matting, design, artwork, interior layout, and ac- timesbooks.com/freebies.html#TTBooks). “This tual printing of the book—that’s pretty much book is a mix of fantasy, Pre-Raphaelite art, my- the role of a mainstream publisher.” thology, and quantum physics,” she says. “I Aside from what the publisher does for the have very eclectic tastes [but ] I strongly feel author, Quillen says that an author has a job to that anyone who likes to read can read any of do, as well. Since acceptance of a manuscript is our books and enjoy them...even books out- only the beginning of the publishing process, side their normal area of interest. she says that an author should be “patient with Among the genres on Quillen’s current list of [the] process [...] I need an author who will work books one will find Science Fiction and Fantasy with us to make his or her manuscript the very (Quillen’s personal favorites), as well as Action/ best writing of which they are capable.” The Adventure, Literary, Magic Realism, Historical, process is long and arduous. “Our editing pro- Mystery, and Thrillers. She’s open to other cess is accomplished electronically. We have an genres, however. “I had not published romance editor go over the manuscript, then the file until a college professor who had 3400-plus goes back to the author with notations and Regency romances on his bookshelf decided to suggestions. The author makes the changes he write one,” for instance. What she is interested or she deems necessary, and sends the manu-

28 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine script back me. I then assign a copy editor who book in various formats, sending it around to goes over the manuscript. The file goes back to the distributors, handling the marketing and the author who makes the changes—or not— promo...it’s all part of the publishing process— then sends the file to me for final edits [...] the a most interesting and challenging endeavor.” author generally has the last word on chang- In the end, the thing that matters most to es.” Lida Quillen is also what motivated her to be- Twilight Times normally publishes titles in e- come a publisher in the first place, “I am com- book format first, then as trade paperbacks. “An mitted to providing an outlet for brilliant au- author needs to be prepared to go through the thors with books that deserve to see print.” editing process all over again prior to taking the book to print.” Patience with the process. Bret Wright is the publisher and chief editor of That’s what is required. the award-winning ezine Apollo’s Lyre—www. Though some may find the process of taking apollos-lyre.com. A novelist, poet, and short story a book to print a tedious endeavor, Quillen writer, Bret has enjoyed success in almost every finds the procedure fascinating and challeng- genre. Drawing from his experience as a profile ing. “I enjoy giving talented authors their first writer for art magazines, Bret brings a unique break and watching them develop as writers. voice to “The Informant,” which he hopes will be Fortunately, I also enjoy the publishing process. both helpful and entertaining. You can contact We have authors, editors, and artists from coun- Bret directly at [email protected]. tries around the world. A new book from an author in Denmark might have a Canadian editor See Bret’s ‘SPOTLIGHT’ on FMAM artist and cover artwork from an artist in Australia. Teresa Tunaley...page 132 Finding the best editor for a particular author, commissioning the artwork, bringing out the Twilight Times Books is pleased to announce a new imprint, Paladin Timeless Books. We will be open to submissions from February 15 to March 5, 2006.

First consideration will be given to authors previously published by Twilight Times Books, Twilight Times ezine and/ or Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine. Our current response time is four weeks to two months. Send a cover letter, synopsis, ﬁrst chapter and marketing plan in the body of an email message to [email protected]

See our submission guidelines for more info: http://www.paladintimelessbooks.com/subs.html

t might have been the cooing of the huge old friend catch his wife fooling around.” Idoves in the tall pine trees under which Am- “Hell, Dave, there’s plenty of time for that. Be- boy had pitched his tent the night before. Or sides, her doctor friend is at a convention until perhaps it was the irritating saw of the locusts Sunday. Unless she’s two-timing him, too, she’s that had refused to retire when he did, called to at home figuring out more ways to spend my each other throughout the night, as if their pe- money.” culiar ambition was to make sure his was an Amboy caught a whiff of brewing coffee on uneasy sleep. It may even have been the inter- the wind. “So basically, Dan, what you’re sayin’ is mittent raindrops that rat-tatted against the you’re payin’ me to trout fish—for old times canvas shortly before dawn. Whatever the rea- sake.” son, he was wide awake now, and the night “For the time being.” Dan chuckled. “I need creatures appeared to be giving way to the day your P.I. skills...and if that’s the only way you shift—unreasonably happy cardinals, twitter- were going to come visit—so be it.” ing thrushes, and lambent larks announcing “I haven’t tossed a fly in twenty years.” the onset of unavoidable day. “Then it’s high time you started back. It used “Get up, Dave,” said the raspy voice, cutting to be your favorite pastime.” through blanket, pillow—penetrating even the “Second favorite,” Amboy corrected, rubbing flesh and bone of hands against ears. his eyes. “Is it time?” offered Amboy in feeble defense. “Excuse me. I forgot about the women.” “The fish are waiting,” rebuked the voice. Amboy pulled himself up, stretched against “Tell them I’ve been unavoidably detained.” the stiffness of his joints, then reached for his “It doesn’t work that way, Dave. Now get up. pants. “I wish I could. I’d be a rich man today, It’s what we came for.” Dan, if I’d just been more moderate in my pas- Amboy rolled off his cot, sat upright on the sion.” damp ground, and scratched himself—more That’s how it started. As a simple fishing trip out of habit than any particular itch. pursuant to making a simple case of spousal “Strange. I thought I was up here helping an adultery—making a simple divorce possible 30 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine for Amboy’s old friend Dan Brady. prime suspect?” But things had never been simple for Amboy. During Dan’s questioning, the police at- Especially where women were concerned. His tempted to counter that logic with accusations own three failed marriages attested to that. His he’d panicked, come up with an irrational ten years as a cop had proved it. Five times scheme that included hiring Amboy as little wounded. Four times awarded for acts of valor. more than a glorified witness to his innocence. Yet twice passed over for promotion because Amboy made phone calls, called in all his of problems in his personal life. Problems that markers, eliciting help from his former associ- ultimately led him to quit the department and ates on the force. The results: he garnered a opt for what he believed was a less complicat- measure of professional courtesy from the out- ed, less stressful life. For the most part, it hadn’t of-state authorities in whose jurisdiction he worked out that way. now labored to find the truth—which included They found the body—Mrs. Dan Brady—at permission to observe the interrogation (via the bottom of a hill, five feet from the trout one-way glass) of all suspects from the com- stream they were intending to fish. Less than partment adjacent to the interrogation room. 100 yards from the campsite, through second- Before the week was out, he had autopsy re- growth timber and brush. She was cold and sults, phone records—a plethora of informa- stiff; one foot dangled from the bank and was tion. None of it was conclusive. There wasn’t one half-submerged in a large puddle of rainwater. piece of evidence that shouted Dan’s guilt. On “My God!” Dan screamed. Over and over— the other hand, there was nothing there to the same two words—changing only in inten- prove he couldn’t have done it. sity, inflection, and volume. Shana Brady had been dead nearly two days He dropped to his knees, cradled his wife’s when they found her. There were signs she’d battered head in his arms, his vocabulary now been bound hand and foot, cut loose after she down to one word. “Shana,” he whispered. died. Varmints and insects feasted upon her The day became a mélange of shock, grief, body, both before and after death. anger, and bewilderment—a somber play act- Amboy sat back in his chair, rubbed his eyes, ed out upon a stage that soon filled with uni- and looked around the motel room. He’d been formed actors wearing police badges or medi- anxious to be alone, ostensibly to get some rest cal insignias. Amboy alternately assumed the before another hard day of investigation. Truth- part of witness, friend, and determined investi- fully, he wanted to commune with his thoughts, gator. go through his notes, and ultimately drink him- It was in that last role he intended to offset self into a stupor, if needed. He’d slept little the police department’s suspicion that Dan since he’d gotten to Ashford—the precedent Brady had killed his wife in a fit of rage—rage having been set that first night in a hot, uncom- brought on by her irresponsible spending hab- fortable tent. its and rumors she was having an affair, even He poured his third Crown Royal, looked at planning to leave him and take half of every- the skimpy list of suspects: Dan Brady, Dr. Wal- thing he owned. ter Simmons, and the always-convenient mys- “I love her, Dave,” Dan said on the day of the terious murderer. Dan’s alibi was non-exis- funeral. “Would I have divorced her if I could tent—prior to the time he’d met Amboy at the prove she was unfaithful? You’re damn right! airport. Simmons, the cuckolding doctor, had But I didn’t kill her.” only his wife to corroborate his story. Despite Their friendship aside, Amboy felt Dan’s argu- Dan’s understanding, the doctor had not gone ment was compelling. to a convention. He’d canceled at the last min- “Why would I kill her when I could just di- ute, he said—because his wife had become ill. vorce her? And even if I was angry enough, As for the mysterious murderer, his identity was would I be so stupid as to dump her body near- still a mystery. by...somewhere where I’d be sure to be the Amboy unconsciously scratched between

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 31 his legs. This time the itch wasn’t imaginary. about the Brady photos. “Damned redbugs,” he mumbled. “That’s The porch lights were on when he pulled up what the woods are good for.” in the rental car and got out. He crossed his fin- He sipped his drink, looked over the coro- gers in hopes his outrageous story would ner’s lab report, then tried to invent a scenario hold—hold long enough to prove his theory. that would fit the incomplete facts. He was de- Mrs. Simmons met him at the door, ushered termined to be objective. him into a large drawing room. “Please sit What if Dan had done it? he thought sud- down,” she said, reaching for his hat. “Can I take denly. What if, as the police believed, he was us- your coat?” ing an old friend—his reputation, his influ- “Thanks, ma’am. I’ll just keep it on for now.” ence—to get him off the hook? Absurd. The “Okay, Amboy, what’s this all about? What do case was a stretch at best. And, as Dan himself you think you know that I might be interested had intimated, he’d have done a better job con- in?” cealing it. Amboy chose a sofa in the middle of the As for Dr. Simmons, his involvement with Sha- room. “How much do you value your wife, Doc? na Brady had come out—as such things almost Enough to cover for her?” He rubbed at the always did: phone records, eyewitnesses to consuming itch. their not-so-clandestine lunches, and hotel The doctor sat down in a nearby armchair, clerks who remembered the couple’s midday adjusted the crotch of his pants, as if protecting assignations. a chafe. “Cover for her?” Where was the answer? thought Amboy. “Pesky little things, aren’t they?” Somewhere in the pile of pictures and scrib- “What?” bling on the desk? They lay before him like “Redbugs. Nothing short of kerosene will re- shards of a broken mirror—one sliver missing lieve the itch.” that might somehow reflect the truth. As he “What the hell are you blabbering about?” finished his drink, he glanced at the autopsy “You scratched just now. Just like you did pictures and scratched savagely once again. during questioning at the police station. Just Somewhere out of the growing fog—call it like Mrs. Simmons did during her interrogation. experiential insight; call it a Crown Royal Redbugs. You get ‘em in the woods.” muse—came a glimmer of intuition. He re- “Hell, you can get—” viewed his notes alongside one of the autopsy “In the woods, Doc. That’s where you got images. He looked at photos he’d taken of the yours; that’s where I got mine. Must have been inside of Dan Brady’s house, compared them a million of ‘em out there in the vicinity of with snapshots of Brady birthdays and Christ- where you threw Shana Brady’s body. Of course, mases. Then he picked up the phone and di- that was your wife’s idea, wasn’t it? Shift the aled Dan, asked a question concerning a piece blame onto poor old Dan Brady whose only of bedroom furniture. When he got his answer, crime was to marry a money-grabbing, unfaith- Amboy hung up, then called Dr. Walter Sim- ful woman. Any port in a storm, right?” mons. Dr. Simmons jumped up, stuck his finger in “Yes, I know it’s late, Doc, but I think you’ll Amboy’s face. “Of all the nerve! You dare to—” want to hear what I have to say. No, it can’t wait. “Sit down, Doc. I haven’t finished my story.” It’s a life and death matter...yours. Fifteen min- He motioned to Mrs. Simmons. “Come sit by me, utes of your time, that’s all I ask. I’ll explain... ma’am. You’re a part of this, too.” Good. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” The dark-haired woman with too much It couldn’t be that simple, he thought, as he makeup looked at her husband as if for direc- negotiated the always-heavy downtown traffic. tion. He nodded. She sat down. Nothing ever was. But this—something he’d “Nice ring you have there, Mrs. Simmons. I bet seen when the doctor and his wife were inter- it set the doc back a pretty penny.” rogated. And something else he’d noticed She mumbled something, then rested her

32 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine hand in her lap. She fidgeted with it, scratching scratched his upper thigh. “I was—” herself through fabric. Amboy motioned with the revolver. “Come “Funny thing,” said Dave, “there’s a cut on sit down. I’ll be through in minute. Where was I? Shana Brady’s face that resembles the configu- Oh, yes, the tabletop. Will we find it in the ration of those diamonds. You must’ve hit her stream, Mrs. Simmons?” pretty hard.” Slowly, she buckled at the waist, let her head “You’re crazy! Why, I—” fall forward into her hands. “Walter?” She began “He’s baiting you, Helen. Don’t say anything sobbing. else.” The doctor broke into a smile. “You want “Dammit, Helen, I said be quiet!” me to think you know something...you’re will- She jerked her head up, her eyes suddenly ing to keep your mouth shut for a price. Sorry flashing. “It’s your damned fault, Walter. If you Mr. Amboy—you’re not dealing with idiots.” hadn’t been—” “Adulterers, conspirators, murderers—you’re “Helen!” right, not idiots.” “If you’d kept your pants zipped up...this “You haven’t a shred of proof. Now if you’ll be wouldn’t have happened. I hate you!” so kind as to leave.” Amboy reached in his side pocket and re- Amboy turned to Mrs. Simmons. “You caught trieved his cell. He dialed the private number of them together, didn’t you? At her house. You Detective Willis Claiborne, the officer in charge confronted them, struck Shana Brady in anger. of the investigation. He glanced first at Helen She fell and hit her head on the corner of the Simmons, then her husband. She was sobbing, nightstand. You forced your husband—what head in hands. He was staring at the ceiling, as was it, guilt? A nasty divorce? You threatened if his fate was written there for all to see. him, and he agreed to help you haul her up the “Detective?” asked Amboy. “Have you ever mountain, drop her off near Dan’s favorite fish- had chiggers? No, I’m not drinking...yet. You ing spot. A place and agenda you knew about, might want to send somebody to the Simmons Doc—since his fishing trip was another oppor- place. I believe Mrs. Simmons has something tunity for you to spend time with his wife.” important to tell you. Like a confession. How do Dr. Simmons leaned forward in his chair. “Are I know?” He scratched himself again. “Just call it you going to leave, or do I have to call the po- a gnawing suspicion.” lice?” “Maybe I’ll call them for you, Doc. Maybe I’ve Chick Lang is a part-time schoolteacher and called them already. Maybe they’re outside computer consultant who spends most of his waiting on a signal from me.” spare time writing fiction. In the last three years “Walter?” he’s garnered over 50 writing credits, includ- “Shut up, Helen. He doesn’t have anything. ing stories accepted for Futures Mysterious It’s a bluff, can’t you see?” Anthology Magazine, its FAME Ezine, ByLine “You were lucky, Mrs. Simmons. The only blood Magazine, Coffee Cramp Magazine, Nimue’s was on the end table. And you had your hus- Grotto, Hardluck Stories, Christopher Gooch band remove the marble top. Where’d he throw Ezine, Another Realm, Writer’s Post Journal, it, ma’am? In the trout stream, I bet. Seemed like Mysterical-E, Apollo’s Lyre, The Writer’s Hood, the thing to do at the time, didn’t it?” Virginia Adversaria, The Alabama Writer’s “Walter? Walter!” Conclave Anthology, and placements (includ- Dr. Simmons walked toward a desk. The ing a first place) in assorted writing contests phone was on the opposite side of the room. by Writer’s Digest and ByLine Magazine. He Amboy pulled a .38 from an inside holster. “If is currently serving in an editorial capacity for you put your hand in that drawer, Doc, you bet- FMAM, The Muse Marquee, and Coffee Cramp ter come out with a cigarette lighter.” Magazine. Presently he lives in Laurel, Mississippi “Walter! He’s got a gun!” with his wife Cheryl and daughter Natalie. Chick The doctor turned around, absentmindedly can be contacted at [email protected].

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 33 >> Of course you’re too smart to fall for it.

think if he had wanted to, Chet Harmon could I had watched him operate. A frail little guy with Ihave sold Times Square to the mayor and got- a bad haircut and wearing a suit a couple of sizes ten extra for the trafﬁc lights. He was that good. too small, he would hang around unnoticed in But he preferred high-volume, low-proﬁle cons tourist spots until his practiced eye picked out a to big scores. “A lot less chance of doing big mark. Rushing up he’d say, “Excuse me, mister, I time,” he told me once. So over the years he just found this ring (necklace; bracelet) and I must took thousands of schmucks for a little here, a run to catch my train to Keokuk. Do you know, little there, while more daring chiselers sold the does this ballpark (train station; hotel) have a lost- Queen Mary, for instance, and came and went. and-found where I might turn it in and leave my To Auburn State Prison, for instance. name in case there is a reward?”

34 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine The mark would reply along the lines of, mond. Just a bunch of old ladies of both sexes “Why don’t I give you a dollar right now for and all ages. ” your share of any reward? I’ll turn it in and you “Don’t people ask questions, want to think can run catch your train.” things over?” “A dollar?” Chet would say. “My gosh, this “Not the way I do it. From the very first sec- thing must be worth five hun—” ond the name of the game is hurry. ‘I have to “Okay, here’s five dollars—” go catch a train. Take your chance now, mister, “Gee, I’d think the reward would be more before I move on.’ A man confronted with the like—” unexpected doesn’t think straight. Some are so “Shh. All right, hold it down, willya? Here’s a afraid I’ll offer the piece to somebody else they twenty, gimme the ring and we’ll both be hap- almost shove their money in my pocket. And I py.” keep talking. You control minds when you con- Of course the jewelry was paste, two-bits in trol the conversation. Everybody says con men the quantity Chet bought the stuff in, but it are fast talkers, but it just seems that way— looked good unless you were a jeweler. we’re constant talkers. Until the hook is set, One night, Chet and I took a break from the then I let them run with the bait.” card game in Pighead’s back room and went to I asked him how he could tell out-of-towners the tavern up front for a drink. Pighead’s sister from the New Yorkers. had just closed it to the public and we had the “Come on, Bruck, you do it all the time.” place to ourselves. I kidded Chet that he was I said I wanted to hear how he did it. getting up in years and should retire. He “Okay, if I gotta tell you. Your average tourist laughed, said he’d never retire. “My story is a has got a map of the city. He’s got a camera. He prostitute’s in reverse—I started doing it for doesn’t know how to hail a cab. He buys souve- the money and now I do it for fun. After forty nirs you wouldn’t have in your trash can. He years, I still think I can do the con a little bit bet- tips cabbies and waitresses a dime. He checks ter, and I can’t wait for the next day to find out. his wallet pocket every ten seconds when he’s Besides, I gotta hustle. You guys clean me out in a crowd but couldn’t spot the pickpocket at poker.” Not true. He was as sharp at the ta- two feet away if there was a neon sign over the ble as he was on the street, but he gave away guy’s head flashing ‘Thief.’” most of the money he made. Shop girls, run- I waved him off, laughing. “I guess you don’t away kids, beggars, anybody he thought need- think much of people from out of town.” ed a boost might get a surprise handful of cash “Oh, don’t worry, I know we got our own from him. He once told me, “Just like I can spot skinflints and ding-dongs. I just have to tell the the marks, I can spot the people who are about hicks from the slicks because the last thing I ready to jump off a bridge. You don’t know need is some local mark hunting me down. I how great it is when you’re at that point to have need the guy who isn’t going to find out he’s someone hand you money.” been taken till he gets back to Sheboygan. Hey, I asked him how he spotted his marks. what is this anyhow? All these questions. Gon- “I don’t know. It’s a knack. All I know is I want na try the con yourself?” double-Ds from out of town—tourists dishon- “Not a chance, Chet. Just interested. I couldn’t est enough to cheat me and dumb enough to do it if I had to.” think they can. That kind swarms into town for “Sure you could. I did.” the big sporting events. Madison Square Gar- Some weeks later at a poker game I realized den is my happy hunting ground on a fight Chet hadn’t been around for a while. “Anybody night. The place is full of guys with bloated seen Charmin’ Harmon,” I asked. egos and blotto brains. But when the Ice Ca- Uptown Lew seemed about to say some- pades are there, forget it. Doesn’t matter if thing but hesitated, sent a sidelong look at they’re all rich, stupid and from Sheboygan, Mickey Two-Hands. Mickey switched his cigar they wouldn’t risk a dime to get the Hope dia- from one side of his mouth to the other, glared

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 35 at Lew, and said, “Bellevue. Let’s play cards.” every day that I could stand on my own two The next day I asked around Bellevue Hospi- feet to do it. tal for Chet until I was directed to the charity I found her doing paperwork at a tiny desk in fracture ward. Ever been in a charity fracture an alcove. ward? In the summer? The stench was so “How long has he been here?” I asked. strong I had to step back out into the hall. But She took a clipboard from a wall hook. “Eight what the hell, I told myself, if they can stand it days.” in there, so can I. “How much longer?” Wrong. The next thing I knew I was back in “Hard to say. It was as near murder as you the hallway on a bench with a young woman in can get. The casts won’t come off for another white bending over me. She wanted to know if five, maybe six weeks.” I was going to be okay. “Holy smoke. What all was broken?” “I’ll make it.” She read from the clipboard. “Skull fracture “Who are you here to see?” with multiple scalp lacerations. Two broken ul- “Chet Harmon.” nas, a broken humerus. One broken tibia and Stitched on her uniform over her breast was one fibula. Plus who knows what internal inju- Bellevue Orthopedics and pinned under that ries. But the real problem is the concussions. was a name tag that said Doris. “You a nurse?” I Nobody knows how many he sustained. Even if asked. it’s just one, there’s no way to tell how much “Not yet. But somebody has to take care of brain damage was done. I talk to him all I can to these people.” She took me by the arm and keep his mental functions going, but I have oth- guided me down the long windowless room to er patients and the shape he’s in…” a bed at the far end. “You don’t sound too optimistic. Which doc- Both of Chet’s arms and one leg were in casts, tor is taking care of him?” the leg held aloft by a rope and pulley rig. A A look of sympathy for my ignorance. “This is stained bandage circled his head. His eyes were called The Bellevue Scrap Heap. If Mr. Harmon open but he didn’t exactly look awake. is lucky, a nurse will stop in once or twice a “Chet? Chet, you awake?” week, an intern maybe. If he’s real lucky, a resi- A pause for a second that made me think he dent once a month. And if you tell anyone I said wasn’t, then, without moving his head, he that, I’ll call you a liar.” breathed, “Bruck? That you?” “What has Chet said to you?” “Wanted to see how you’re doing. Anything I “One day it’s ‘Where am I?’, the next, ‘Who are can get you?” you?’ But one day he was pretty lucid and talk- “New body.” ed about jewels.” “What happened?” “Yeah. What about them?” “A mark…jumped me. Madison Square Gar- “It wasn’t real clear, but apparently he sold a den.” young man some at Madison Square Garden, “Anything else you can tell me?” and the man came back the next week and “Big guy...Princeton football sweater.” beat him up. Now I have to get back to work.” He tried to say more but nothing came out. I stopped at the hospital’s billing office on The woman came to tell me I had to go, that Mr. my way out and found a Mr. Isaacs was in Harmon couldn’t take anymore. charge. “How much does a private room with a “Wait a minute,” I said, “he’s trying to tell me private nurse cost per week?” something.” He said eighty-four dollars. I said, “No, per But she took me by the elbow and led me week, not per month.” out of the room. “That’s it. Eighty-four a week, twelve a day.” I went to a window in the hallway, opened it, I knew good hotels that didn’t charge that sucked in a lungful of the city’s smoke and much. I asked him how much a bone specialist grime and swore I’d remember to appreciate charged to look at a patient.

36 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine “Five dollars a peek, if you get the best.” jewels. “How about a brain specialist?” “What’s his last name?” “Oh, ho. We only got one. He gets eight per “Careful. You’re dealing with Frankie Fenton.” peek, maybe more.” “I’m looking for a college boy, not a Fifth Av- “I’ll get back to you, ” I told Isaacs. enue crook.” I paused outside on the sidewalk, trying to “Frankie is Jules’ father.” think of some way to get the money Chet need- Frankie was indeed a man to take care with, ed for good care at the hospital. If he was on for the Mob took very good care of Frankie. He the street, he could earn in ten minutes what it was the first known to have attended Princeton took to pay a whole day’s bills. If, if, if. Could I on a Mob scholarship, where he studied credo it? No, not a hope. It took an artist and I ative accounting and within a week of gradua- wasn’t even a hack. tion was magically able to afford Fifth Avenue So I tried thinking of how to find his attacker. digs for his tax accounting firm. If I could lay hands on him I’d squeeze until he I told Callahan I’d settle for finding son Jules. paid Chet’s bills. But dozens, maybe a couple of He said that wouldn’t be too hard. “Just get hundred boys wore Princton football sweaters. here soon after a fight at the Garden. He has a Go to the repository of arcane information, I habit of drinking too much and trying to emu- told myself—Sergeant Callahan, the city’s walk- late the men in the ring with anyone at hand, ing, talking encyclopedia. If anyone could fit then wind up here. But don’t dawdle. Frankie’s the few pieces I had into a portrait of Chet’s at- lawyers arrive immediately after if not sooner, a tacker, it was Sarge. And he could be conve- writ of habeas corpus in hand to spring the boy niently found every day at the 83rd precinct post-haste and ipso facto. ’Tis wonderful what house, just one block from Madison Square a father’s love can do.” Garden. I asked him what that was code for. “Lad, you must know only high-priced law- Sergeant Callahan had his feet up on the Charge yers can get a judge out of bed in the wee Desk and his nose in The New York Times when hours and, ahem, persuade him to issue a writ. I walked in. He glanced around the paper, said, The boy would get out just as surely at a bail “We’re closed for the day, unless you’ve stopped hearing in the morning, but that would mean in with a bribe, in which case put it on the desk. his name and the name of whoever bailed him And next time have your sister bring it in.” Then: out would appear on a prosecutor’s list, a court “Oh, it’s you.” clerk’s records, and a judge’s docket. Frankie “Glad to see you, too,” I said. “Know any Princ- knows reporters check those records assidu- eton football players who go to the fights?” ously and attend bail hearings in hopes of find- He smiled broadly. “Why?” ing a name such as Fenton to build headlines “I want to talk to one who would be inclined around.” to beat an old man to within an inch of his life.” “So what? Teach the boy a lesson.” His smile grew broader. “And what am I of- “And send Frankie’s dreams of disporting fered?” himself among the bluebloods up in smoke. “My undying gratitude.” For years he’s been building a rep as law-abid- “Ah, I know just where I’ll put that.” ing, hoping to rise in social circles. He’s at the “All right, a drink.” front of the line with checkbook in hand for ev- “Now you’re talking. I should have thought ery charity ball and yacht raffle. A son who of it myself. Well, let’s see,” and he rattled off a makes hooligan headlines would not fit the im- few names. Among them I thought I heard age, so he gets the boy the fastest and most “jewels.” discreet justice money can buy.” “Did you say jewels?” “What every red-blooded college boy wants.” “Jules. Not jewels. Like Julian.” “Not as much as this,” Callahan said, turning Dawn broke. Chet had been saying Jules, not the newspaper to me and pointing to an item

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 37 on the Society Page headlined, “Willborns to He actually said that?” Tour Greek Islands.” The story said Mr. and Mrs. “Yes.” Hollings W. Willborn of Highland Woods, New “That dirty, low-down, cheap, rotten, son of—” Jersey, and daughter Shirley would sail aboard “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to cause any their 145-foot yacht on a tour of islands in the trouble. Did I do something wrong?” Aegean Sea following the young lady’s gradua- “No, you did something right. You just don’t tion from Princeton June 6th. understand. But how could you? How could “You think the boy wants to tour the Greek anybody? Listen, my father paid that deposit, islands?” I asked. so it should go back to him, not that dirty, rot- “Wants what will be on that boat—the beau- ten, conniving—” teous Miss Willborn. Whose hand he won only “Heh, heh. I guess you’re a little steamed at three weeks ago according to a story in this him. Calling off the wedding and all, I guess I very paper. Mr. and Mrs. Willborn were proud to would be too if I was in your—” announce the engagement of their darling and “What? Did he tell you that? That he called her impending wedding June seventh to Julian off the wedding? He did not call off the wed- Fenton. A match that no doubt brought tears of ding. I did. And my father did, and my mother joy to Frankie Fenton’s eyes. But today we see did. And you want to know why? I’ll tell you the young miss is going to the far side of the why. We found out the engagement ring he world without mention of Julian joining the gave me was paste. Fake. Phony. Like him.” cruise. Doesn’t sound like much of a honey- I thanked her, hung up and clapped my moon for him, does it?” hands with glee. Few things are as satisfying as I didn’t answer. Dawn was breaking again. I a long-shot hunch coming through. asked, “When did you say that announcement appeared?” I went to my office and called Isaacs at Bellevue, “Three weeks ago, thereabouts.” told him to expect a big check that afternoon “Callahan, you’re a wonder. You gave me the and what to do with it. Then I wrote notes for who, I think the why, and possibly—just possi- my next phone call and gave my secretary, Ella, bly—the how.” her lines for the upcoming suspense drama. “What are you talking about? And where are I told the phone receptionist at the ofﬁces of you hurrying off to?” Fenton, Abrams, Vasser & Donnelly I was Mal- “To the library,” I said. “To read that announce- colm Martin, publisher and editor of the Man- ment.” hattan Mirror newspaper, and that we were go- “Don’t you believe what I just told you?” ing to print a story that afternoon about Julian “Of course, that’s why I want to read it. Fenton having injured someone in an alterca- A few minutes in the library’s newspaper tion. stacks and I had the details I needed—the As I had hoped, Frankie Fenton got on the name of the bride-to-be’s Princeton sorority phone blustering and sputtering. A man con- and where the wedding reception was to be fronted with the unexpected doesn’t think held. I phoned her at the sorority house and in- straight. troduced myself as Paul Ross in the office of the “You’ll be sorry you ever tried to blackmail Fox Hills Hunt Club. “I just got a call from a Mr. me,” he raged. “My lawyers are on the way to Julian Fenton,” I said, “asking about the return the courthouse right now to ﬁle suit.” of the deposit on our club’s facility for your You control the other guy’s mind when you June seventh wedding, and I wanted to ask—” control the conversation. A gasp on the other end. “What did you say?” “There’s a misunderstanding,” I said. “I called I repeated, and added, “You see, I understand not because I want to print the story but to the wedding isn’t going forward, but I have to keep it from being printed—with your help. check because—” You see—” “He asked you to return the deposit to him? “Never heard of you or your rag.”

38 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine “Understandable. We’re new, our first edition we don’t publish it, and they’ll keep on sending came out three days ago. We’re a bi-weekly it till it is published.” right now, serving mainly the Upper East Side, “Not one cent. I will not stand for—” but we have the backing of some top people in “I understand that. Now, I immediately saw New York, and we’re going to be one of the an opportunity to do the hospital good, the city’s major dailies soon. Our board of directors doctors some good, and you some good. You’re includes politicians, society leaders, philanthro- going to come out of this ahead. What do the pists. I’m sure you would recognize many of the doctors want? What do the patients want? Bet- names.” ter medical care. Not somebody’s reputation “I’ll call you back. Gimme your number.” ruined. Passing along a story that harms you or “What? Mr. Fenton, I’m on deadline and—” I your son wouldn’t do anybody any good.” had also hoped for something like this. “Cut the crap.” “Gimme your number and hang up.” “Listen, this is a golden opportunity to be- I did and told Ella, “You’re on, babe.” When come one of the most admired men in the city, the phone rang seconds later, she answered the whole state. Maybe the nation. Imagine with, Manhattan Mirror, How may I direct your what an impact you could have if you began call? …Just a minute, I’ll connect you.” the campaign for what we’ll call the Fenton I picked up. “Hello. Malcom Martin, Manhat- Medical Foundation. A way to inspire others to tan Mirror.” give. I’ve already checked and the hospital will “Listen, you,” Fenton said, “I know people who be happy to have your name on the founda- take care of guys like you. Know what I mean?” tion. You would be an inspiration to others and “Of course, of course. Just listen for a minute help bring in donations. Someday, the Fenton and I think I can help you and everybody else Medical Foundation could be as famous as the avoid any, uh, awkwardness—” Ford Foundation, the Rockefeller Foundation.” “You got thirty seconds” “How do I know this letter won’t wind up in “I barely have that much time myself.” the newspapers anyhow?” Take your chance now, mister, I’m in a hurry. “I’ve already spoken to the doctors. They’ve I said, “This story came in from a group of given me till five o’clock, just one hour from doctors at Bellevue Hospital. It’s a long letter now. They’ll forget the letter if something is describing the squalid conditions in the frac- done for the indigent fracture patients. Why ture ward. It tells about a patient there who would they want anything else?” represents a lot of the others, people with no “If my friends come over there, you might fall money, who have to accept whatever care they out the window.” get after the paying patients have been taken “And the doctors would send their letter to care of.” another newspaper, and another, until one “This has nothing to do with me.” publishes it.” Keep talking. “My friends can deal with doctors, too.” “I think you’ll see it has a great deal to do “If they can find them. How will they know with you and in the end can benefit you great- who the doctors are? How many there are? ly. You see, this patient told the doctors he was Who might step in if this group can’t carry the assaulted by someone, your son, he claims, and job on?” suffered several broken bones, at least one con- “What about this patient?” cussion—” “He lapsed into a deeper coma and isn’t ex- “My son would not do such a thing. I’ll sue pected to make it through the night. That’s you for slander, libel, attempted extortion—” what drove the doctors to write the letter. Now, “If you’ll just let me explain. I am trying to do I must tell you, the leader of the bunch is a little something here that will bring some good out hot-headed—” of what could be a bad situation. The doctors “How do I know you or they won’t try to hold say they will send the letter to another paper if me up again?”

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 39 “You’ll still have every option open to you It took quite a while, but Chet, who had not then that you have now—using your powerful lapsed into a coma, recovered, and soon there- friends on me, suing me and my paper out of after was back to making the visits of double D existence. But think what happens if you don’t tourists memorable. do as I’m suggesting? You know these docs will I went to check out the fracture ward a cou- keep trying. Take the choice I’m offering you ple of weeks after Chet’s recovery and found it and you become a famous, admired benefactor was gone. In its place were clean, freshly deco- of the poor.” rated and furnished quarters with air condi- Silence on the other end. I was afraid I’d over- tioning. Doctors and nurses bustled about. I played him. Then, “How much do these quacks stopped Doris, now wearing a nurse’s cap and want?” insignia, and asked if she knew how it had all “An endowment of twenty thousand would come about. get the Fenton Medical Foundation off to a “All I know is one day a crew came in, put in great—” windows, cleaned everything, walls, floor, ceil- “Five,” he said. ing. Remodeled the whole place. And put that “Make it ten. I think the doctors will consider little plaque up there.” She pointed to a brass that a significant contribution, show your heart plate over the door that said, “The Fenton Med- is in the right place. Here’s what you need to do ical Foundation, founded June 1949.” right away, before the hospital’s business office Doris went on. “But nobody I know calls it closes and before I have to put the paper to that. It’s Harmon’s Haven. He comes in with bed. Send a check to the hospital by messen- handfuls of money every few days and spreads ger, payable to the Fenton Medical Foundation. it around to patients, doctors, nurses, anyone You want it to go to the hospital business man- here. And, now if you will excuse me.” ager, a Mr. Isaacs. Once he has it, I won’t have to Isaacs in the business office said the first do- publish this letter and the doctors won’t have nation from Fenton was followed in a few days any reason to send it to any other newspaper. by a trickle that became a stream and then a But hurry, because—” river. “It’s funny, the names on the checks are “All right. I know when I’m being held up. I’m from two distinct groups, the upper crust and going to send a check for seven thousand. If people the newspapers say are from the un- you or the doctors or the patient or anyone derworld. What would those two groups have else ever tells this story to anyone and it gets in common?” out, you and your newspaper will meet with Sergeant Callahan told me about a year later some significant disappointments, that patient the Fenton kid wasn’t showing up on fight will wish he’d died in his sleep if he ever wakes nights anymore. “And the word I get is there’s a up, and those docs will wish they’d never heard guy named Julian Fenton doing five-to-seven of me. Understand?” in Auburn for felonious assault. But it’s got to “Of course. But hurry, we don’t have much—” be somebody else with the same name, doesn’t “All right, all right.” it? Our Julian’s father could surely buy him out “And one more thing—tell your clients and of a charge like that.” friends what a great tax deduction contribu- “Yeah, I guess he could,” I said. “If he wanted tions to the Fenton Medical Foundation would to.” be.” I hung up and hustled over to Bellevue to Bob Iles is the author of a book of short stories watch from a distance as a messenger deliv- about Private Investigator Peter B. Bruck, a novel, ered an envelope to Isaacs, saw his eyes light a short novel in an Eppie-winning anthology, and up when he opened it. He signed a receipt for a prize-winning stage play. He lives on the out- the messenger, then danced around his desk skirts of Olathe, Kansas, listening to the frogs, the with the check before running off to put it in hogs and the dogs until his muse speaks. the day’s deposit bag.

40 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 41 >> Buddy thought he had it all sewed up...until blood gave up its secrets...with a little help from a friend! R. B. Sweets B. R. Copyright © Blood Secrets R. B. Swets Blood Secrets

couldn’t stop him. I know she tried. Buddy still has the scars. He killed her, too, you know. Nobody did anything about Mother. But me, well, that’s a different story. When the cops got to the house, a big hand reached down and cuddled me up from the 2006 Teresa Tunaley Teresa 2006 blood-sticky carpet, whispering old songs into my ears. He wrapped me up in a warm blanket, and I rode somewhere in a huge ﬂashing loud

Illustration Illustration Buddy drove a truck. A big red black-wheeled double-cabbed behemoth of a truck. When ’d been dead for an hour by the time the cops they drove me out of the front yard, we passed Igot to the house. Bleeding all over the clean the truck. A big meaty cop had Buddy spread- white carpets. Leave it to Buddy to make a eagled against the cab, patting him down in mess. Never could do anything right. places even his momma hadn’t seen in years. They say confession is good for the soul. Well, I smiled through my pain, knowing he was they’d be wrong. Confessing ain’t what I’m do- gonna get his. They’d ﬁnd my Mother in the ing here. I shouldn’t oughta be able to do it, ei- basement, they’d match him to the crime, and ther. After all, I died. They all said I died. Died be- the truth would be out. fore my time. The truth is always out there, you see. All you Last thing I remember hearing was Buddy gotta do is make it come screaming and kick- screaming at the top of his lungs. The cops had ing into the light. him by the arms by that time. Don’t know how I did that. Me myself alone my lonesome. I heard him. After all, as I keep telling you, I’d When Buddy came home from the garage been dead for at least an hour. the night before, he’d smelled of liquor and ci- First thing I remember is the smell of my gar smoke, and a scent I’d never felt before. mother, holding me close, singing in my ears. Some exotic something or other that had his Safe, warm, at home, fed and snuggled up in face stretched into a grin that would frighten her embrace. That didn’t last long enough to the dead. my liking. Wasn’t long before Buddy came into I was sleeping on the front porch in the old the picture, snatching me out of Mother’s arms, white rocking chair, my favorite spot of all the holding me up against his big stomach, whin- spots in that ancient creaking house of his. ing how I were his, not nobody else’s. Mother He came up the front walk, saw me, and

42 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine stopped dead in his tracks. He frowned, mum- other room. bling something under his breath. I sneaked out of the pantry and made it Next thing I knew he’d jerked me up out of through the door behind him before it slanted the rocking chair without so much as a by your closed. I ran for the hidey hole behind the leave, or “I’m sorry.” Dragged me down the hall- couch. Funny thing, he never heard me. Guess way into the back storage bedroom, threw me he was concentrating too hard on his task. across the bed and locked the bolt on the All I could see from behind the couch were door. his feet, shuffling back and forth, and the liquid I got up from the chenille spread and stalked of the Clorox pouring over the carpet. Buddy over to the door, trying to hear what happened kept muttering something about cleaning up on the other side. the evidence. He’d left the house again, that much I could I couldn’t let that happen. Not again. I’d make tell. When his footsteps headed back toward damn sure he got caught this time. me, they were heavier, dragging, like he had the So, when I heard his old truck start up in the weight of the world on his shoulders. driveway, I snuck out from behind the couch I heard him stop just outside the door and and walked over to the bleeding body. It thought as hard as I could, “Buddy, open the weren’t nobody I knew, but I knew if I got some door. Please, Buddy, open the door!” But of of it on me, the evidence wouldn’t go away that course he couldn’t hear me. Never did have easy. good hearing that one. Not Buddy. No siree. Problem was, Buddy came back. Seems the So I put Plan B into effect. Walked over to the truck didn’t stay started. He stomped into the windowsill and creaked it up a few more inch- living room, glanced over at his handiwork, and es. The old house had secrets, it did, one of them saw me standing there. being this window never were shut all the way. He screamed. Words I didn’t know he knew Couldn’t close it if you were The Hulk. came spewing out of his mouth. I squeezed through the opening and sneaked “You bastard! I thought I locked you up in the along the roof’s edge, being careful not to slip. spare room! How the hell?!” Didn’t want to die before I got back into the He reached down to grab me so I bit him and house to see what he was up to. dug my claws into his arm. He never saw me come back inside. That’s when he hit me with his fist, and that’s But I was there. Peeking through the crack when I started to die. between the edge of the kitchen door and the He threw me down on the floor and straight- living room. Seeing him standing there over a ened up all of a sudden. bleeding body. As my hearing faded away, I could hear the Buddy’s breath came in hard sucking sounds, sound of wailing coming closer and closer. Si- and that’s when I noticed he were crying, like a rens. Lots of em. little boy. “Why’d you have ta fight me? Why’d So that’s how I ended up covered in blood, ly- you have to make me go and do this?” ing on the carpet in the middle of Buddy Harp- I pulled my sight away from the crack in the er’s living room. door just in time, sneaking over behind the When they got me to the hospital, one of the pantry door, sliding it closed barely two sec- doctors yelled out, “Hey, what’s this damn cat onds before Buddy came barreling into the doing here?” kitchen. And the cop who held me said, “He’s our best What little light there was helped me see him witness. I want every bit of blood off him you scrambling around under the sink. He pulled can get, you hear me? And you’d better save his out a bottle of dish detergent then threw it into life, or I’m gonna have your medical license!” the sink. Next thing he dragged out was the So the doctors saved my life, and the blood bottle of Clorox. That he kept, grabbing it in evidence, along with some not so small chunks one meaty fist and scrambling back into the of my fur, ended up being prime evidence in

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 43 the trial of Buddy Harper for the ﬁrst degree murder and rape of Blaze Carpenter, a local hooker. And the cop? Well, he feeds me the best from his table, and his wife, well, she’s quite a looker. There’s a baby on the way, and yea, I like it here. And yea, they found my momma’s body buried in the basement along with the tiny carcasses of my litter mates. Next to that were the bodies of Buddy’s momma and daddy, who everybody thought had retired and moved to Flori- da years ago. Mack, that’s the cop, says I got a home here long as I want. He’s also making damn sure I keep the last eight of my nine lives. After all, being a cat detective ain’t easy. Sometimes you gotta get bloody.

R. B. Swets has been writing for publication since the age of eight. Her ﬁrst published mystery story was “Christmas Blues” in the December, 2002 issue of FMAM. R B is a member of MWA-Florida, Short Mystery Fiction Society, and is the Music Director at Boca West Community UMC in Boca Raton.

PROPHECY: THE AWAKENING by Ardy M. Scott hat if you had to share your consciousness with Wa benign, but ancient being on a mission? hat if you had to make life or death decisions Wwith sketchy knowledge of the issues at stake?

hat if the balance between Light and Dark Whas shifted — giving Dark the upper hand?

The answers can be found in “Prophecy: The Awakening” and a New Age realm where the inhabitants travel astral ISBN: 1-931201-32-3 New Age Available from Twilight Times Books planes, converse with the gods and use computers to unite http://twilighttimesbooks.com/ their efforts.

44 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine >> For some people marital problems lead to divorce. For others... Neil Davies Copyright © The Perfect Marriage Neil Davies The Perfect Marriage 2006 Teri Santitoro Teri 2006 Copyright © Copyright Illustration Illustration

3rd March, 11:30pm Okay, some details then. For a start I doubt she’d give me a divorce. She relies too much on don’t think I can pinpoint exactly when I de- my salary. Second, I couldn’t afford a divorce. Icided to kill my wife. The way this country is, she’d get more of my You see, I think it’s an idea that’s been grow- money than I would. ing for some time, an idea whose time has No, sorry. My mind’s made up. Like I say, don’t come, so to speak. All couples argue, true. All know exactly when it happened but it’s hap- couples hate each other at times, also true. But pened. when it gets to the stage we’re at now, where She has to die. how I feel about her is so strong, so overwhelming, so hateful.... Well, murder seems the best 5th March, 10:45pm way out of things. I know what you’re thinking. Why not divorce I hate coming home! like other couples do? Why go to this extreme? Work’s bad enough with people putting on Without going into details let me say one me all day, but walk through the front door at word. Money. the end of the day and it starts.....nagging,

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 45 shouting, swearing. out the door in a fit of pique? The house is a tip. I’m out at work all day, she’s Anyway, time for plan B. It’s quiet here at in the house or round at her friends’ houses, so work at the moment. Gives me time to think. I whose fault is it that the house isn’t clean? Mine already have an idea. Electrocution. of course! Everything’s my fault as far as she’s How do I make sure I don’t get electrocuted concerned. instead? By a bit of clever mis-wiring on the I’ve had another day to think about it and I vacuum cleaner, of course. Her mother’s due to haven’t changed my mind. Now all I have to do visit day after tomorrow which means tomor- is think of a way to do it. row she’ll be cleaning up the house because if there’s one thing we agree on it’s how irritating 6th March, 6:10pm her mother’s “holier-than-thou” attitude towards house cleanliness is! A visit from her Wonder if the police can trace things back to mother is one of the few times she does clean the shops like in the movies? I bought the rat the house. poison with cash; I’m not stupid enough to use A chance I might use the vacuum first? Don’t a cheque or credit card, too easily traced. Still, I make me laugh! That’s woman’s work that is. wonder how clever they are these days I’m out earning money, she cleans the house.... Anyway, tonight’s the night. I’ve offered to well, she should but she doesn’t. That’s one of make the evening meal, something I do occa- the reasons I’m doing this! sionally so she’s not suspicious about that. A good proportion of rat poison in her chicken 8th March, 10:00am should do the trick, and I can be one grieving widower cursing the lack of care in supermar- It’s painful this excitement, waiting for the ket food preparation and blaming general lack phone to ring, preparing myself for the perfor- of standards for food poisoning. mance of the century as I take the news of my I’m shaking with the excitement. Not easy to wife’s demise. cook like this, but I’ll manage. Yes, I did some rewiring last night and everything’s ready to go. 8:00pm Hang on. Who’s going to phone? God, I’m stupid sometimes. No one will know she’s dead Damn! until I get home and “discover” the body. Just when exactly did she turn vegetarian? No problem, just need to refine the act slight- I have had to sit there watching my freedom ly and make a sobbing phone call to the police. being scraped off the plate and thrown out the No, maybe the ambulance would be better, af- door. An argument followed, of course. I never ter all I’m not meant to know she’s dead, partic- listened to what she said anymore! Why didn’t I ularly. Surely I’d be concerned to get her treat- take any notice of her? If I worked less and ed in case there was a chance she survived? spent more time at home I’d have known she’d Was there a chance? I doubt it, not with the job stopped eating meat! I did! Calm down. It’s not over yet. Time for another There were a couple more dead cats in the plan. garden this morning. You’d think owners would She must die! feed them occasionally so they didn’t go looking for scraps! 7th March, 9:30am 11:45pm There was a dead cat on the doorstep this morning. The electrician says it’s going to cost me over Not my fault. Well, okay, maybe it is my fault a £1000 to get the house properly checked out. bit, but how was I to know she’d throw the food Damn!

46 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine My “darling” wife? Still alive! Her mother’s fu- two. But the fact he did these killings purely by neral will be sometime next week, no doubt. accident while trying to kill me.... Well, that’s How was I to know she was going to come just too much to bear. I mean, have you ever visiting a day early and insist on cleaning up heard of such incompetence? And then leaving the house herself? Still, no great loss to the the gun where I could find it so easily? world. He deserved to die! Suppose I’d better get back down stairs and In truth, he helped me considerably in the do the comforting bit. It’s not easy you know. end. The death of my mother and his suitably Life’s hard sometimes! edited diary both covered the reasons for his “suicide” and for any erratic behaviour by me. 19th March, 12:45pm Okay, I admit bursting into laughter at his graveside was perhaps pushing it but I couldn’t It’s been a tough week, all this pretence, all help myself, and I think I got away with no more this “compassion”. At least now her mother’s in than a few pitying looks! Even the policeman the ground, I can get on with things. In fact, the investigating the whole thing put his arm whole business has given me an idea. around me and said some comforting words. I’m tired of subtlety. Time for something I don’t think I’ll be looking for anyone to re- more direct. place my dear departed husband –not for quite I’ve “borrowed” a gun and some bullets from some time anyway. Time to enjoy my freedom. a friend of ours who’s in a local gun club. He Coming here to the Caribbean is just the start. won’t miss it until it’s all over. Just look at how blue that sea is! Poor Susan, so depressed at losing her moth- Guess all those years of “happy” marriage fi- er, especially through an accident right in front nally paid off. of her. Guess she couldn’t handle it, decided to end it all. She must have stolen the gun earlier Neil Davies lives in the North West of England with in the evening when we were round at our his wife and two children and works with comput- friend’s having a quiet drink to try to forget the ers. In the past year he has had stories published last few days. I never saw it coming, honest. on several websites, including the winning story Well, that’s what I’ll tell the police anyway. in the oncewritten.com Halloween competition, Where did I put the gun? I was sure I hid it in and is awaiting the publication, later this year, the bedside drawer. Must be getting forgetful of his first novel, a science fiction detective story with all the stress. Damn, here she is as well, entitled A World Of Assassins. coming up the stairs. This was meant to be the ideal time. Everyone knows I work late in my “home office” while she comes to bed on her own. Where the hell did I put it?

22nd June, 10:20am

I don’t think I can pinpoint exactly when I decided to kill my husband. I’m not even sure now whether it was before I found his diary or after, it just seems an idea that should have been there all along. Whether it was or not seems irrelevant. I can almost forgive him for killing my mother, she did tend to interfere and get in the way, and maybe even for the cats, although for some strange reason that seems the harder of the

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 47 >> Pretending to be Sam Spade can get you into trouble. Arthur CareyC. Copyright © The Frisco Frame Arthur C. Carey Frisco Frame The 2006 Laura Givens 2006 Laura Copyright © Copyright Illustration Illustration

asy on the smelling salts,” a voice said. The speaker, a sallow-faced, gray-haired man, “E“Help him up.” sounded bored. He wore rumpled tan pants Just above the thick weave of the carpet, I and a dark brown wool sports jacket, the kind saw a pair of expensive brown leather shoes usually on sale for $99 at Macy’s on holiday wavering like road tar under an August sun. weekends. Who wears imported English leather Strong arms jerked me up and shoved me deep shoes and cheap sports jackets? into a chair. “What.” A tsunami of pain washed up in the “Feeling better? I’m Detective Myron Feld- back of my head. I ﬂinched and put up a hand. stein—Homicide.” Like my vision, my mind began to clear.

48 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine “Mr. Sloan,” he said impatiently. talk at greater length, Mr. ...Dr. Sloan. Not here, “Dr. Sloan,” I corrected. “Dr. Charles Sloan.” I though.” hadn’t spent three years getting a Ph.D. in Eng- The “not here” the detective mentioned lish at USC and gone $17,000 in debt to be Mr. turned out to be police headquarters, and I Anybody! spent the night answering questions. Feldstein “Okay, Dr. Sloan,” he continued, unruffled. He had a partner, a buzz-cut, whiskey-voiced guy flipped open a notebook. “The 911 dispatcher who acted as if he wouldn’t believe his own got a frantic call from a Marion Munson. She mother. They played good cop, bad cop, and said her husband had been shot to death. When when that didn’t work, wore me down with the police got here, they found the husband clouds of cigarette smoke, sarcasm, disbelief, dead on the floor and you unconscious beside exhaustion, and repetitive questions, rephrased him.” just enough to trap me into conflicting an- He paused, waiting for a reaction, and then swers. continued. “She said you and she had been hav- At 5 a.m., they gave up and I was escorted to ing an affair, and her husband came home un- a sterile, one-room apartment with ample ven- expectedly. When he got a gun out of the bed- tilation but no view and no privacy. I had never room, you wrestled it away from him and killed been in a cell before. The walls pressed in on him. She said she whacked you with an ash- me, and I recalled bitterly the first time I laid tray.” He nodded to a plastic bag containing a eyes on Marion Munson. She played me for a heavy glass object on the top of the bar. “It’s sucker from the beginning. got blood on it. We’ll see if it’s yours.” I touched the back of my head again and It was a brisk summer day in Frisco—as trans- winced. A Fourth of July’s worth of rockets ex- planted Midwesterners like myself call San ploded before my eyes. Francisco, to the chagrin of natives. I was con- The detective fell silent while a medic cluding one of the tours I lead, retracing the fic- checked the back of my head and waved three tional path of Sam Spade, Dashiell Hammett’s fingers in my face. When my finger count unforgettable sleuth in The Maltese Falcon. The matched his, he said, “no concussion,” took a last stop was lunch at Spade’s favorite restau- blood sample, and left. rant, John’s Grill on Ellis Street. On the menu “Where’s Mrs. Munson?” I asked, still shaky. for only $26.95 is Spade’s usual meal of chops, “Why would she say we were having an affair?” baked potato, and sliced tomato. You can top “Mrs. Munson?” The detective raised an eye- it off with a too-sweet (at least for me) Bloody brow. “She’s resting in a bedroom. Still upset Brigid (vodka, grenadine, and soda over crushed over the death of her husband.” He gave me ice). I usually settle for the seafood cioppino à la the eye. “Did you kill him? An accident? Self-de- marinara and a glass of good Chardonnay; but fense, maybe?” Warmth and understanding for this occasion, I had ordered a Brigid, named flooded his voice but didn’t reach his eyes. after the treacherous, whiny wench Mary Astor “She’s a beautiful woman and I can understand played in the third film version of The Maltese if…” Falcon. “No, I didn’t kill him! She gave me a drink… Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a detective. I’m bourbon, I think. It must have been drugged. an English professor at San Francisco Universi- You can test it.” ty. As much as I admire Shakespeare’s sonnets, He gestured to a second plastic bag on the I’m really hooked on detective stories, and I bar top, this one holding a glass. “That glass teach a class about how to write them. Or, at smelled like gin. We’ll see about drugs after least try to write them. your blood is tested.” To pay my dues at the gym, I lead Saturday “Then she washed it out and refilled it! I was walks for mystery story aficionados. I introduce drinking bourbon!” them to locations in the city immortalized in He frowned at me and stood. “We need to “who-dun-its.” When I show up, I suspect some

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 49 members of my audience are disappointed. Her voice rang dully, like a fork dropped on the They probably expect to see a tall, pipe-smok- floor—flat, tuneless.) ing Sherlock Holmes look-alike, tricked out in a I stammered. “I’m sorry, what did you say? I deer-stalker hat and checkered great coat. Ac- must have misheard you. I thought you said tually, I thought about doing just that; but it’s your husband is planning to kill you.” pretty hard to pull off when you’re a 5-foot, 10- “That’s what I said! My husband is planning inch, African-American body-builder in his 30s to murder me!” She swallowed. “My name is who wears an earring. Marion Munson.” On that Saturday, as members of my tour Munson. Munson. The name almost rang a group filtered out of the restaurant, Marion bell, but I couldn’t put a face to it. Especially her Munson walked up. Sam Spade would proba- face: high, curved cheekbones, limpid green bly have described her as ”a blonde bombshell, eyes, blonde hair framing a heart-shaped face. the munitions nicely packaged but clearly le- Not a former student. If she’d been one of my thal.” students, I’d have remembered her, no ques- As I often do, struggling to re-create Spade’s tion about it. cynical mindset, I tried to put myself in his “Perhaps my husband’s name will be more scuffed brown shoes. What would he have familiar,” she suggested. “He’s Charlie ‘Have I thought? got a deal for you!’ Munson.” (Spade knew right away she was trouble with a Well, she had that right. You couldn’t turn on capital T, wreathed in a cloud of gray smoke drift- a cable TV channel without seeing the beam- ing his way like fog off the bay. She looked at him ing face of good-time Charlie Munson, owner coolly, like a discriminating diner selecting a live of Tri-City Autorama. With outlets all over the lobster from a tank at an expensive restaurant. Bay Area, he constantly exhorted TV viewers to Her eyes, wary as a cat’s, teased him. “Mr. Spade.”) “drive on down and we’ll make you a deal you Actually, she wore a white blouse, stone- can’t refuse!” washed jeans, nylon jacket, Nikes, and carried a “Have you called the police?” It was all I could shoulder bag with a water bottle stuffed in a think to say. mesh pocket. “It’s not that simple.” She dabbed at her eyes “Dr. Sloan,” she said, swallowing nervously. “I with a tissue. “He has another woman. He says need your help.” he’ll kill me if I don’t give him a divorce.” The last members of the tour, stuffed with I shook my head. “I don’t know how I can help sourdough bread and good fellowship, trickled you. I’m not a detective. I told you that at the down the stairs from the grill’s banquet room, start of the tour.” where they had been admiring the photos and “I know that,” she sniffed, “but perhaps you other Hammett memorabilia on the walls. Nurs- could recommend someone who could help ing sore feet, they faced souvenir shopping, a me.” train ride home to the East Bay, or threading (Spade lit a cigarette, the molten glow crawling their way to the hotels on Nob Hill through the slowly up the paper cylinder. He studied her. He resident crazies and panhandlers on Market could use the money, but something about her Street. raised storm warnings. “Why me?” he said bluntly. “My husband is planning to murder me,” she “The cops do this sort of thing for free.”) continued, voice trembling. “Excuse me,” Mrs. Munson said, jerking me Wow! Now how, I wondered, would Sam back to the present. “I forgot something. I’ll be Spade have handled THAT? right back.” She vanished up the stairs toward (Her eyes, bottomless pits of pure jade, held the banquet area. When she returned, her Spade’s. He had the feeling she had sized him up, shoulder bag bulging, I wrote down the name totaled the pluses and minuses, and decided he and telephone number of the detective I turn was the only game in town—at least for now. “My to for technical advice and gave it to her. husband is planning to kill me,” she said evenly. Of all the writers who have made San Francisco

50 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine the locale for their stories, my favorite is Ham- low, a neon sign with a broken bulb flashed mo- mett, author of The Falcon and The Thin Man. notonously over the entrance to a bar, painting Trying to decipher clues to locations he re- his sparsely furnished apartment in alternating ferred to in Falcon is fun. Even today, you still bands of red and white. He gripped the telephone can trace much of Sam Spade’s gritty path to receiver and sighed. “Call the police, lady. They’ll truth and disillusionment. come. That’s what they get paid for.” After we complete our trek of the mean “Please,” the terrified voice continued. “My rep- streets of San Francisco, and I have finished utation will be ruined. I’ll pay you whatever you talking over the cacophony of shrieking sirens, ask!” blaring horns, screeching brakes and revved- Spade looked regretfully at the half-empty up engines, I like to pose a simple question: glass of rum on the table. He brushed aside the What’s the last line uttered in the best known Examiner sports page on which he’d been handi- film version of the Maltese Falcon? capping tomorrow’s race card at Bay Meadows. Most people jump on the movie’s most fa- Why couldn’t people get in trouble during the mous line, the one where Humphrey Bogart day? gazes at the statue and describes it as “the stuff “Lock the door,” he said. “I’ll be right over. Have that dreams are made of.” Bad guess. The final your checkbook handy.” line is provided by gruff, burly Ward Bond, who He hung up, jiggled the headset again, and looks quizzically at the black bird containing called Yellow Cab.) gold and jewels. His less than memorable ob- “Really, Mrs. Munson, you must call the po- servation: “Huh?” lice,” I said, firmly. “All right. I will. I will. But please come and A week had passed after Marion Munson’s help me! You’re the only one I could think of to shocking announcement. I taught my classes call!” at the university and almost forgot about her. Flattering, but still no sale. “I’m sorry,” I said, Almost, but not quite. Every time one of her “but….” husband’s commercials appeared on televi- “Please,” she pleaded, “I’ll get all my friends to sion, I wondered what happened to her. Those take your tour.... I promise!” green eyes and chiseled features resurfaced in Now THAT was another story. I charged $50 a my mind whenever I walked behind a slender head for a walk and talk. “Where are you?” woman with blonde hair. “On the 11th floor of the Emory Towers. Late one night, as I read my students’ feeble Apartment 1153. Hurry!” efforts at creativity, I wondered—not for the (Spade put on a green tie to go with a green- first time—why I did this for a living. Most of striped white shirt, shrugged into a rumpled gray the plots, implausible at best, involved incredi- suit coat, picked up his hat, and went outside to bly astute observations by detectives who wait for the cab. On the building’s Z-shaped, rust- would have put Charlie Chan or Colombo to ing fire escape, pigeons cooed softly in the dank shame. If that didn’t work, deus ex machina, the evening air.) always dependable and invisible hand of fate, I grabbed my San Francisco 49ers jacket and resolved all difficulties. I groaned at the wood- dashed out the door. I jumped into my dinged en characterizations and stilted dialog. And and dented Honda Civic and roared off. The then the phone rang. Emory Towers stood on a hill overlooking San Marion Munson, agitated and almost inco- Francisco Bay, part of an expensive condo de- herent, spoke frantically. “Professor Sloan! velopment near Pacific Heights. Pricey digs. I Please, you’ve got to help me. My husband has hoped Mrs. Munson’s husband didn’t return been drinking. He’s threatened to kill me!” she while I was hunting for a parking space among sobbed. “I’m in the bedroom, afraid to come the BMWs, Jags, Lexuses, and Hummers. out. He went out, but he’ll be back!” Unluckily for me, parking near the Towers (Spade stared out the window. On the street be- was harder to find than an unused elliptical

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 51 trainer at the gym on Saturday morning. The wondered how Spade would have handled hell with it. I double parked. If I got lucky, I’d be this. out before the car got towed. (“Where is your husband?” Spade repeated. She jerked open the door before my second Red-rimmed eyes held his fearfully. “He…he… knock. Mascara dripped from her lovely eyes, ran out, but he’ll be back! I know he will!” and she clutched a handkerchief tightly in “Did you call the police?” shaking hands. Oil paintings illuminated by tiny “No, I was afraid to. Charles….” brass lights stared at me from the walls. I al- “Spare me the tears and the lies. What’s the most tripped on the thick Persian rug as she led game, sweetheart?” me to a plush leather chair. “Where’s your hus- Her fingers gripping the tumbler turned white. band?” I asked apprehensively. “There’s no game. He said he’d be right back. Don’t She trembled in a blue chiffon negligee, the leave me! I’ll pay you well!” right strap of which had slipped off one shoul- Spade tossed his hat on the silver-edged glass der. Puffy eyes registered fear. She stumbled coffee table. “There wouldn’t happen to be bottle around a glass coffee table, knocking over a of rum in that bar behind you, would there?”) gold cigarette lighter, and half-sat, half-col- The mocking smile did it. I’d had enough. “I lapsed onto the couch. don’t believe you, Mrs. Munson. I don’t know “Where is your husband?” I repeated. what game you’re playing, but I’m not going to “He...he...left.” be part of it.” I started to get up, but suddenly I “Did you call the police?” saw two Marion Munsons. The room tilted, and She looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. I plummeted through sudden darkness. That’s Tousled blonde hair masked the black stains on all I remember. her cheeks. “I couldn’t. He said he’d kill me if I (Spade took a few belts of the smooth rum, a did.” far cry from the rot gut he usually drank and stud- I stood up. “Well, I can’t help you then.” ied her. Pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit. She seemed “Please…don’t go! Oh God, I need a drink!” relieved, no longer afraid. Her eyes taunted him. She rose unsteadily and walked over to a He put the glass down and stood up. The room chrome and walnut bar backed by a large mir- had gotten hotter, and he had trouble focusing ror. The glass created a second image of creamy, his eyes. Uh-oh. Suddenly, the floor rose and sand- lightly freckled shoulders and plunging neck- bagged him. line. I studied the row of liquor bottles behind the bar. He blinked awake and looked up at the stony “What will you have?” she said, picking up a faces of two detectives. The woman was gone; a square glass. body on the floor had been added. “I don’t want a drink. I’m leaving. I suggest The cops took him downtown to a small, bare, you call the police—now!” windowless room. They questioned him nonstop “Please. I don’t want to drink alone. I don’t for hours. want to be alone. I’m afraid. Stay for just one “We got you cold, this time, shamus,” one de- drink!” Her eyes bore into mine, but I felt no in- tective said. “Your prints are on the murder weap- clination to tumble into those bottomless on.” green depths. Spade squinted in the blinding cone of light “All right. A glass of Chardonnay. But only if bathing his face. “Yeah, they might be,” he con- you call the police!” ceded “…if the killer stuck the gun in my hand She rummaged behind the bar. “I’m sorry. when I was in dreamland from the Mickey Finn. We’re out of wine.” Tell me, boys, did you find any gunpowder residue “Okay. Make it a weak bourbon and water.” on my hands? If not, you flat feet can keep look- She made the drinks and returned. I watched ing for the killer. You bet on the wrong pony.” her take a sip and look at me calculatingly. I The two detectives exchanged silent glances.) took a swallow and then another. She smiled. I They let me call the university from jail, and I

52 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine canceled my classes until further notice, citing “I don’t see.” illness. I coughed impressively for the depart- “It was on the table with another one, a tum- ment secretary. bler,” he continued. “Hers, the one with brandy, Lunch and dinner arrived, bland and forget- was fancy cut glass, Waterford, I think. Why table. I missed John’s Grill. I would have missed would a woman make a drink in an expensive McDonald’s. Worse than the food was the bore- glass for herself and give a cheap water glass to dom. Hour after hour of it. How do inmates her lover? That raised some doubts in my mind.” stand prison? But 37 hours and 13 minutes af- He looked at me hopefully, like a parent enter my arrest, Detective Feldstein showed up. couraging a 2-year-old to recite the alphabet. “Good news, doc,” he said. “You are free to “See? It didn’t square. So I went back and leave. We won’t even put the stay on your cred- rooted around through the trash. Fortunately, it card.” it hadn’t been taken out. Guess what? I found “What.” another cut glass tumbler. This time the techies “The widow, who doesn’t seem to be griev- found traces of chloral hydrate on it along with ing a lot, has been charged with the murder. bourbon. Your story started to make sense.” Seems she had quite a track record for sleeping I was still lost. “Okay, but how did my finger around. Hubby had closed out some of her prints get on the water glass in the first place? I charge accounts and had seen a lawyer about a never touched it.” divorce. She made what the Pentagon would Feldstein nodded, as if I had gotten at least call a pre-emptive strike. You had the means the letters A through D correctly. “That’s the and opportunity,” he added, almost regretfully, question, isn’t it? But Mrs. Munson said you had “but not the motive.” come on to her at lunch after one of those mys- I started to get angry. “I told you that!” tery writer tours. My guess is she copped your Feldstein shrugged, which I did not interpret glass at John’s Grill after the lunch,” he said pa- as an apology. tiently. “Kept it and planted it in her apartment.” “Things didn’t look good for you, doc,” he He paused. “And there were other things. The said defensively. “First, you were a perfect fit for fact tests showed only a trace of gunpowder the frame—oddball prof who’s a fan of detec- residue on your hands even though the hus- tive stories. A likely candidate to try and com- band was shot at close range but showed more mit the perfect crime, probably egged on by on hers.” the gorgeous wife.” He paused. “And then some He looked bored with playing teacher to a of your prints turned up on the gun. Despite slow learner. “Finally, the lab rats in forensics what you had said, the glass on the bar with studied the gunshot wounds, just like they do your fingerprints didn’t test out for any residue on one of those TV shows. The killer had to be of a barbiturate.” Feldstein frowned. “However, left handed. You’re right handed. I noticed that there was some in your blood. That was a sur- when you touched the back of your head.” He prise.” stifled a yawn. “The lady, on the other hand, is a “So what changed your mind?” lefty.” “A couple of things. First, when you asked And then he escorted me from jail. The air where Mrs. Munson was.” He paused. “That was had never felt so fresh, the sky so blue. a strange way to refer to a woman you had been having an affair with. I decided either you A month or so later, I invited him to lunch at were a good actor or your relationship with the John’s Grill—as guest speaker. When the lun- lady wasn’t close. And then there was the glass cheon buzz ebbed, I rose, Bloody Brigid glass in you’d been drinking out of,” Feldstein said. hand, and offered a toast: “To our distinguished “Glass.” speaker, the finest detective in San Francisco, “Yes, the one we found your fingerprints on. public or private. Myron Feldstein!” It was a plain water glass, the kind you can find He blushed, actually blushed, lowering his in any restaurant in San Francisco.” eyes in modesty. Probably checking to see if all

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 53 the silverware is still there, I thought. Once a cop, package from the stool next to him. I sat down. always a cop. “How did it go?” he asked. Of course I had no idea whether Feldstein “No worries. The police still think she’s the was the best detective in the city. Nor did I care. only one involved.” If not for him, I’d still be behind bars, charged The bartender placed a glass of Chardonnay, with murder. I owed him. Napa Valley 2000, in front of me and moved to As I stood just inside the entrance to John’s the end of the bar, where he buried himself in grill, passing out business cards to departing the Chronicle sports section. tour-goers, Feldstein came down the stairs. I “I ordered for you,” the sandy-haired man followed him outside. Ellis Street overflowed said, drumming the bar top nervously with with kids wearing backpacks, parents pushing manicured finger nails. strollers, business types in dark suits. A few “It’s obvious your end went smoothly,” I said, tourists shivered in shorts, just discovering after taking a sip. Mark Twain may had been right when he wrote He nodded. “She called him at the auto deal- that the coldest winter he had ever spent had ership and said she was sick. Wanted him to been a summer in San Francisco. come home immediately. You had been out I had one last question. “Did Mrs. Munson cold about 15 minutes when he walked in the ever confess she killed her husband?” door and saw me.” Feldstein shaded his eyes from light reflect- “Surprise, surprise,” I murmured. ing off the windshields of parked cars. The high- “Charlie was even more surprised when I pitched pecking of a pneumatic drill drifted shoved the gun—in my left hand of course— from a construction site, and he waited a beat. into his stomach and shot him three times.” He “No. She’s still hanging tough. After you were shuddered. “The blood…even wearing gloves eliminated as a suspect, she tried to pin it on …it was awful.” Munson’s brother. Said the murder was his “And then.” idea.” “I handed the gun to Marion,” he continued, “Munson had a brother?” “and told her to hold it while I moved the body. “A younger brother. Lives in Oakland. A law- She was shaking worse than I was.” He drained yer, I think. Had an alibi, though. Look, I gotta his scotch and soda. “Then I took the gun and go.” He pumped my hand. “Try to stay out of put it on the floor next to you and placed your trouble, doc. And don’t play detective. Prom- right hand over it lightly. She brought out the ise?” glass from the restaurant, poured a little gin in He walked up the street, melting into the it, and emptied it. I took the tumbler with the crowd. knockout drops and told her that’d I’d dispose I wish I’d been there when the police arrest- of it. But when she wasn’t looking, I buried it in ed Mrs. Munson. Spade would have enjoyed it, the trash for the police to find.” too. “Good. Good,” I said. “No trouble getting back (Those lovely green eyes flashed bolts of light- to your apartment?” ning as they slapped the cuffs on her. Spade blew He shook his head. “No. I caught the first train a smoke ring that hung in the air briefly like a cot- back under the bay. I had chatted up the night tony life preserver and smiled. “It’s your bad luck security guard when I got home earlier that the frame didn’t fit, beautiful. Maybe you can fig- night so he’d remember me. Then I ducked out ure out how to do it right the next time—if there the delivery entrance in back, keeping the door is a next time.”) from closing with a folded piece of paper. It was I strolled down the street and entered a dim- still open when I got back. I was home when ly lit cocktail lounge. The noon rush had ended. the police called to tell me my brother had The sole customer, a sandy-haired man with been murdered. horn-rimmed glasses, looked up at my reflec- “You were properly shocked, of course.” tion in the mirror over the bar and removed a He smiled. “Of course. The next day that detec-

54 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine tive called and asked where I was the previous “Poor Marion,” he replied, a false note of sym- night, but the security guard provided me with pathy in his voice. “I’m sure she intended to an alibi.” cheat me out of a share of the estate after we He looked anxious for a moment. “Does the killed Charlie—even though it was my idea.” detective know about my late, lamented broth- “I expect so.” er’s will?” “And there would have been absolutely noth- I took another sip and liquid coolness trick- ing I could have done about it without incrimi- led down my throat. A touch of nutmeg? “Ap- nating myself. Absolutely nothing!” parently not. The subject didn’t come up.” I nodded in sympathy. Life isn’t always fair. He exhaled sharply as if a particularly nasty He raised his glass. “Well, salud! Better days exam at school had been passed successfully. lie ahead.” “Good. Then he isn’t likely to find out when I clinked my glass with his. “Did you get the Marion is convicted of murder, I’ll inherit Char- airline tickets to Cancun?” lie’s auto dealerships, worth, what did we say?” He smiled. “First class, amigo. And the beach- “Probably $6-7 million, give or take.” es should be superb. Full moon, too.” “I’d rather take!” He nudged my shoulder I put my arm about his waist and squeezed playfully. him affectionately. “It’s the stuff that dreams are I enjoyed my wine. Definitely better than a made of.” Bloody Brigid. “Feldstein said your sister-in-law Arthur C. Carey is a former newspaper reporter swears you were the killer and planned to and community college journalism instructor who frame me for the murder.” lives in California. This is his first published story.

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 55 >> Edgar and Macavity winner G. Miki Hayden clamors for social justice in the dark future of New Paciﬁc, which follows a corporate security investigator in 2031.

G. Miki Hayden Mystery Probes

MORAL JUGMENTS January - February 2006 Murder Plus ‘Issues’

Investigating and solving the mystery of murder often means drawing moral conclusions, if only in the light of non-mainstream codes (in the case of the darker subgenres). So, how do mystery writers typically view their function as arbiters of social justice? And how do they fulfill that role at a time when, as a people, we seem to be so fiercely divided as to what constitutes the “good”? “We deal with general questions of morality—right versus wrong—in everything we write, and any political issue that directly concerns our crime stories—gun laws, say, or capital punishment—is going to be examined as well,” notes author Tom Savage. “That’s a part of what we do.” Yet, says Savage, ”Mystery novels are entertainment, ﬁrst and foremost. My primary duty is to tell a good story.” Savage, the author of six novels, does, however, deal with what he calls “large” issues. “I’ve tackled stalking, for instance—and our need for stronger laws to protect us from predators. I don’t think any sane person would disagree with my stand on that.” One of his current projects is a postapocalyptic thriller, and he’s trying to keep speciﬁc politics out of his end-of-the-world scenario. “I want to provide a social portrait, as opposed to a tract. It’s not always easy, but that’s the challenge.” Savage cites The Stepford Wives, Wag the Dog, and The Da Vinci Code, as thrillers including controversial elements that wouldn’t work without those issues. “When writers stop being able to hold up mirrors to society, we will stop writing. It’s as simple as that,” Savage concludes. Author Laura Lippman, constantly nominated for every award in sight (probably because of her outstanding writing and well-wrought, idiosyncratic characters), knows the feeling. “I just happen to have a compulsion to write about the world around me and that world is Baltimore, which has its share of social problems. It’s hard to write about Baltimore without touching on the city’s concerns,” she says. Lippman emphasizes that she doesn’t editorialize and that her protagonist, Tess Monaghan, often expresses an opinion not Lippman’s own. “I weave social issues into the fabric of the story. For example, Butcher’s Hill is a mystery that’s easier to solve if you know something about

56 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine welfare policy. And the homeless often appear stick around for a while.” in my novels in the way they appear around Calling the mystery novel “the perfect vehi- Baltimore—reading at the library, offering to cle for social comment,” Connelly states, “Mys- guard one’s car on certain streets.” tery novels are very much of the moment and Lippman says her editor has been open to more easily reflect what is happening in our her handling of such themes, but also has also world right now.” been good at telling Lippman when she’s gone And how does the reader feel about mystery too far. “I don’t want to alienate any reader and novels adding this extra dimension? Insatiable I don’t ever want my views on social issues to reader (and reviewer) Sally Fellows states her overwhelm the stories,” Lippman adds. “But I position, “I like a book to have a message—if do believe that the crime novel is the closest you wish to call it that—but I don’t want it thing we have to the social novel of the early shoved down my throat. I think some of the au- 20th century. And it’s my desire to humanize thors who do it very well are Jo Bannister, Ne- those whom too many people glance past on vada Barr, Lawrence Block, Jan Burke, Barbara the street.” D’Amato, Katherine V. Forrest, Laurie R. King, Author Ken Bruen, jailed unjustly for four William Kent Krueger, Laura Lippman, Miriam months in a brutalizing prison in South Ameri- Grace Monfredo, Sara Paretsky, S. J. Rozan—es- ca, points out that mystery authors are able to pecially in Absent Friends—Karin Slaughter, Mi- serve as useful commentators on society be- nette Walters, and Stephen White. I think they cause, “We can report back from the streets, all bring social issues to my attention and then, sometimes literally.” He adds that his charac- usually, leave any solution up to me, the read- ters “are noted for their position on the very er.” bottom ring of society.” And he explains his As multiple mystery award winner Steven message is “that we’ve completely forgotten Bochco said when being handed a statuette of them.” a famous mystery writer (that Poe guy), “We as Bruen, a former teacher, also says, “Prison authors are the creators of social conscious- showed me that people are capable of fero- ness.... We are the conscience of society.” cious cruelty, and that greed, made possible by a total lack of any belief system, is the domi- nant force in the world.” The sequel to the critically-acclaimed Pacific A master of the social issue mystery, Michael Empire, New Pacific, gives a frighteningly Connelly, remarks, “Social commentary in a possible picture of the future and of the new mystery novel raises it to a higher level. I view global order. Can one corporate underling—an these books as having a role in explaining the investigator set to finding a missing scientist— world to us, showing how it works or doesn’t make any difference in what happens within work, exploring its issues and ills. I think a book humanity’s brave new world? that does this in even a small way has a significant dimension to it.” Connelly tries to incorporate geographic locations in his stories that bring the story and reader into settings and scenes where social observation and commentary will seem natural. “The trick is to finesse it in without ever being didactic,” he says. Connelly’s experience with editors is that they are very much open to this approach. “A book that packs some social commentary takes FROM SILVER LAKE PUBLISHING on the aura of importance. And all editors want HTTP://WWW.SILVERLAKEPUBLISHING.COM to work on important books, books that will

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 57 >> What’s a hit man to do when the mark turns out to be his ﬁrst love?

t would be a perfect night for a murder. I sup- something like that lying around, can we?). Ipose not many people would think like that, We met in the food court of the Cliffside Mall, but then not many people are in my line of where other people, intent on their dinner plates, work. It never seems like work to me, though; paid no attention to us. “This Friday,” the hus- each job is an intriguing challenge. Who? How? band said decisively. “Between eight and ten.” Where? And, when? And, I do so enjoy the out- It was already late Wednesday afternoon. Not come: money. Lots of money. much time to plan. I asked, “You’ll be safely This particular job was going to be especially away?” interesting, my ﬁrst in a small town. A really, re- “Thousands of feet in the air between Vegas ally small town. I usually work big cities where and Chicago.” it’s easier to do my deed and disappear. “And she’ll be where?” The Who was somebody’s wife. The How was, “She leaves the ﬁtness center about eight, of course, up to me. The Where was dictated by drives home over the cliff road. She never varies.” her husband, who was going to be anywhere “Even if she knows you aren’t going to be but there. The When was also stated in our con- home?” tract (verbal, of course, not on paper; can’t have “She doesn’t know. I told her I’d be there by

58 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine about seven, and I’d bring takeout and wine— Just do it.” His voice was cold. she loves wine—so she wouldn’t have to worry I’d nodded. Sure. about cooking dinner.” But...Janie? I nodded. He’d done half the work for me al- I felt sick. Really, really sick. But before I went ready; now all I had to do was finish her off and back to my motel (small, cheap, the kind of get out of town. “Got a picture of her for me?” I place where the guy at the reception desk was wouldn’t want to pick off somebody else’s wife. used to not noticing people), I decided to take “Sure.” He handed me a color snapshot. a drive around town, check out the cliff road My heart stopped. Janie’s husband had mentioned. Maybe I I knew her. Well. Very well. She was—had wouldn’t feel so bad if I could work out that been—the first love of my life. We’d lost touch scenario, if I didn’t have to actually touch her. If over the years, yet I’d have recognized her any- she never saw my face. where. Same wide blue eyes, same tilted nose, I tried to think back on my other jobs—there flyaway blond hair. Same air of excitement that had been more than a dozen in the past couple thrilled me as a teenager. And that, I realized, of years. Had I ever really thought about the could still thrill me now. mark? About what he or she was really like, had I swallowed. “You’re sure this is her?” My gram- done, or cared about? I closed my eyes, trying to mar fails me when I’m flustered. “I mean she?” picture faces, places, but nothing stood out. They He frowned. “Don’t you think I know my own were just jobs to be done, were done, became wife?” history. Get paid, do the work, move on. This one “But...but...” I stuttered. was different, and I wasn’t sure how to continue. “What’s the matter? Fifty thousand isn’t I spent the rest of the afternoon and early enough? I’ve got it right here.” He reached for evening at the library, checking into the micro- his inner coat pocket. fiche tapes of the past year’s social events. Janie “No, no.” I swallowed. Hard. “It’s plenty.” Eras- was all over the papers at one charity event or ing (my preferred terminology) a stranger was another, at a soup kitchen, a day care, helping one thing, but the girl that had taken my virgin- out at a blood drive. In every picture her love of ity so sweetly in the back seat of my father’s life shone around her like an aura. Her husband, Buick way back when? That was another. on the other hand, was no more than an escort Fifty thousand. Good pay for a couple of days’ on a couple of occasions. There was no press on work, wouldn’t you say? It was more than I usu- his accomplishments. I assumed there weren’t ally asked, enough to set me up for some time any, except for marrying well. in a new place, with a new name. Maybe even The truth was, I’d been hired by a gold-dig- in a new business, I thought now. ging nothing to erase a not only beautiful but He handed me the packet of bills and we worthy person. It made my stomach ache, and I shook hands. I watched him walk away, shoul- headed back to my motel to brood. Maybe ders straight, a nearly rich man without a care something would come to me in my sleep. I’d in the world. I could almost hear him humming heard about the subconscious working out so- under his breath. lutions that way. My own shoulders slumped; I felt the weight It didn’t happen. of that world on me. Sweet Janie Mason. Not The next morning I got into my rental sedan, Mason now, I thought. Janie Glidden. Rich Janie a nothing-special model that wouldn’t be re- Glidden. She’d inherited a bundle from her fa- membered by anyone unless they had reason ther’s tech business. Her husband wasn’t into to notice me and drove to the east side of town sharing; he wanted it all. And it was my well- where the road climbed steeply up a rock cliff paid job to see that he got it. overlooking a swiftly flowing river. A vehicle “Make it look like a mugging gone bad,” he pushed over the edge would tumble over a few suggested. “Or run her car off the cliff road on outcroppings before hitting the water. The cur- her way home, something like that. I don’t care. rent looked strong enough to push the car well

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 59 away from the site where it went over the em- “But I could have lunch before I leave town,” I bankment. But there was a problem with the suggested. “If you’re free.” cliff scenario: the drop-off was protected by a She smiled, the old sparkle in those wide sturdy rock and cement wall almost three feet blue eyes. “I’d love to,” she said, and we parted. I high. No way would a car break through that. didn’t kiss her, but I wanted to. I headed back into town, running and dis- I couldn’t wait until the next day just to be carding possibilities through my mind, oblivi- with Janie again. I was smitten. ous to my surroundings until, at a stoplight, the I couldn’t sleep. My stomach churned every Lexus that pulled up beside me honked. My time I thought about the job I had to do. I’d al- light was still red, so what was the beef? I turned ready been paid for it. I had never backed out to give the driver a scowl that changed to as- on a contract. And what if I did? That wouldn’t tonishment as the window toward me slid save Janie. Alec, the jerk, would just find anoth- down and a smiling woman waved. er hit man to erase her. This old world would Janie. keep on turning, as the song goes, but without This couldn’t happen. I thought about gun- Janie’s special light. Without her good works. ning the motor and disappearing. I thought Without her smile. about pretending I hadn’t noticed. I thought It was beginning to get light before I fell about Buicks and yesterdays and rolled my asleep, and that didn’t last long. It is true—your own window down. subconscious can solve problems for you. When “Janie!” I called. “What a surprise!” I woke up, I knew exactly what to do. “Pull over,” she said. Janie and I had a wonderful lunch in the res- I did. taurant on the top of the highest building in Later, much later, over drinks and dinner at a Cliffside, five whole stories up overlooking that nondescript bar and grill I would bet had never swiftly moving river. By the time we left, the res- been graced with Janie Glidden’s presence be- taurant was almost empty, and I knew it was fore, we were still catching up. We laughed and time for me to leave town to make my fictitious reminisced. I fabricated a job in Chicago (adver- appointment in Tomahawk. tising) and a reason for being in Cliffside (just “You will come back, won’t you, Tom?” she passing through, going north to check on some pleaded as she got into her Lexus. “I really want vacation property). She was honest about what to see you again.” she did (I knew most of it already) but hesitant “Oh, yes, I will,” I said. “I want to meet Alec.” to talk about her husband. I was pretty sure she And meet him I did as he strode through didn’t like him much. O’Hare on the way to come home, fully pre- “Are you married, Tom?” she asked. pared to experience the disaster of his wife’s I shook my head. “Never found the girl that demise. I met him in passing with a stiletto so could measure up to my memories of you,” I thin hardly any blood spotted his white shirt. I answered, surprised to realize that was proba- was yards away through the crowd before he bly true. I raised my glass of wine. sank without a sound to the marble floor. She blushed, and I remembered how easily As I said before, it would be a perfect night the color came over her face. “Silly,” she said for a murder. I’d got paid, I’d done the job, and and impulsively reached out to take my hand. I’d moved on. “It’s so good to see you. Won’t you stay over I’ll wait a while, then I’ll return to Cliffside. Af- and have dinner with us tomorrow night? Alec ter all, I promised Janie I’d come back. will be home, and I know he’d be pleased to meet you.” Nancy Sweetland writes from Green Bay, Yeah, right. Wisconsin, where she’s currently marketing adult “I can’t,” I said. “I have an appointment up at and juvenile short stories, along with two mys- Tomahawk.” tery novels and a mystery series for Beginning to “Oh.” She really was disappointed. Read books.

60 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine >> John L. French is a crime scene supervisor with the Baltimore Police Department Crime Laboratory. He is also a writer of crime and horror 2006 ﬁction.

His novel, THE DEVIL OF HARBOR CITY, is available from Amazon.com. Signed copies can be obtained from www.shocklines.com or from mlcgrace on www.half.com.

John L. French, The CRIME LAB GUY The CRIME LAB GUY January - February Recovering Blood The last two columns discussed what might be learned from blood stains on a crime scene and how to determine if those stains might actually be blood. But the main question is very often exactly whose blood was found and what that discovery means. The history of the identification of blood goes back over one hundred years. The first forensic use of ABO markers was in 1902 and in Turin, Italy in 1916 ABO typing was first used to exonerate a suspect. Not much changed until DNA analysis became prevalent in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Using DNA, investigators could, for the first time, positively identify a blood sample as coming from a specific individual. Before that, all science could tell them was whether or not a suspect belonged to a group of people whose blood contained certain genetic markers such as ABO types and a positive or negative rhesus factor. But before blood can be analyzed, it must first be safely recovered and properly submitted to the laboratory. There are several ways of doing this; some are right, some are wrong and at least one is downright dangerous. There are several ways of recovering blood from a scene. The best way is also the easiest —recover and submit the item that the blood is on. Bloodstained bedsheets, clothing and any other easily portable item should be removed from the crime scene and submitted as found to the analytical laboratory without any attempt by the crime scene investigator to remove the stain. This not only preserves the stain in the condition in which it was found, but it also insures that the all the evidence was recovered. The next best method is similar. If the object which bears the stain is just too big to recover —a sofa, wall-to-wall carpeting, the back seat of a Honda—then if possible the stain should be carefully cut out, recovered and submitted. (Note the use of the word “carefully.” The recovery of blood and other biological materials present certain hazards to the crime scene investigators, ones that could lead to serious health problems or even death. The topic of crime scene safety is a broad one and will be the topic of a future column.)

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 61 Sometimes it’s not possible to recover the to become airborne, creating the possibility item or cut out a piece of it. The bloodstain that they could be inhaled or ingested by the might be on a wall, or on the sidewalk, or on investigator. the trunk of a car. If this is the case, then the Once recovered, the blood sample, and its blood must be removed from the surface. One immediate container if swabs or swatches way to do this is to use a wet sterile cotton were used, must be packaged for submission. swab and carefully transfer the blood from Paper evidence envelopes or bags should be the surface to the tip of the swab, collecting used, whichever is appropriate. as much of the blood as possible. If the stain is One mistake you’ll see over and over again large enough, it should be standard practice to on television and in films is the placing of collect two samples from it, one for immediate bloodstained evidence in plastic bags. Blood analysis and one in case further examination is is a biological product. And unlike glass, guns, needed or if the result of the first one is called and fibers, left by itself blood will inevitably into question. After collection the swab is decay and putrefy, leaving behind nothing to placed in a specially designed box that allows analyze. One way to speed up decomposition it to hang suspended without touching the is to seal blood evidence in plastic. A sealed sides of the box. (The better to air-dry.) plastic bag is airtight, and without air blood But swabbing up a blood stain is not always decays rapidly. Paper or cardboard is better. the proper procedure to follow if the size and However, the use of paper or cardboard shape of the stain might be important. (And it runs afoul of federal regulations. OSHA rules would be if the bloodstain is also a fingerprint.) require that items that are likely to drain off In that case it might be possible to use tape to body fluids must be sealed in red plastic bags, lift the stain from the surface and place it on a red being a warning to all concerned that the clean white card. Before this is tried, however, contents of the bag are a biohazard. To comply the person collecting the stain should first with federal law and to avoid losing evidence, photograph it and then try lifting a non-critical items that are still wet with blood are allowed stain from a similar surface just to make sure it to air dry before being packaged. will work. That’s how blood evidence should be recov- There are older techniques, practiced ered, packaged and submitted. Once this is because of necessity, convenience or just done, it’s analyzed and its DNA determined because “it’s the way we’ve always done it.” and compared to that of victims and suspects. When I started doing crime scene work (way What happens next is up to the detectives back in 1977), it was common practice to swab investigating the case, or the author who’s up a bloodstain using a small swatch of clean writing the story. Until next time, thanks for cotton cloth. The cloth was then placed in a reading. plastic snap-cap vial with holes punched in its top. (See below for why this was not the best idea) Cotton cloth was used instead of swabs because chemicals used in the manufacture of the swabs interfered with ABO typing. Another method of recovery is to use cloth or swabs, THE CRIME SCENE allow them to air-dry and them place them in small envelopes. “From hardboiled to cosy, articles and One method of recovering blood from a opinions on all aspects of mystery ﬁction.” scene that should be used sparingly is scraping dried blood of a surface. Not only is there http://www.crimescenescotland.com/ a definite risk of cutting oneself and getting possibly infected blood into the wound, but the scraping causes small particles of blood

62 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine op >> Two murders are committed aboard HMS Tudor, and Captain Square uncovers a story of vengeance as he hunts the killer. les MossG. Char Captain Square and the Turk’s Head Charles G. Mossop Copyright © Captain Square and theTurk’s Head 2006 Kevin Duncan 2006 Kevin Copyright © Copyright Illustration Illustration

he body of Able Seaman Archibald Kings- who did his best to look after the men when he Tton was found at the foot of the compan- was not looking after a bottle of spirits. ionway ladder in the forward hold of HMS Tu- The body was stripped naked upon the sur- dor just after six bells in the morning watch. It geon’s table in the cockpit, carefully examined, was clear to all that the unfortunate fellow and then Ogilvy, a man of sallow complexion must have missed his footing in the dark and and as doleful a being as God ever created, has- pitched headlong to his doom. His death was tened to the great stern cabin to report his reported, duly noted in the log by the mate of ﬁndings. A childhood accident had left him the watch, and his body carried to Dr. Ogilvy, with a badly misshapen left foot which caused

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 63 a severe limp, and by the time he reached the to take the officers into his confidence and en- captain’s cabin, he was much out of breath and list their aid. He considered the possibility that greatly pained. The captain’s steward, Finch, a the culprit might be amongst them, but con- pigtailed old sailor of over sixty, ushered him cluded the chances were remote. Officers were into the presence of his commanding officer gentlemen, while seamen, skilled though they who turned from his desk, asked him how he may be, were born of the lower orders. Thus, in did, and cordially bade him be seated. the captain’s view, they possessed a greater ca- “It was no accident, after all, sir,” said Ogilvy in pacity for violence. a strong Scottish accent. He had the flat and Within a few minutes, the three lieutenants, mournful voice of one who finds the world a four midshipmen, the ship’s master and the generally disagreeable place. captain of marines assembled in the spacious “Was it not?” asked the captain, in surprise. cabin and stood awaiting their captain’s plea- “No, sir. He was struck from behind.” sure. Those who had been on watch when the Captain Sir John Square, twenty-five years in summons came wore long greatcoats or heavy his Majesty’s navy and as thoroughgoing a sail- cloaks, for the English Channel was an inhospi- or as a man could meet anywhere, stared at the table place in early February. Tudor had been ship’s surgeon. clawing her way to windward for three days “Are you saying he was murdered, Dr. Ogil- against a bitter nor’easter, and the salt spray vy?” he asked. was freezing on the shrouds. “Aye, sir,” said Ogilvy. “That he was. Someone Captain Square greeted the men with custom- fetched him such a clout on the back of his ary civility and then stood before them at the neck as to break the bones. The mark is vivid weather bulkhead. He was a tall, lean figure, re- and unmistakable.” splendent in the ribbon and star of his knighthood, Captain Square sat silent for a time. It was his gold braided blue coat and white breeches. fifth year in the Tudor, a thirty-eight-gun frig- “Gentlemen,” he said, “you will have heard of ate, and he had seen death come to men in the death of Able Seaman Kingston some time many forms, for it was 1801 and England was at last night, and I fear I must tell you now that in war with France. Murder, however, was outside the professional opinion of Dr. Ogilvy, the man even his width of experience. was murdered.” “What else can you tell me?” he asked Ogilvy The captain’s words caused his audience to at last. erupt into alarmed conversation, questions and “Nothing at all, sir,” said the doctor, with a shrug. exclamations of horror. “He was undoubtedly thrown down the ladder to “For the present,” the captain continued, rais- make us believe his death was an accident.” ing his voice to quell the noise, “I wish each of The captain nodded, stroking his chin you to keep your mouths closed and your eyes thoughtfully. and ears open. Let the crew believe the death “Tell no one of this, Dr. Ogilvy, until I give you was accidental, as the killer intended it to ap- leave,” he said crisply. “I want no hue and cry pear, but keep your wits about you and take amongst the men. This must be investigated, note of anything untoward—anything at all and I shall require the room to do it discreetly. out of the ordinary. Question no one, mind you, At least for the time being.” but report any such incidents to me. If the cul- The surgeon took his leave, and as Square prit believes we suspect nothing, he may grow heard the distinctive sound of his labored tread careless.” down the passageway, he called for his steward. “Begging your pardon, sir,” spoke up Mr. “My compliments to my officers,” he said to Bourne, the ship’s sailing master, “but I believe I Finch, “and tell them that I would be pleased to can report such an occurrence to you now.” see them all here as soon as it is convenient for Bourne was a man of fifty-five years who had them.” joined the navy as a landsman and risen to his After weighing the risks, Square had decided present rank through intelligence, skill and dili-

64 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine gent application. Captain Square had great re- foremast nor a mainpole have we seen all the spect for these qualities in any man. morning.” “Indeed, Mr. Bourne?” said the captain. “Go Square nodded his thanks, and as he did so on, if you please.” he caught sight of a man moving quickly “Well, sir,” began the master, “I drew the mid- through the ship’s waist calling to others as he dle watch last night, and observing that this went. A large group of sailors soon gathered damned rheumatical knee of mine pains me around him and he began to speak to them badly in this weather, the gunner did most with much animation. Within a few minutes, handsomely offer to take my place. Now when the word murder was on everyone’s lips. he came off watch he told me of a very queer “Damn and blast it to hell, Mr. Wycombe,” said thing he had heard when all hands were turned Square. “Find out how this happened. I will not up to tack ship at about five bells. He said that a have my orders disobeyed.” gang at the main royal braces was singing a Wycombe was back in a trice to report that strange stamp-and-go he had not heard be- the source of the information was fifteen-year- fore. He paid no special heed to the men them- old Mr. Midshipman Molesworth Pike, son of selves, more’s the pity, but to the best of his rec- the Earl of Marchland, and an inept young rat- ollection they chanted Beware the Turk’s head, ing if ever there was one. lest all shall be dead. Just quietly it was, sir. As if Captain Square ordered the young aristocrat to themselves, like.” to the quarterdeck, curtly advised him to pro- “And can anyone tell me what those words vide himself with his warmest clothing and mean?” asked Square, but no one answered. some victuals, and then mastheaded him for After the departure of the officers Square two days. He watched as the young lad climbed contemplated what Bourne had said. A Turk’s laboriously up the ratlines to the main t’gallant head was an ornamental knot whose intricate masthead, cumbered about with a heavy cloak weaving resembled the windings of a turban. It and clenching a canvas bag full of ship’s biscuit was often seen reeved around masts or other and cheese firmly in his teeth. similar ship’s timbers, and had no practical ap- “I marvel he has not fallen overboard months plication at all. Square could imagine no con- ago,” Square observed dryly to Lieutenant Wy- nection between a Turk’s head and the dead combe, who nodded and then allowed that sailor, and so eventually dismissed the strange Midshipman Pike had likely been born with shanty as inconsequential. two left feet. Mindful of his duty to make an appearance At that moment, one of the bosun’s mates on deck in each of the daylight watches, Square appeared before the captain, touching his put on his greatcoat and a woolen scarf before knuckles to his forehead. mounting to Tudor’s broad quarterdeck and “Well?” said Square. assuming the captain’s traditional place at the “Mr. Bourne’s respects, sir,” he said, “and he weather rail. The wind was merciless, and car- would be greatly obliged if you would meet ried a fine snow which stung his face. The deck him at the larboard battery, sir.” suddenly canted under his feet and he took Square followed the sailor to where the mas- firm hold of a nearby shroud, feeling the thin ter stood beside one of the ponderous thirty- coating of ice on it, even through his glove. He two pounders in the waist, and after raising his cast his eye aloft to evaluate the set of the sails, hat slightly in salute, Bourne pointed to a Turk’s and then looked out across a desolate grey sea head neatly reeved in thin brown cord around heaped into great rolling swells. the base of a stand post. “Have you anything to report, Lieutenant Wy- “Who did that?” snapped the captain. combe?” he asked, as the second lieutenant ap- “No one knows, sir,” said the master, “but it proached and touched the brim of his cocked could easily have been done during the night. hat. It was not discovered until just now.” “Nothing sir,” Wycombe replied. “Neither a Square returned to the quarterdeck, his brow

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 65 furrowed with concern, and resumed his place. open, we shall engage him without regard to The words of the strange shanty now assumed the weather.” a new importance, for here was a clear sign. A “Very good, sir.” Turk’s head where it had no business to be. But “Now,” said Square, putting the tips of his fin- what was its interpretation? For whom was it gers together carefully, “where are we? We have intended? a man dead in the hold, a group of hands sing- The snow turned to rain about midday, and ing about death and Turk’s heads, and a Turk’s by two bells in the afternoon watch, the wind head itself reeved in a gun bay. I am sure these was approaching gale force. All hands were three things bear a relationship one to another, piped to shorten sail and the watch below, but upon my soul and honor, I cannot pene- those men not on active watch, poured up from trate it.” the companionways. Men ran to their stations The captain fell silent, his brow furrowed in on deck or swarmed up the shrouds to spread thought. out on the slippery and treacherous yards to begin preparing to reef the heavy sheets of The wind moderated the following day, and canvas. Square retreated to his cabin, deposit- while the first lieutenant exercised the gun ed his sodden greatcoat and hat into the wait- crews with repeated practice at loading and ing arms of Finch, and summoned the first lieu- running out, Captain Square ordered the mur- tenant. dered man’s messmates to appear before him. James Bishop was a man of thirty-two, tall Common sailors almost never entered the pri- and powerfully built, with an unruly tangle of vate domain of the captain and his officers, and black curly hair and a black beard. He had dark the five sailors shambled into the large cabin and penetrating eyes, but in defiance of his sat- and gawked about them at the desk, cabinets, urnine appearance, he possessed a lively sense upholstered chairs and wide stern windows. of humor. Captain Square and Lieutenant Bish- Each man knuckled his forehead and waited in op had been shipmates and good friends since silence. their earliest days in the king’s service. “Now lads,” said Square, “can any of you tell “So, we’ve a Sawney Bean aboard, have we?” me anything which will aid in our apprehen- said Bishop with a grin. sion of the blackguard amongst us? Speak up, “A what?” now. This is no petty misdemeanor. Murder has “Alexander Bean,” explained Bishop. “Scottish been done, and it is your messmate who lies murderer. About two hundred years ago.” dead.” “Kindly contain your levity, James,” said No one answered. The men merely looked at Square, but not severely. “We face a weighty their feet and shifted awkwardly from side to problem, and the whole crew now knows of it, side. thanks to the entirely witless Mr. Pike.” “All right, then,” said Square, forcefully, and “I’m bound to say there is some agitation the men looked up. “Do you know the signifi- amongst the men,” said Bishop, more soberly, cance of the Turk’s head?” as he settled himself into a chair opposite his “It be a knot, sir,” said one, a little bolder than captain. “And I warrant morale will suffer be- the rest. cause of it.” “I know right well what it is,” said Square tes- “Then keep the crew busy,” said Square. “Gun tily. “I wish to know its exact meaning. It has and sail drills, target practice, anything you like, been spoken of by some of the crew, and one but keep them occupied.” has been found in the larboard battery. I want “Aye, sir,” said Bishop, “but this confounded to know why.” weather…” Tomb-like silence prevailed once again, but it “I need hardly remind you,” said Square, re- was clear to the captain that the men were straining his irritation, “that if we sight a French- genuinely confused and uncertain. man running down upon us with his gun ports “‘E were quick with a Turk’s head, were old

66 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine Kingston,” said the same man. “Even a big ‘un. vertical banister post. Square stooped to exam- Why, I saw ‘im do one myself around the main- ine it. mast of the old Sparta at Spithead in two shakes “Nothing but a knot,” he said, straightening. of a lamb’s tail. Old Archie were a good hand wi’ “But I am bound to say it is very neatly wrought.” knots.” “Well then, did he reeve the one by the gun?” As they reached the upper deck, Bourne touched asked Square. the brim of his hat and excused himself. “I dunno, sir. Sorry, sir,” replied the man. “I believe the wind has lessened again, sir,” he Square dismissed the men with his usual ad- said, “and I think we might have the t’gallants monition that they remember their loyalty and back on her.” keep their wits about them, and then set him- “Carry on, Mr. Bourne,” said Square, and the self to work with charts, parallel rules and divid- master shouted to the bosun, who in turn ers. He laid in the course he would order for the roared out the orders, well laced with blasphe- next day, checked it and called for his lunch. mies and threats, which sent men up the rig- An hour later, the sounds of running feet, ging to the topmost yards where they began shouts and the squealing of bosun’s pipes sig- loosening off the clews and ties in preparation naled the change of watch. The watch below for re-setting the sails. Further orders were was chivvied up to the cold upper decks by the shouted, the halyards freed and the grey can- petty officers, while the men they relieved made vases fell out and were smartly sheeted home. haste down the companionways to find what “Handsomely done, Mr. Walker,” said Square warmth they could. Before these familiar sounds to the bosun. “And get Mr. Pike down, if you had ceased, however, the cabin door opened to please. I suspect he has learned his lesson, and reveal Finch looking distraught. By long-stand- we don’t want to send him back frozen stiff as a ing naval tradition, the captain’s steward was dead cat to the lord Earl.” the only member of the crew allowed to enter Square returned to his cabin to find Bishop the great cabin without knocking, but Finch awaiting him and told him of the new knot he had seldom ever done so. had just seen. “Yes, Finch?” said Square, his eyebrows raised “It could be, sir,” said the first lieutenant, after in surprise. he and the captain had accepted a glass of The steward saluted and stepped aside to al- sherry from Finch, “that since one man has low Bourne to enter. The master removed his been murdered and a Turk’s head found, the hat and Square observed that he, too, appeared second knot foretells a second murder.” worried. “I am much of your opinion, James,” said the “I must report that there’s another Turk’s captain gloomily, “and yet I cannot see what to head been found, sir,” said Bourne. “On the or- do next.” lop deck, just abaft the mainmast. Lieutenant “I wish I knew, sir.” Sullivan found it as he unlocked the door for “I believe that not all the crew are aware of the cook’s mates to collect stores for the watch the knot’s meaning,” said Square, sipping his below. Both he and Mr. Wycombe swear it was sherry thoughtfully. “Kingston’s messmates did not there this morning.” not know of it, but the gunner heard a group of “Well,” said Square, getting to his feet, “I’m men who obviously did. If only he had paid at- told Kingston was good with his knots, but I’ll tention to who they were, for I smell conspiracy wager he is not responsible for this one.” in all this.” Square and Bourne descended to the orlop, the lowermost deck of the ship, where the air As he finished a cup of coffee after his meal that was thick and foul-smelling, rank with the odors evening, Square became conscious of a commo- of mould, decaying vegetables, human sweat tion outside his cabin door. There came some and worse. The knot was fashioned of the same hurried footsteps, the voice of Finch saying God brown cord as the first, and reeved around a ‘elp us, and then Finch himself burst into the

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 67 cabin followed on the instant by Midshipman After a lantern had been lit—the use of flint Hooper, who rushed in and pulled off his hat. and steel was strictly prohibited inside the So precipitous was his entry that the thirteen- magazine—the captain and the third lieuten- year-old stumbled and would have sent him- ant entered the dark locker. Sullivan held up self sprawling had not Finch reached out and the lantern revealing, in its yellow glow, a space seized the collar of his jacket. filled on both sides by stacked casks of black “More haste, less speed, Mr. Hooper,” said powder with a gangway running down the Square mildly, as Finch set the youngster up- middle. At the far end of the gangway they right once again. “What can possibly be the could discern the huddled shape of a human matter?” body, a sailor wearing a dark woolen pullover “Lieutenant Sullivan’s respects, sir,” panted and gray canvas trousers. Hooper, “and he would be greatly obliged if “Look here, sir,” Sullivan said, bending over you would come to the powder magazine, sir.” and holding the light close to the deck. “The magazine?” “This is blood and no mistake,” said Square, “Aye, aye, sir, if you please, sir. There is anoth- examining the red stains on the oak planks. “He er dead man found, sir.” was killed here, or I’m a Dutchman. It’s plain.…” The captain left the great cabin with almost And here he paused, frowning. as much alacrity as Hooper had entered it, and “D’you hear that, Lieutenant?” he asked. descended to the magazine, set deep within “What was it?” the ship to be safe from the enemy’s cannon “I don’t know, sir,” answered Sullivan. “A pecu- fire. Upon his arrival, he received smart salutes liar sound. I cannot identify it.” from the two red-coated marines who guarded “Nor can I,” said Square. “But no matter. Noth- the door. Third Lieutenant Sullivan touched the ing more than a piece of loose timber some- brim of his hat and told Square that the dead where, I shouldn’t wonder.” man was inside. The two men proceeded down the gangway “How in Beelzebub’s name did he get into and Sullivan held the light aloft as Square stud- the magazine?” said Square angrily. “Where ied the corpse. were the guards?” “He did not fall thus,” said Square. “His arms “It seems, sir,” said Sullivan, jerking his thumb are almost straight out in front of him. I’ll wager at the marines, “that these two miscreants here he was killed by the door, dragged here and were somewhat tardy in appearing for their flung down as we see him now.” duty, but what is worse, the two before them The captain and the third lieutenant returned deserted their post before being relieved.” to the door of the magazine, and as they “Very well,” Square snapped. “Mr. Hooper, you reached it Sullivan pointed to an object lying will give Captain Metcalf my compliments and half hidden behind a stack of empty powder inform him of this. Request him to deal with buckets. He bent and retrieved an eighteen- these two as he may choose. And as for the de- inch length of heavy steel, hafted at one end serters, find them, put them in irons, and tell and sharply pointed at the other. the bosun they’re each to have two dozen lash- “What the deuce is a marlinspike doing es today and tomorrow.” here?” asked Square. Hooper touched his hat and vanished at “And with blood on it,” said Sullivan, grimly, once. lifting it to the light. “Who found the body?” asked Square. “We have our murder weapon, I believe, Mr. “These two, sir,” answered Sullivan, once more Sullivan,” said Square. “And further evidence of indicating the marines. “When they arrived they the murderer’s haste. I daresay he dropped it as found the door ajar and investigated.” he ran for fear of being caught with it.” “Indeed?” said Square. “Then perhaps we may When the two officers emerged from the conclude our murderer left in some haste. Let magazine, Square sent for men to carry the us go in, Mr. Sullivan, and see what we can find.” body out. Two loblolly boys, or sick berth atten-

68 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine dants, appeared and the dead man was placed quired. on a canvas litter and conveyed to the cockpit. “Pike’s, sir,” answered Bishop, flatly. Sullivan, who re-entered the locker to super- “Lord bless and save us,” said Square with in- vise, reported that as they had lifted the body, a finite resignation. “You’d better get him down great gout of dark blood welled up and ran here, then.” from the mouth, adding to the broad stain al- Mr. Midshipman Pike presented himself, still ready on the front of the blue pullover. white and haggard from his recent ordeal at the masthead, and removed his hat. Square or- An hour later, Dr. Ogilvy reported to Captain dered him to sit down lest he fall down, and Square and Lieutenant Bishop that the body, then spoke to him. that of Able Seaman Matthew Hardcastle, bore “Pike, as you no doubt know by now, Hard- no outward signs of injury save for the blood castle, a man of your section, has been found which spilled from his mouth. dead in the powder magazine. What do you “Upon examination,” said the doctor lugubri- know of him?” ously, “I determined that he had died as a result “Nothing, sir,” said Pike, and it appeared that of having some sharp object rammed hard he fully believed this to be the proper answer. down his throat.” “Nothing, sir,” repeated the captain, sarcasti- “Dear God,” said Square. “The marlinspike all cally. “An officer, Mr. Pike, should make it his right. This is iniquitous.” business to know the men who serve under “Well,” said the first lieutenant, “I said we’d a him.” Sawney Bean aboard.” “Aye, aye, sir,” replied Pike, chagrined. “Sawney Bean was also a cannibal,” said Ogil- “Get out,” said the captain irritably, but as vy, as he took his doleful leave. “At least no one Pike prepared to depart, Square spoke again. has yet been eaten, Mr. Bishop.” “Stand fast, Pike,” he said. “Whoever killed “He seems sorry about it,” observed Bishop Hardcastle had a key to the magazine. Have dryly, as the door closed behind the doctor. you by any remote chance an explanation as to Square said nothing, and Bishop assumed a how he might have obtained it?” more serious demeanor. “Well…sir,” said Pike, diffidently, “My…my “You say Hardcastle was killed in the maga- key was stolen the day before yesterday.” zine, sir,” he said, “so we could perhaps find out “What?” roared Square. “How did this hap- what the man was doing below decks, and if pen?” anyone saw him.” “It was taken from the midshipmen’s berth, “Just so, James,” said Square, “but there are sir. I…I left it on my sea chest.” one or two things which interest me a trifle “Damn your blood and liver, sir,” fumed more at present.” Square. “That key is to be kept with you at all Bishop raised his dark eyebrows and tilted times, and well you know it.” his head on one side. Pike said nothing. “It appears,” Square went on, “that, thanks to “And have you any notion of who might have our useless marines, there was a space of time taken it?” demanded Bishop. during which the magazine was unguarded. “Not really, sir,” said Pike, “although I did see How, unless it were planned, did our murderer Richards, the bosun’s mate, loitering about know that would be the case, and how did he near the berth.” have a key? Those are the first two points, and “Did you question him as to his business the third is simply to know if the two murdered there?” asked Bishop. men had anything in common. Is there a thread “No, sir,” answered Pike querulously. “I’m most which connects them?” dreadfully sorry, sir.” He paused for a moment, biting his lower lip “And to whom did you report the theft?” thoughtfully. asked Square, in a tone of weary sufferance. “Whose section was Hardcastle in?” he en- “No one, sir,” said Pike. “You are the first per-

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 69 son I have told, sir. Truly, you are. I didn’t notice back to the powder magazine. What was that the key was missing until very late. And you queer sound? There was a distant and tantaliz- mastheaded me, you see, sir, and…” ing familiarity about it, and yet he could not “All right, all right,” said Square angrily. “Now place it. He was convinced he had heard it be- hear me well, boy. You are to tell no one of this fore, but could not remember where or when. theft. I want our thief, who may well be our The mystery kept him awake long into the murderer to boot, to believe the loss of the key night. remains unnoticed. And if you wag your tongue again this time, I’ll send you aloft for the re- The following day Captain Square individually mainder of this month. Do you take my mean- questioned the two marines who had been late ing?” in reporting for duty and learned that Captain Pike nodded. of Marines Metcalf had stopped their pay for a “Very well. Now remove yourself from my month. The first man, Edwards, a taciturn man sight.” of thirty who much resented his punishment, “When the Lord put a silver spoon into his offered little beyond belligerent expressions mouth, He neglected to put a brain into his and one-word answers, but the second, Camp- head,” said Bishop after the young man had de- bell, was decidedly more helpful. parted, and Square grunted morosely. Private Campbell was barely nineteen, The captain nodded his thanks as Bishop left pressed into service at Greenwich the year be- for duty on deck, and, having summoned the fore and still bewildered and frightened by bosun, Square enquired after Richards. shipboard life. He stood trembling and awe- “A good man, sir,” said Walker. “Reliable, if a lit- struck before his captain – God come to earth tle hot-tempered.” in the form of a man in a naval uniform - and “What is his background?” poured forth answers to Square’s questions “Eight years a petty officer aboard the Clyde, with great volubility. sir. Taken out of her after the fleet mutiny and “Please, sir,” he said, almost babbling in terror, sent to us as bosun’s mate.” “please don’t flog me, sir. I couldn’t bear it, sir. The mention of HMS Clyde immediately ar- Honest I couldn’t.” rested Square’s attention. “Why did you come late on duty,” asked “Are there other Clydesmen aboard, Mr. Walk- Square, ignoring the man’s plea. er?” “It was Edwards as made us late, sir. He went “Aye, sir. Several, I believe.” to see the surgeon and was ever so long in “Find out who they are, and report back to coming back. I said we should be reported if we me at once.” was to be late, but he said all we would get was The Clyde was well known to every officer a shouting-at, and I must not worry. And now and seaman in his Majesty’s navy. She was a here I am, sir, stopped a month’s pay, sir. I should frigate of thirty-six guns, almost identical to Tu- not have waited for him, but he said I must, sir. dor, which had achieved fame, and notoriety, Truly, sir.” by being one of the first ships to repudiate the There came at that point a sharp rap on the fleet mutiny in the spring of 1797 and stand for door and Finch entered to say there was a the king. She slipped her cable on the 30th of French ship of war sighted, her hull well up May, ran down through the fleet anchored at above the horizon, two points abaft the lar- the Nore, and gained Sheerness harbor. It was board beam. said that not all of her complement had been “Mr. Bishop’s respects, sir,” he finished, “and is opposed to the mutiny, however, and there had it convenient for you to come to the quarter- been much dissension and bitterness amongst deck?” the crew. “My compliments to Lieutenant Bishop,” said After the bosun’s departure Square chewed Square, “and I shall join him presently.” meditatively on his lower lip as he cast his mind Square concluded his interview with Camp-

70 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine bell, and then called for Finch to bring him his Bishop ordered one of Tudor’s larboard cannon greatcoat and hat. to fire across her bow. The gun layer, however, When he came on deck, Captain Square perhaps overanxious or simply capricious, sent found the air still raw. The sea ran a deep swell the thirty-two pound ball straight into the Ca- and Tudor’s bow plunged into the troughs in nard’s forepeak in a hail of flying splinters. One bursts of cold salt spray. Bishop, a shroud in the of her heads’ls, its sheets carried away, went crook of his elbow to steady him, his glass to his flapping wildly into the wind. The shot cost Tu- eye, reported the French ship to be only a sloop, dor the prestige of claiming an undamaged and Square ordered a change of course to in- prize. tercept. “Damn all your mother’s children,” roared “And clear for action, Mr. Bishop, if you please,” Bishop in fury. “I’ll have the hide off you.” he added. In spite of its poor aim, however, or more like- “Beat to quarters,” bellowed the first lieuten- ly because of it, the shot achieved its purpose. ant, and at once the ship came alive with ur- The sloop at once lowered its tricolor and ran a gent and purposeful activity. All hands were shirt up her signal halyard for want of a white piped and the watch below came tumbling up flag. The Tudor’s men let forth a ringing cheer, on deck while two marine drummers took up and the engagement, if the encounter may be station in the waist of the ship and commenced dignified by such a title, was over. A prize crew a sustained roll. Gun crews sprang to their plac- of six was told off under the command of the es, powder monkeys ran hither and thither with senior midshipman, and given orders to make buckets of black powder, and the loblolly boys any English port they could and report there spread sand on the decks to soak up blood and for further instructions. prevent the men from slipping. The topmen “You do not send Mr. Pike, I observe, sir?” said gathered at the foot of the ratlines, ready to go Bishop with a wicked grin. aloft and handle the sails, while Captain Met- “I want her to reach England,” said the cap- calf formed up his scarlet-coated marines in a tain with a grimace. “Mr. Pike could not be trust- double column on the foredeck and ordered ed to get her safely out of eyeshot.” them to look to their muskets. In less than ten As Square spoke, he noticed a sailor running minutes, Tudor was in battle order, and an air of out from the fo’c’sle companionway in the expectancy and grim determination settled waist of the ship. The man mounted to the star- over the ship. Tudor rapidly overhauled the board gangway, and ran for the quarterdeck. French sloop, which the third lieutenant identi- The bosun stepped forward, reached out a fied through his glass as the Canard, and Cap- brawny arm and arrested the man’s progress tain Square ordered that all guns come to the on the instant. ready. “And just where d’you think you’re a-goin’, “We’ll have her as a prize, Mr. Bishop,” he said my lad?” he demanded. cheerfully. “And in the present circumstances, “Captain, sir,” called the man, his voice I’ll wager the jingle of prize guineas will be a squeaking, “there be a Turk’s head reeved in the welcome diversion for the men. Prepare to put mess, sir.” a shot across her bow.” Once the sailor, Billy Armitage, had collected “Canard is French for duck, is it not?” asked himself, he, Captain Square and Lieutenant Mr. Bourne, the sailing master, from his place by Bishop descended to the mess deck to inspect the fife rail at the base of the mizzenmast. the latest appearance of the infamous knot. “Indeed it is, Mr. Bourne,” said Bishop with a “’Tis death, sir,” gibbered Armitage, lifting a broad grin. “And like the fabled goose, this duck trembling hand to his forehead. “Death.” will lay us a golden egg once we have our “Govern your tongue, man,” snapped Bishop. hands upon her.” “Just show us the Turk.” They drew abreast of the small ship less than “Did you find the knot yourself, Armitage?” a cable’s length off her starboard beam and asked Square, when they had reached the mess

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 71 deck and stood regarding the knot at the base But he does marvelous well with fancy things, of a stanchion. sir. You know. Lanyards and the like. Why he’s “Aye, sir. Right after we was stood down from just made a canvas ditty bag for Mr. Pike, sir. action stations.” Work of art, sir.” “Was anyone else here?” Finch disappeared, and Able Seaman Grant “Aye, sir. Dobson. But he said he didn’t see it.” entered, a short, thickset man, who knuckled “The knot was reeved while we were at quar- his forehead and stood, hat in hand, nervously ters, presumably,” said Bishop, as they regained eying his captain. the upper deck, “or it would have been report- “Grant,” said Square, without preamble, “you ed before now.” were in HMS Clyde at the time of the fleet muti- “Yes,” agreed Square. “And that means it was ny, were you not?” done by someone whose action station is be- “That I was, sir.” said Grant, “but afore God, sir, low decks.” I was no mutineer. The Clyde, she…” “There are not very many of them, sir,” said “Yes, yes,” said Square, waving his hand, “I know Bishop, when he and Square had seated them- all that. What I wish to find out is whether any selves in the great cabin. “Powder monkeys, man aboard Tudor has spoken to you of those loblolly boys, surgeon’s mates. But we’ve two events? Questioned you? Or, perhaps, asked af- dead men, and now a third Turk’s head which ter other Clydesmen aboard this ship?” likely portends another murder.” “Aye, sir, many, for ‘twere but four year ago “The men obviously think so. But surely there and there is still much bad feeling around and is someone who can show us what links the about. And two men of the Clyde are now dead, murdered men together. I cannot believe all sir, and I am much a-feared for my life, so I am.” this is the unplanned work of some maniac.” “Tell me, Grant,” Square continued, ignoring “I concur, sir. This is not the handiwork of a the man’s words, “are there any men in particu- Sawney Bean.” lar who have spoken to you? More often than “You will oblige me, James, by ceasing to harp others, I mean.” on about Sawney Bean,” said Square testily. “Aye, aye, sir,” said Grant, nodding vigorously. The ship’s bell sounded at that moment, and “Two. Marine Edwards and Dobson, sir.” Bishop took his leave to oversee the change of Square dismissed Grant, and Finch sent in watch. Hardly had Square been left alone, when Richards, who revealed himself to be a weath- Walker appeared with his report on the Clydes- er-beaten old sailor of over fifty, pigtailed and men. gray-haired. “There’s Richards, sir, as I said, but there’s “Did you know the other Clydesmen aboard Grant, mizzentopman, as well. And, both Kings- this ship?” Square asked. ton and Hardcastle were Clydesmen, sir.” “Aye, aye sir,” Richards answered. “Us Clydes- “Pass the word for Richards and Grant to see men, sir, we stick together. I was right suspi- me at once, Mr. Walker,” said Square. cious when Archie Kingston got done in, and I The word was passed, and the two names kept my eyes skinned – for my own sake, as you were shouted throughout the ship until the might say, sir. I heard some of the men talking men appeared in the companionway outside of the Turk’s head, and how it was a warning the captain’s cabin. Finch entered to ask if he sign to traitors.” should send in the first man. “Traitors?” Square nodded, but spoke as Finch turned to “Aye, sir, traitors. Clydesmen are often called go. traitors because we stood for the king against “By the way, Finch,” he said, “do you know the mutiny.” aught of Armitage or Dobson?” “And traitors lose their heads,” finished “I don’t know Armitage, sir, but Dobson’s a Square. loblolly boy. Queer cove, he is, an’ all. Never “Two months ago, sir,” Richards continued, “I leaves off blatherin’ about the Great Mutiny. sprained my wrist—right bad it was—and I was

72 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine sent by the bosun to Dr. Ogilvy. The surgeon “None, sir,” said the surgeon, his words slurred began asking me questions, sir, all about the from drink. “I have not served in her, nor do I mutiny, and if there was other men from the know anyone who has, save the Clydesmen Clyde on board. I answered his questions, sir, for aboard this ship.” he said the mutiny had been a scurvy business, “Tell me about Dobson, then,” Square went and the Clyde was a brave ship, but I soon found on, seizing a rail to avoid being thrown against out he was all wind and dandyfunk, begging the bulkhead by a prodigious roll of the ship. your pardon, sir. He tricked the answers out of “Where did he come from?” me. Next thing I knew there’s Marine Edwards a- “HMS Sandwich, sir.” jeering at me every time he sees me and calling “Sandwich?” me traitor. And then Dobson sets in as well.” The mention of that ship brought Square up “Why did you not speak up before?” de- sharply, for it was aboard Sandwich that the manded Square, and Richards shook his gray fleet mutiny had been instigated. head. “Was Dobson a mutineer?” he asked Ogilvy. “I’d no proof of anything, sir. And as for being “He says so, sir.” called traitor, well…that’s nothing new to me, “And were you in Sandwich?” sir.” “No sir. Agamemnon. Square dismissed Richards, and was about to Ogilvy managed to reassemble his sodden order Finch to summon Ogilvy, when he abrupt- faculties sufficiently to ask the reason for his ly changed his mind. Time, he thought, might being questioned, but Square interrupted him be short. with a brusque Good day, anxious to escape the Square left his cabin and made haste to Sur- noisome little compartment. A moment before geon Ogilvy’s quarters. Tudor had been laid he turned to go, the ship rolled violently once hard over on a starboard tack, sailing as close to again, and Square saw the surgeon stagger, his the wind as she could, and the deck canted twisted foot dragging across the deck planks. sharply under Square’s feet as he went along Square paused at the sound, his brow furrowed the ill-lit companionways. Thanks to his years at in concentration, before leaving the doctor’s sea, he maintained his balance almost effort- berth and making for the quarters of the Cap- lessly. tain of Marines. When he entered Ogilvy’s berth, the surgeon Metcalf’s berth, although only slightly larger got to his feet as smartly as his surprise and the than Ogilvy’s, looked neat and orderly. The ma- alcohol inside him would allow. His cabin, a rine captain, although every bit as astonished small, narrow cubbyhole in the bowels of the as Ogilvy to find the captain calling upon him ship, reeked of pipe smoke and spirits, and was unannounced in his quarters, greeted Square largely occupied by several cases of rum with cordial formality. stacked and braced into one corner. A lantern “And good day to you, Captain Metcalf,” re- hung from a deckhead beam and its violent turned Square. “I ask your pardon for this intru- swinging sent shadows leaping across the fetid sion, but I need information quickly, lest anoth- little compartment. er man come to harm.” “Captain Square, sir,” mumbled Ogilvy, breath- “I am at your service, sir,” said Metcalf, prompt- ing rum fumes into Square’s face, “what…?” ly. “You are a sorry sight, Dr. Ogilvy,” said Square, “You remember the two men who deserted who possessed scant regard for men who their post at the powder magazine?” drank to excess, “but you will oblige me by an- “Of course, sir. Despicable.” swering some questions.” “Has either of them furnished an explanation Ogilvy stared at him, open-mouthed, trying for their actions?” to focus his bleary eyes. “Actually, sir,” said Metcalf, “they both swear “Have you any connection whatsoever to HMS they had Lieutenant Wycombe’s permission to Clyde?” demanded Square. “The truth, mind.” leave their post.”

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 73 “Impossible,” said Square, with a dismissive leaned heavily on Dobson, who looked pale shake of his head. and frightened. Metcalf took up his place next “Naturally, sir. I spoke to Mr. Wycombe imme- to Square, and in a few minutes they were diately, and he denied ever having sent such a joined by Lieutenant Bishop who had been message.” summoned to serve as second witness. “Sent?” “Well, Dobson,” Square began, his voice cold, “Yes sir. They declare Mr. Wycombe sent a “I hear you are a handy fellow with canvas and message to them by way of the loblolly boy, cord. Tell me, then, how long does it take you to Dobson, who also flatly denied their claim. The reeve a Turk’s head?” entire story was a fabrication to excuse their “Couldn’t say, sir,” Dobson answered, with a disgraceful behavior.” shrug. “Depends on the leads and bights, sir. “Perhaps,” said Square, thoughtfully, “and You know. How big it is.” perhaps not. But, tell me, what do you know of “And you, Surgeon Ogilvy,” Square contin- Private Edwards?” ued, ignoring Dobson, “be so good as to tell us “An ill-disciplined lout, sir,” answered Metcalf of your nephew in HMS Clyde.” with feeling. “Twice flogged for insubordina- “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” mumbled tion aboard the Sandwich, and I daresay will the doctor, and Square noted that the man still soon be flogged for it again, sir.” had the use of his wits in spite of his intoxica- “The Sandwich.” said Square. “Dobson’s for- tion. “No nephew of mine was ever in the mer ship, by God. So Dobson and Edwards were Clyde.” shipmates before joining Tudor.” “Private Edwards,” said Square, turning to the “All I know, sir,” said Metcalf, “is that the two of marine with raised eyebrows, “am I now to un- them are as thick as thieves with Surgeon Ogil- derstand that you were mistaken when you vy, and pass hours with him in talking of the told Captain Metcalf, here, that Surgeon Ogil- fleet mutiny. I have often seen them in the sur- vy’s nephew was in the Clyde, and was hanged geon’s quarters as I go by on my way here. The following the fleet mutiny?” mutiny was Dobson’s moment of glory, and Ed- Ogilvy, not Edwards, supplied the answer to wards was a willing supporter, for he despises the question, albeit without words. As Square all authority.” watched, the doctor turned upon Edwards such “Have you any idea why Ogilvy should have a look of venomous loathing and fury that the such an interest in the Great Mutiny?” asked captain became convinced of the truth. For his Square. part, Edwards remained silent. “Perhaps,” Metcalf said, “because he had a “Come now, Edwards,” snapped Square. nephew in HMS Clyde who…” “Time waits, and so do I.” “What? How d’you know that, captain?” “I don’t remember saying it, sir,” answered “Edwards told me, sir, although he was prodi- Edwards morosely, and Square turned to the giously drunk at the time. Apparently, the neph- surgeon once again. ew was amongst the few men hanged after the “Well, Dr. Ogilvy?” suppression of the mutiny. Edwards said he “All right then, it’s true,” Ogilvy growled. “It was convicted upon the testimony of a ship- was my sister’s boy, Toby. He led the mutineers mate.” aboard the Clyde, but the rest of the crew “Choose six of your best men, Captain Met- turned against them and ran the ship into calf,” Square ordered abruptly, “and dispatch Sheerness Harbor. Blackguards,” he said un- them to arrest Edwards, Dobson and Surgeon steadily, his voice rising. “God rot them. They Ogilvy. Convey the three of them to my cabin betrayed him. That viper Hardcastle spoke and mount a guard on the door.” against him afterwards, and they hanged our Within a quarter of an hour, the three men Toby from a yardarm at Spithead, so they did. were delivered into the great cabin, and stood Twenty years old, he was. Naught but a lad. They before Captain Square. The drunken doctor killed him,” Ogilvy shouted. “Damn and blast all

74 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine the Clydesmen. Scum, every man Jack of ‘em.” “Masthead, sir?” Ogilvy drew breath to continue, but Metcalf “You heard me. Midshipman Pike had been and Bishop stepped quickly to his side, and, mastheaded, and he divulged the theft of the grasping his arms, propelled him to a nearby key to me only after he was recalled. He had chair. told no one until then, and was ordered to keep “Sit down man,” said Bishop curtly. “Control silent about it afterwards. You are a liar, Ed- yourself.” wards, and I believe you are a murderer as well. Ogilvy slumped into the chair and sat still, You knew of the stolen key because it was you breathing heavily. who stole it. You left Campbell to see Dr. Ogilvy “So, doctor,” said Square, “you sought re- right enough, but you were not ill. The three of venge for the betrayal of your nephew. That is a you met in the magazine and killed Hardcastle. sorry excuse for the taking of a man’s life, sir.” I am not aware of how you lured him down Ogilvy said nothing. there, but that is of no consequence. After- “And you Dobson,” said Square sharply, “You wards you all went your separate ways. You re- lured the two guards away from the magazine joined Campbell and went on guard duty. by giving them Lieutenant Wycombe’s pre- When I went to the magazine, I heard an odd tended permission to leave their post. Do you sound which I did not recognize until I heard it deny it?” again this afternoon in Surgeon Ogilvy’s quar- Dobson did not reply for some moments, ters. Your lame foot gave you away, doctor, but and Square thought that perhaps he was about the three of you were there, weren’t you?” to make a final effort to save himself, but it was “No, sir,” exclaimed Edwards immediately, “I not so. was poorly. I didn’t steal any key. I…” But Dob- “Ah, what’s the use?” said Dobson belliger- son cut him short. ently. “You’ll hang us soon enough anyway. We “Stow it, Edwards,” he said. “I took the key, sir, killed that bugger for sake of the doctor’s neph- when I delivered a ditty bag to Mr. Pike. It were ew, and for all the men who stood up for the just sitting there on his sea chest so I helped mutiny. Edwards said those two were too wit- myself. That’s how we got into the magazine. less to question the message, and he was right. Edwards and I spiked Hardcastle, and Ogilvy They just walked away as neat as you please egged us on all the time. Edwards did for Kings- once I told them they was free to go.” ton with a capstan bar after I got him down to “And you, Edwards. Where were you before the hold. I’ll not see you walk free, Edwards, you went on duty at the magazine?” damn your cowardly liver. You can bloody well “Oh, well, sir,” began the marine, “I was feel- swing like the rest of us.” ing a mite poorly, sir, and I went a-looking for “You filthy scum,” snarled Edwards, and the surgeon. But I couldn’t find him, sir. So I turned upon Dobson, but there came at that went back to go on duty.” same instant the rasping ring of steel upon “And when you and Campbell arrived at the steel as Metcalf drew his sword from its scab- magazine, you found the door open. Correct?” bard. “That’s right, sir,” said Edwards, in a manner “Stand fast, Edwards,” he snapped, “or I swear too facile for Square’s liking. “I investigated. I I shall run you through.” was suspicious, for I knew a key had been sto- “Marines,” shouted Square, and at once the len from Mr. Pike.” door opened to admit four scarlet-coated sol- “How did you know that?” diers. “Mr. Pike, sir,” said Edwards confidently. “He Square ordered the three culprits put into told me.” the cable tier in irons, but before they were “When?” marched out of the great cabin, he addressed “That very morning, sir.” them again. “And what, pray, were you doing at the mast- “One last thing,” he said. “Why leave the mag- head that morning?” azine door open?”

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 75 The three prisoners stared at him for some why tell us Kingston had been murdered?” moments until Dobson broke the silence. “Ogilvy himself supplied the answer to that,” “This stupid old duffer,” he sneered, jerking said Square, “although I did not see it at the his head at Ogilvy, “said he heard someone time, of course. He told me there was a mark on coming, so we ran for it without locking the Kingston’s neck that was plain to be seen, and door. Edwards and me, we were all right, but could not have been caused by a fall down a the doctor, he couldn’t move quickly, so he hid ladder. It is safe to say, therefore, that others in the hold until he could get himself back to must have seen the mark as well—the sur- the cockpit.” geon’s mates for example—and questions may “And I heard him as he did so,” finished Square. have been asked if Ogilvy had ignored it.” “Did anyone come, by the way, doctor?” “And of course,” added Bishop with a wry “No,” muttered Ogilvy. grin, “how better to draw suspicion away from Square laughed mirthlessly. himself? What murderer would identify his own “Take them away,” he ordered, and the small crime?” troop departed leaving the captain alone with “Quite so,” agreed Square. Lieutenant Bishop. “So Ogilvy is indeed a latter-day Sawney “So we may assume,” said Bishop, “that the Bean,” said Bishop with a merry smile. “He is Turk’s heads were sheer bravado.” Scottish, after all.” “Yes,” agreed Square, “although perhaps they were meant as a reminder of what happens to traitors. I think the significance of the knot was better understood by the men than we thought. Charles Mossop is retired after a career in post- Don’t forget a foredeck gang was heard sing- secondary education and writes historical fiction ing about it.” set in Napoleonic Europe and Ming China. His “True,” nodded Bishop, “but one thing still flash fiction has appeared in Flashshot, and a puzzles me.” short story, “Magistrate Lin and the Testimony Square raised his eyebrows. of the Household Gods,” is forthcoming in Over “If Ogilvy was complicit in Kingston’s death, My Dead Body. which is reasonably certain, then why did he not certify the death as an accident? I mean,

76 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine >> The kid’s father is in jail and his uncle is moving in on his mother. TimmyWaldron The Penitentiary Son Copyright © Timmy Waldron

he last bus into Trenton stopped at my through the cracks of my mother’s window Tstreet a little after midnight. I thanked the shade. My mother worked on average ten to bus driver with a wave and he nodded to the twelve hours a day; she coveted her sleep. If her mirror in recognition. After stepping off the bus light was on at this time of night, it meant she I tried to breathe as little as possible. Weeks wasn’t alone. I decided not to go up and in- had gone by since the city trucks had come stead walked down the street a few blocks and around for garbage collection. The rancid smell took a lap around the prison. Sometimes my of trash carried on the cool breeze blown in home was more unpleasant to me than the from the Delaware River was soothing and sick- smell on the street. ening at the same time. I pulled my KFC shirt A local artist was commissioned to decorate over my nose; the smell of chicken fat was so the outside walls of the penitentiary. The artist thick on my clothes it made me just as nauseat- painted portraits of white, black, and Asian chil- ed as the garbage. I took a deep breath and dren playing in a green park. There were happy broke for my apartment building. I hoped I’d clouds, perfect rainbows, and an idyllic blue sky get inside before my lungs hit their limit. As I to hold them all. The children were exaggerat- got closer to home I noticed a soft light shining ed caricatures, two-dimensional and inconsis-

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 77 tently drawn. The idea was that this would look told him. as if the kids in the neighborhood had sponta- “Who?” neously gotten together and decided to make “We owe Uncle a lot of money.” The guard this ugly prison beautiful. I’ve always hated the came to collect him before I could explain ev- way it looked. One of the happy young car- erything, but Dad knew enough. I thought he toons is picking flowers; she is fading faster would be furious but he took the shock of it all than the others. I looked left and right, then I better than I did. Dad winked at me before be- urinated on her. ing escorted away. It was just like I was a kid It had been almost a week since I’d seen my and he was leaving the house for work. father. He had been in Trenton Penitentiary for I finished peeing on the happy child painted nine years and unless God came down and split on the prison wall and decided it was time to the prison open, he would be there for at least head home. The bolt on the main door to our ten more. It was the first time I’d seen him since building had been broken long before my he first went in. I’m pretty sure he had no idea mother and I moved here. I guess the landlord who I was at first glance; I barely recognized figured there was no need for a lock since no him. My father, in my mind, was a thick Russian, one who lived here would have anything worth ten feet tall and all muscle. Prison had run him stealing. Footsteps creaked above me. I had a down in ways I couldn’t bear to imagine. His pretty good idea who would be coming down eyes were hollowed out, arms frail and speck- the stairs and I didn’t want to see him. I took a led with purple bruises the size of fingerprints. step into the shadows under the staircase. It Dad slumped in his chair like a catatonic and was a little nook used by the landlord to hold stared off into the distance like I wasn’t even mops and buckets for a janitor that was never there. hired. If I took another step I would become “I told you never to come back here,” he said. completely invisible but I hesitated, half in and I was surprised how well he spoke English. half out of the light. When he went inside he could hardly string a “Kid, how you do?” sentence together. “Good, Uncle, how are you?” “I have to talk to you; it is important.” “Ah, I don’t complain.” He tilted his head from “Does your mother know you’re here?” side to side, then rubbed his neck. “I just come “No.” by to drop off some moneys. You keep grades He finally broke his catatonic stare and high, understand?” looked me in the eyes. He even cracked a smile. “I will try, Uncle.” “You’ve gotten big.” “Good kid.” He tousled my hair, then contin- “Mom was in the hospital.” I fumbled my ued out the door. “See you Sunday for dinners.” words out nervously. “She’s okay though, she just collapsed at work. I drove to St. Francis Hos- I was eight years old when I first went to prison. pital to pick her up. This professor I’m working My father had just been transferred from the for gave me his car.” My father leaned back in prison hospital down to Trenton Penitentiary. his chair as I continued. “Anyway, I had to go Dad had been shot three times by a man who through all this paperwork. No one would tell owned the car he was trying to steal. That man me what happened. I had been there almost an was no longer alive. Back then I was still being hour before I got to talk to the doctor, so I was told the whole ordeal was one big mistake. completely freaked out by then. This doctor After a while we just stopped talking about it tried to calm me down and told me mom was altogether. Mom and I were making our visit fine and it was just exhaustion. He also let slip on a weeknight. I only remember because I her pregnancy was a big part of it and she need was mad at her. She forced me into my church to take it easy.” clothes for the second time that week. As on “Who she been with?” my father asked. Sundays, Mom spent over an hour in the bath- “I don’t think she is seeing someone, really,” I room getting ready. She would always pretend

78 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine that stepping from the bathroom into the liv- him raised his hand and revealed a lock of hair ing room was like appearing from behind the bound together in a rubber band. They locked curtain at an award show. Mom would smile eyes for a moment, and the chained man made and nod as if she were graciously accepting the a kissy face at my father. My father turned his audience’s applause. I would always get so mad head quickly back to us. Sweat appeared in at her; it really annoyed me, seeing my mother beads all over his forehead, just as if he was act in such a frivolous manner. Every time she suddenly struck by a fever. Before hanging up appeared from the bathroom she would be the phone he told us never to come back. We wearing the same dress but her outfit never did as we were told. looked any worse for wear. Mom took great pride in her appearance, as she did with mine I let myself into the apartment; all the lights as well. It was very important that although we were off except for the bathroom. Mom was lived in the gutter we didn’t look like we had taking a shower. I threw my keys on the kitchen come from the gutter. She did not do her usual table. They slid into an unmarked envelope. fanfare that night. Even though I was prepared These envelopes always popped up after one to scold her for being silly, I was utterly disap- of my Uncle’s late-night visits. I pulled the mat- pointed when she emerged from the bath- tress out of the sofa and began to undress. By room without the usual ceremony. Something the time my mother came out of the shower I seemed so sad about that, even back then. was already pretending to be asleep. My memories of that time are strange. I re- My alarm clock was my mother kissing me on member nothing of waiting in the prison, nor the cheek before she left for work. Every morn- did I recall walking through security. What I do ing she would be out the door before I’d be out remember is seeing my father and feeling of bed. I didn’t have class until 10:00 a.m. but ashamed to be near him. He had been beaten Professor Lemner was paying me as a research recently; there were bruises on his face and his assistant. I still had to keep my job at KFC be- swollen lip was split in the middle. Something cause he didn’t have enough money in the had happened to his hair. He had been shaved, budget to give me more than a few hours a sloppily. There were thick scabs on his head week. Lemner was the head of the Russian from where the razor had pulled out pieces of studies department at Trenton State University his skin. My mother cried. She tried to talk but and the main reason I was able to attend col- my father just shook his head and picked up a lege. phone, then pointed to the one on our side. When I started working with him I knew little Mom held the phone between us. I could hard- more than what my parents had told me about ly hear my father but he sounded anxious. Russia, but I had the language down, and Pro- There was a man sitting behind my father fessor Lemner’s research was being slowed by who seemed to be looking at us. He was cuffed the language barrier. Lemner had to do a great and chained to the bench he was sitting on. deal of fieldwork for a book he was writing and This man, dressed in the same uniform as my he labored with his Russian. I helped him sharp- father, did not look like a good man. He saw me en his pronunciations, read the reports coming staring at him and smiled at me. I must have in, and most importantly I spoke with the field looked scared because my father stopped his workers over the phone. When I was growing frantic back and forth with my mother and up, my parents could hardly speak English. They turned to see what had rattled me. As a child, I always felt so handicapped by their Russian had a very simple understanding of who my fa- but for me it was a gift. All I had to do was com- ther was. He was a strong man and although municate with people, and for that I received a rarely present in our home, he ruled our house partial scholarship to attend Trenton State. totally. He spoke little and had few other emo- Professor Lemner was rarely in the office be- tions other than angry and tired. My father fore noon; he gave me a key so I could come turned white as the person chained behind and go as I needed. Most of my morning went

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 79 to finding Cousin Joseph. For all my father knew used to owe us, but now he owned us. Mother Cousin Joseph was dead. They hadn’t spoken got up from the table and retrieved the bottle. for years, but if anyone could help us out it was My Uncle didn’t move an inch to help; he just him. Cousin Joseph was the man who paid for sat and waited as if in a restaurant. Mom set the my father and mother to leave Russia and gain glass of wine down next to him. Uncle let out a citizenship in the states. He set my parents up disapproving sigh. with a cheap apartment in Newark and eventu- “Leave the bottle near me. I am very thirsty.” ally helped us find a nice place in the safe, Mom did as she was told. He looked her up and swank town of Princeton. My family owed a lot down as she retuned to her seat. “You look like to Cousin Joseph and he often collected. a stuffed sausage in that uniform.” My mother My father did many jobs for Cousin Joseph. I looked up ashamedly but said nothing. We sat imagine very few of them were legal. After my silently until Uncle was halfway finished with father was arrested we were asked to leave our his bottle of wine. home in Princeton and ended up in one of the “Kid, how is school?” He would never speak more moderately priced areas of Trenton. Cous- Russian with me. I never understood why, may- in Joseph was never more than a specter in our be he thought it made him sound cool, like an lives before Dad went inside, but when his sub- adult talking to a child and using slang. tle presence left our lives a great deal changed. “Fine, Uncle.” I knew he would not be easy to find; all Dad had “Those books I buy you are good, no?” were a few addresses, some as vague as city “Yes, Uncle, they are good. Thanks for help- blocks. Hopefully Cousin Joseph was a creature ing.” of habit. Hopefully he was not dead. “You get smart off them and someday work for me.” My mother looked up quickly and gave Sunday dinner was always an unpleasant ob- him a sharp eye. ligation, but it had grown more repulsive in “Ah, see how your Mother look at me? See, recent years. My Uncle, even back when I still kid?” Uncle pointed at her with his fork. “She loved him, always struck me as a poor imitation not like how I put food under roof, how clothes of my father. Uncle owed my Dad a lot. Just as are put on your back. She is too good!” Cousin Joseph brought Dad over, Dad brought “Quiet.” My mother spoke up. Uncle over. He let him live with us and even got “Mind yourself, Mary; don’t forget who makes him a job sheet-rocking. Dad also spent a great ends meet around here.” Uncle’s Russian deal of time cleaning up Uncle’s mistakes. Be- tongue turned hateful quickly. He stood up and cause of that Mom never cared for him much. knocked his chair over. Uncle kept tight hold of But he did help us through tough times. Mom his fork as if it were a weapon. was broke, I was a kid, and dad was in jail. If “That’s enough, Uncle, time to go.” I got up it wasn’t for Uncle we’d have starved in the from my chair and he was on me. The old man street. moved fast. He had the fork pressed into my “Where is that wine I brought over?” Uncle neck. His other hand had a firm grip on a tuft of spoke in Russian to my mother. “We should my hair. I lost my footing and backpedaled un- open it, should we not?” til I hit the fridge. Uncle stayed on me the whole “I think it is in the cabinet over the sink.” My way, in control of every step. mother stared at her food, toying with it as she “Don’t forget yourself, kid.” He talked quietly answered. into my ear like he had a secret to share. “With- “Good, then get it, I should like to have it with out me, you stop school, you cook chickens my meal.” He had become bolder in his man- your whole life and your Mother goes home- ners and his words. There was a time when he less. Don’t forget this.” was ashamed –ashamed of who he was and “It’s okay,” my mother stammered. She picked how he acted, but that time had passed. Uncle Uncle’s chair up off the floor and began to tidy had moved up in the world, and we had not. He up the table. “Let’s sit down, okay? We’re all fine.

80 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine There, let’s all sit, please.” I was paralyzed with cousin.” He turned away from me and called fear and Uncle saw right through me. He let out back to another mechanic working on a cab. a little laugh and let go of me. The fork dropped “This dude’s looking for his cousin. You know to the floor. some guy named Joseph?” The mechanic shook “I go, kid, the stink here give me stomach his head and went back to work. “Sorry, man, pain.” He reached into his pocket and pulled can’t help you.” out a wad of money, then threw it onto the “How about you, sir? Know anybody by that kitchen table. “You don’t know how good you name?” I asked the large man in Russian. have it.” Uncle made his way to the door. “No.” He answered and went back to reading “Let me look, come here.” Mom checked my his paper. neck. “It will bruise a little. Are you okay?” I hit the other spots on Dad’s list and received “I’m fine. You okay?” Mom nodded and gave less information than from the Johnstown Cab me a hug. This could not go any further; Uncle Company, which is to say none. The sun started had become too bold. Money would be a little down and I turned for the train station. I had tight with him gone, but that would be better work tonight and couldn’t afford any more than this. time looking for Cousin Joseph. About a block I called Lemner and told him I wasn’t going from the train station I noticed a Johnstown to make it in today. Any assertion from me was Cab waiting in the line for passenger pickup. It never received well. He stammered a bit and was the big bald guy from the shop. He waved then stated he needed me to run the survey off two fares in the short time it took me to ap- numbers through one of the survey programs. proach. I told him it would be impossible since he had “Come here, kid,” he called to me. “I can help a meeting with Hanna and an appointment you out.” with his wife immediately following. Professor A week had gone by and I hadn’t seen my Lemner had no such obligations that day but uncle. This was not unusual nor was it unwel- he got my point. I was allowed a day pass. come. He kept a close eye on his warehouse There are places in the world I’d always want- around the shipping deadlines. That’s when he ed to visit; Newark was never very high on that had the most cars around and the most to lose. list. My first stop was a garage Cousin Joseph But no matter how much he had going on, Un- owned back when my father was running er- cle never failed to stop by the apartment when rands for him. I was immediately deflated to I was working the late shift. see it was no longer a chop shop but a cab Bob and I exchanged waves and I hopped off stand and by the look of it, a crappy one at that. the bus. The smell of trash didn’t really bother There were a few people skulking about the me any more; I was used to it. My mother’s light Johnstown Cab Company mostly mechanics was on. My Uncle could not stay away. I walked by the look of them. There was a large bald man through the main door and slipped into the sitting on a chair reading the St. Petersburg shadow of the stairwell. With my eyes fixed on Times. the door I slid my backpack around my side “Can I help you?” one of the mechanics asked and stuck my hand in the front pocket. The .38 lazily. was small, not too heavy, a comfortable weight. “Yes, I’m actually looking for the man who I ran my fingers along the barrel and found the used to own this building.” safety, then clicked it off. I pulled back on the “What’s his name?” barrel and cocked the gun. It didn’t catch at “Cousin Joseph. You know him?” first so I tried again. With the telltale click, I was “He got a last name?” all set. A door slammed shut and the stairs be- “Voinovich,” I said, embarrassed I did not gan to creak with each footfall. know his last name. I gave him my last name as I had taken the .38 for practice early in the a substitute. week and the results were not good. The short “Naw, man, I don’t know nothing about your barrel and my inexperience saved a Coke can

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 81 from eight shots at twelve feet. I was about ten growing distant memory. I went inside, took from the door. Uncle stepped off the staircase the bucket and mop from under the staircase and I cleared my throat. He turned; I saw he was and started cleaning up the blood. There was squinting. He looked directly at me, but I had so much that at first I only seemed to be mov- put myself into a place far too dark to be seen. I ing it around. I felt a vibration in my jacket and raised the gun and fired. The shot missed, blow- nearly fainted. Cousin Joseph had given me a ing out the glass in the door behind him. Uncle cell phone. I guess he had also set it on vi- jumped at the sound and turned for the exit. brate. The smell of trash flowed into the hallway just “It’s done, understand?” as water would rush into a sinking boat. I “Understood.” stepped forward and fired again. This time I hit “Someone will be by in a few minutes to fix him. He fell into the door with his back to me. I what broke, understand?” kept squeezing the trigger as I walked toward “Understood.” him. Five of the next seven shots found their “And to clean what’s dirty, understand?” mark. The smell had changed in the hall. The “Understood.” burnt smell of gunfire clung to me, and I think “Get some sleep. Someone will be around to Uncle had soiled himself. I stepped over his pick you up tomorrow, understand?” body and flicked the lights on and off. A car “Understood.” The phone clicked off without pulled up almost immediately. The bruiser from another word. Zombie-like I walked upstairs, the Johnstown Cab Company popped the entered the apartment, and hit the shower. As I trunk and got out of the driver’s seat. I walked washed Uncle’s blood from my skin I thought over to the car as the old man in the passenger about my family. My father was still in jail. My seat put his window down. mother was asleep in her bed with the bastard “You did well,” Cousin Joseph told me. “Give growing in her belly. I sent my sorrys to each the gun to Milik. It will disappear with the one of them in a prayer. body.” I nodded and turned to Milik. He already had Uncle over his shoulder. Milik I have been working on my writing for a few years dropped Uncle in the trunk like a sack of pota- and have had the luck to appear in the print edi- toes. The shocks of the car sunk under the tions of Snow Monkey #15, Monkey Bicycle #2, weight, then bounced back. There was a child and Word Riot’s first anthology. My work has seat in the back of the car that caught my eye. appeared online at Pindeldyboz (forthcoming), “You got a kid?” I asked him. Cousin Joseph Eyeshot, Hack Writers, The New Yinzer, Thieves laughed and shook his head no, then lit a ciga- Jargon, Rouse, Soma Literary Review, The rette. I walked to the trunk and looked down at Journal of Modern Post, Mcsweeneys.net, and Uncle. He was still alive, but it didn’t matter. Fiction Warehouse. They were going to take him to Duck Island; it was a factory compound on the river. I dropped the .38 in the trunk and looked down at my Un- cle. He looked scared. His face was frozen with his mouth agape. His eyes twitched as if searching for something – help I guessed. He looked like a victim, but that’s what people look like when they get what’s coming to them. I closed the trunk on him and the car took off. Cousin Joseph had paid the night watchman at Duck Island and would be allowed access to the furnace. It burned hot enough to melt steel. I was in Cousin Joseph’s debt, but it was worth it. Uncle would be ash by dawn –after that a

82 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine Meet the Staff at FMAM webmaster / review co-ordinator catherine chan t

Although my title says Webmaster, my RWA chapter’s website, From I am also a writer. I write young the Heart Romance Writers), re- adult and romantic suspense view coordinating, or en- novels, as well as short sto- couraging my own little ries and the occasional Hemingway to pen new non-fiction article. But in adventures for Winnie- my previous life, before the-Pooh, I’m writing. I becoming a full-time have a young adult writer (and a full-time time travel romance mom), I worked for that I’m currently fifteen years at Bos- submitting to agents ton College as a com- and I’m working on puting & communi- a follow-up young cations consultant, adult title. I also have technical writer and a completed roman- web manager. So my tic suspense on my role as Webmaster isn’t shelf that just needs a that much of a stretch little tweaking before I for me. start sending out those In 2004, when I re- queries. turned to fiction writing af- Oh yes, and I’m also edit- ter a ten-year hiatus, FMAM ing—things other than the gave me the opportunity to uti- FMAM website and my own lize my computer skills while continu- work, I mean. I recently joined the ing to pursue a writing career. My association staff at Chippewa Publishing. It’s a time-con- with FMAM began when I submitted a short suming job, but rewarding. Not only in seeing suspense story for consideration. I received a the finished product on release day, but also I prompt rejection, but the staff was so support- find that through editing/critiquing manu- ive and encouraging that I stuck around on the scripts I strengthen my own writing and story- listserv, basking in the camaraderie of the con- telling skills. tributors, the staff and the fans. I was so im- FMAM was the first to offer this not-so-fledg- pressed by how welcomed everyone at FMAM ling writer a leg up when she returned to the made me and other new writers feel that I de- world of fiction writing after a long absence, cided to give something back when they sent and from there I have continued to grow. FMAM out the call for a new webmaster. That job later will always be special to me, and I look forward evolved to include coordinating the book re- to watching it increase its readership as mys- view requests that came in via the website as tery fans everywhere discover the terrific sto- well. ries lurking within its pages. When I’m not webmastering (I also maintain

In each issue we’ll introduce you to one of FMAM’s fabulous team. In your next issue of FMAM–pdf or print–meet our Copy Editor, Mary Schenten.

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 83 >> A man having an extramarital affair is too clever for his own good. Mark SaFranko No Strings Attached Copyright © Mark SaFranko

lever, I remember thinking at the time. Very, she’s such a fundamentally guileless soul, and Cvery clever. I’d never before given her reason to mistrust Because I had it all figured out. First I’d send me. It was only later, when I resorted to tactics up the red flags of infidelity, then, after enticing like “getting laundry done independently” and Monica into taking a closer look, I’d actually go “asking about spouse’s schedule more often out and have the affair. Very clever indeed. than usual,” that she finally woke up. The first part of the plan wasn’t in the least “Are you having an affair, Richard?” she asked tough to pull off. Everything I needed was right me one evening after I’d dragged in a few hours there on the Web for the taking, courtesy of the late for dinner, and Diane, our fifteen-year-old, Sharpeye Investigation Agency: “Signs of Infi- had already gone to bed. delity—30 Clues to Cheating Spouses.” Indica- I pretended complete shock. I’d actually been tors like “sudden increase in time away from taking in a movie at the local multiplex, but of home,” “decreased sexual interest,” and “sub- course I didn’t tell her that. ject attends more work functions alone” were “An affair? No way, honey! What on earth the easiest to fake, and therefore the ones I em- would give you that idea? We’ve been married ployed most consistently to arouse my wife’s for how long? Twenty years! And in all that time, suspicion. Still, it took some doing because when have you ever known me to be interest-

84 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ed in another woman?” Because there was another complicating fac- She gazed at me steadily with her beautiful tor: Monica is rich. Filthy rich. gray eyes, which hadn’t dulled even though And she’d made me rich by inheriting an un- she’d crossed the threshold of menopause. I godly pile of money when her father, one of thoroughly understood the expression on her Newark’s erstwhile great slumlords, passed face: she wanted to believe me with all her away just before we were married (no pre-nup, heart, but she had to rely on her considerable incidentally). It allowed us to purchase—with- native intelligence and intuition to guide her, out a mortgage—a fifteen-room Tudor man- since that’s the kind of person she is. After a few sion with heated in-ground swimming pool in more questions about my increasingly errant posh Essex Fells, cheek by jowl with profession- behavior—all of which I answered calmly and al athletes and CEOs and renowned medical truthfully—she appeared to accept my expla- specialists, and gave her the freedom for vari- nation and the subject was dropped. ous charitable undertakings and the time for a Nevertheless, I could have sworn I caught long season of clay-court tennis. glimpses of something—someone—shadow- And that same windfall permitted me the lei- ing me whenever I was out and about. The ap- sure to work, as my whims dictated, as a free- pearance of the same midnight-blue Chevrolet lance editorial consultant. The rest of our time sedan in the parking lots of the dry cleaner in was spent traveling—to Paris, London, and var- Roseland and the Chinese restaurant in West ious resorts all over the globe. All in all a very Caldwell snagged my attention. Then one day I nice life, and one which I had little interest in discovered an invoice from the law offices of Si- disrupting. I had no desire whatsoever to down- mon and Levandowski in the bottom drawer of scale at the age of forty-three. Monica’s desk when I was hunting for a box of I let some time pass before launching the staples, and any doubt was erased. next phase of my plan. The way I wanted it was At the bottom, under ”Findings,” was this: with no strings attached. First, I opened a post ”After extensive investigations over more than office box in the hamlet of Pine Brook, which is three months, it is our conclusion that the subject, on a strip-mall-lined stretch of highway five Mister Richard Marzten, is not involved in any ex- miles to the west of Essex Fells. Then I planted tramarital activity whatsoever. His behavior and an ad in the Village Voice: activities, while at times less than predictable, are Happily-married, well-fixed male seeks ex- in our view innocent—in other words they are the tremely, extremely discreet married female be- behavior and activities of any normal, law-abid- tween 25 and 35 for hot, sexy afternoons. I’m ing man of his age, occupation and lifestyle....” game for some secret adventure—are you? Not Beautiful. Perfect. out to change the status quo. Just looking to The strange thing was that I genuinely loved shake it up a little. Photo and e-mail address a Monica—as much as any man can love his wife must. Will only make contact if interested. after twenty-two years, if time hasn’t eroded Within three days the PO box was stuffed to what was there in the beginning, if familiarity overflowing. The ones I wasn’t interested in— hasn’t bred outright contempt, if there’s even a the fatties or those who displayed symptoms scintilla of romance left. of mental imbalance—I immediately tossed In my case, you’d also have to throw in the into the trash. fact that Monica is twelve years older than me, “Gretchen” was who I settled on meeting first. that her once-svelte body has turned matronly, The lady knew how to write an intelligent letter and that she hasn’t gone in for a facelift or tum- all right, but it was her photo that sealed it for my-tuck, and what you’d come up with was a me—she was absolutely stunning. Whether or severe case of boredom. not Gretchen was her real name was anybody’s If there hadn’t been a child involved, it would guess. Which was okay—I was going to go by have been easy to ask for a divorce, but I didn’t “Jonathan” until we got to know one another— necessarily want one. In fact, I didn’t want one. if that happened.

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 85 We agreed to meet at the bar of a Malaysian Maybe because it was secret, maybe because restaurant on Spring Street in Soho. Gretchen it was forbidden, but it was the best sex I ever in person was downright exquisite, even more had: uninhibited; inventive; and incredibly ex- lovely than her snapshot. Jet-black hair cut in a citing. I prided myself on the certainty that I bob that cupped her cheeks, ice-blue eyes, and wasn’t about to lose my self-control, and that she was buff and well-dressed, right down to my wife and daughter noticed nothing unusu- her five-hundred-dollar Jimmy Choo sandals. al in my behavior, even after the affair had been There was nothing of the high-priced prosti- going on for months. tute about her, and she was startlingly intelli- So far as Monica was concerned, given the gent and possessed of a sharp sense of humor. keen preparation I’d done beforehand, what The entire package made me feel a bit ill at could possibly happen to raise her suspicions ease at first. I’d deteriorated from well-toned again? and handball-fit over the years to a trifle soft, as The way I saw it, I was covered in the best my life of ease had progressively taken over. possible way. Barring a major misstep, I could The thought of Gretchen taking off her clothes even deny knowing anyone by the name of in my presence was almost too overwhelming Gretchen, let alone having an illicit affair with to imagine. her, in the event it became necessary. I was hap- We talked about everything from the latest pier than ever at home, and my work thrived. I novels and films to the opera to the fortunes of felt a sense of renewal in every area of my life. the New York sports teams. We actually had a Which was why it disturbed me when Gretch- lot in common—a fondness for theater, travel, en grew teary one Thursday afternoon after I haute cuisine. And like me, Gretchen had un- explained I couldn’t possibly break away to limited access to all of it, because she hap- meet her on the coming weekend. pened to be married to a wealthy, but much “I would love to, baby, believe me, but I have older, Long Island estate attorney. The problem, to take Monica to a dog show in Pennsylvania of course, was the generation gap: it made for on Saturday, and I’ve got a meeting with a cli- problems in the bedroom. ent on Sunday I couldn’t possibly postpone. “I know exactly what you mean,” I sympa- You have to understand that.” thized. Gretchen finally got herself together, but the I stared at our reflections in the long mirror scene lingered in my mind. It was the first time behind the bar and my heart fluttered like a anything remotely like it had happened, and it lovesick kid’s. “Should we...go somewhere?” unnerved me more than a little. “How about the Soho Grande Hotel? It’s just I heard nothing from her over the next few a couple of blocks away.” days, which was unusual. My thoughts ran wild. Of course I knew the place. We got up. I laid a Was she about to break it off? Had she gotten large bill on the bar. My fingers were trem- stuck on me against her will, and was she now bling. trying to back off? Had she met someone else? Whatever—if it had to end, then it would “Jonathan” and Gretchen became a regular, if have to end, and it would be best if that hap- judicious, item. Between assignations we com- pened before there were any complications. As municated with each other via various e-mail I’d reminded myself from the outset, I was pre- addresses only, changing handles frequently pared to let her go if I had to. There’d be other to avoid possible detection. We quickly devel- women. I had the system down now. All I had to oped an understanding, and mutually vowed do was go back to my list or run another ad. we’d never fall in love with each other, no mat- When I heard nothing from Gretchen after a ter what, since we had entirely too much to couple of weeks, I began to breathe a little eas- lose in the event our relationship ever got out ier, though I missed the touch of her perfect of hand. “No strings attached” was our motto. body, the elegant beauty of her face, her class. Just the way I wanted it. Frankly, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It

86 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine dawned on me it was like I was being ditched “Why?” by someone I was blindly in love with. But the “Because I think you should fully understand alternative—fighting against it—was folly. And the ramifications of what you’re dealing with madness. here.” I was just about to commence the search for “Where...and when?” a new liaison when the phone rang one Sep- “Room 708, the Soho Grande. You know it, tember afternoon. Diane was at school and right? Shall we say tomorrow at three?” Monica was attending a meeting of the execu- What did this oily underwear-sniffer want with tive council on the arts. me? One part of me argued with another part “Richard Marzten?” From his unctuous tone I of me not to go. knew this was no ordinary call. “My name is But it’s nothing, I assured myself as I pulled Norman Wellington. I work for a private investi- my fedora down and darted across West Broad- gation agency out on Long Island.” way. It’s just a meeting, and what can this clod The mere mention of the words “Long Island” Wellington really do to me? If he accuses me of filled me with dread. I would have hung up, but something, I’ll just deny everything—everything, there was no way I could, and Norman Welling- like I would with Monica. ton had to know it. I stopped in front of 708 and put my ear to “I see....” I didn’t demand to know what the the door. Dead quiet. A happy thought oc- private investigator wanted, because I could curred to me: what if Wellington hadn’t shown conjure up a carload of possibilities. “How did up? What if the whole thing had been some you get my number?” kind of nasty joke, or misunderstanding, maybe Wellington chuckled smarmily. “Ah, Marz- even a veiled threat or reprisal by Gretchen for ten—we have so many ways of shaking privi- that weekend I’d refused to see her? What if leged information loose these days it ain’t even whatever Wellington wanted to talk about had much of a challenge.” already been cleared up? I got up from my chair and stood at the win- Sure. dow that gave out onto the driveway. What I was a fool. Nothing bad ever went away on would I do if Monica rolled up in her Mercedes? its own. I raised my fist and knocked softly on If I hung up, Wellington would simply hit his re- the door. dial button. Wellington was not at all what I expected. He “Actually,” he went on, I’ve been watching was a punk, only about five-five or six, some- you.” where in his late thirties, the type of underfed “You have...?” specimen who looked lost in his clothes, who “I certainly have. I’ve been retained to per- worked just a little too much styling gel into his form surveillance on you and Mrs. Leonard hair. It wasn’t that he was repulsive; I could see Trecker—Gretchen.” from his lean features how women might find My epidermis erupted into a cold sweat. him attractive. Hearing Gretchen’s name pronounced by any- “Marzten—come on in.” one other than myself made her existence real. He turned his back on me and sauntered All too real. And the fact my own real name was across the room. Then he switched off the bur- known — bling TV, dropped into an easy chair, and “Marzten?” crossed his legs, the picture of confidence and “Yes?” command. “I think you and I should get together and “Have a seat.” talk.” He was dressed in a conservative suit, as if he I tried to swallow. My throat was as dry as were about to attend a meeting of the board of sand. The easy, innocent glide of a cardinal directors. On the cherry wood footstool in front across the driveway seemed crazily incongru- of him was a squat glass half-filled with clear ous with the moment. liquid. Water. Or gin. Or vodka.

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 87 I was too nervous to sit. Whatever was going been to bed with Gretchen made me feel as if on here, I wanted to get it over with as quickly my delusions about myself were collapsing like as possible. a house of cards. “Relax,” coaxed Wellington in a put-on wise- “See, when Trecker hired me to tail Gretchen, guy voice I immediately detested. “This is gon- I couldn’t help but develop a thing for her my- na take a little time. You don’t want to stand self. Let’s face it, Marzten—what man wouldn’t? there for a half-hour, do you?” All you gotta do is take one look at her, for I glanced behind myself and spotted a match- Christ’s sake, right? So rather than blow the ing chair. whistle, I did something different...something I “Something to drink?” never planned to do, incidentally—I confront- “No—thanks.” ed her after one of her trysts with the guy she “Suit yourself.” was screwing. I told her what I had on her, and “Why did you want to talk to me?” I managed she, uh, persuaded me not to rat her out to her to croak. I looked around the surprisingly cozy husband, who happens to be not all that un- room with its golden walls and ceiling. What derstanding when it comes to his wife’s need was I searching for—a video camera? A tape re- for freedom and variety. Well, it didn’t take corder? There was nothing except for a lamp, a much to persuade me.” desk, and a double bed, the kind Gretchen and I could hardly believe what I was hearing. But I had made love on. by now I was mesmerized. Whenever a man is Wellington scoffed. “Frankly, talking to you duped, he has a compulsion to know just how doesn’t interest me in the least.” He smiled pa- far he’s been taken for a ride. tronizingly. “My purpose in bringing you here is “Anyway, I found myself a little ticked at the to explain to you the fix you’re in.” jerk who’d been...enjoying her. And, as now I A nerve in my right hand went berserk at that had no intention whatsoever of telling Leonard moment, causing the index finger to twitch vi- Trecker the truth about his wife. I set up a meet- olently. “And...what fix might that be?” ing with the greaseball—his name was Tony Wellington grinned. “Not all that bad, if you something or other…and we...came to an wanna know the truth.” agreement.” “No?” I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I was hav- What was Wellington talking about? No clue. ing trouble catching my breath. All I knew was I was sinking under an immense “First I’m gonna educate you on some histo- weight, and if I didn’t get out from under it, I ry,” Wellington continued high-handedly, nest- was going to be crushed like an insect. As a ling his skinny hindquarters more snugly into matter of fact, an insect was all I was. the seat. “And that’s how it was with the next two, “It was just about four years ago Leonard Gene and Larry. Occasionally it hasn’t quite Trecker first asked me to follow his wife.” Wel- worked out, because the guy in question was lington must have noticed the confusion on single and didn’t have anything to lose, or he my face. “Oh, come now, Marzten—you don’t had nothing to come to the negotiating table really think you’re the first to get into Gretch- with.” en’s pants, do you?” Still no clue. I looked at my clenched hands and said noth- “See, Marzten, I’ll be the first to admit it’s a ing. honey of a deal for me. Every time her husband “Hey, I apologize if it’s a disappointment to suspects her of hanky-panky, he calls me and I you, but that’s the way it is. In fact, I happen to step right in and make the acquaintance of be one of the guys who got there before you someone like yourself. And the arrangement did.” keeps the old fellow happy—he’s assured his Wellington laughed. I felt myself flush, first wife is true blue, and I draw another fat pay- with humiliation, then with embarrassment check. Another two fat paychecks, actually. and anger. Knowing this scummy twerp had Thankfully, Gretchen doesn’t mind going along

88 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine with the charade. She gets what she wants, I into the wastebasket, then drove the piece get what I want. And after I caught on to what mouth-first into bottom of the basin, shatter- she was all about, I understood it was better to ing the glass. just let her go her merry way. Why ruin a good There was a rap on the door. thing, after all? I’ll bet you didn’t know some- “Marzten? Didn’t fall in, did you?” times she’s the one who places the ad, did you? I ripped a hand towel off the rack and nestled You can dress an alley cat in fine clothes, but it the shard in it. With my left hand I unlocked the doesn’t change the fact she’s an alley cat. So I door and threw it open. Then I drove the jag- take my petty jealousy out on guys like you, I ged glass straight into Wellington’s face. suppose.” The towel flopped over his face as I drove I still didn’t quite get it, not all the way, but I him into the floor. With all my strength, I pressed was starting to catch on. A galvanizing current my thumbs into the gully beneath his Adam’s of anxiety ejected me from the chair. “Wh-what apple until his arms and legs ceased thrashing is it you—“ spastically. “Do I have to spell it out? I didn’t think I would, After a while I felt for his carotid artery. But if not to a smart guy like yourself. Unless maybe there was any life pulsing through Norman you’re not all that smart after all. Okay, let me Wellington, I couldn’t find it. put it to you as plain and direct as I can: for the ”Jesus Christ—what did I do?” right money, I don’t talk about you and Gretch- I kept repeating the question, as if I might ac- en to anyone. Like to Leonard Trecker, for in- tually have an answer to it. Because killing stance, since I’m sure you don’t want your name someone wasn’t me at all. I hadn’t planned it— dragged into a messy divorce case. Or...to your it had been the last thing on my mind when I wife. See what a nice guy I am, Marzten? I could went to the hotel. have come to your front door, but instead I in- Now here it was a full twenty-four hours later, vited you here to talk things over.” and I was at home pretending to work. But I “How much do you want?” couldn’t concentrate on a solitary thing except “Before I set a price, I should inform you I for the portable TV that sits on a corner of my know where you live; I know how your wife is desk. I hopped from channel to channel in fixed, and all that. So I’m completely confident search of the news alert that would trumpet that you’ll come across for me.” my crime to the world. “I—I have to use the bathroom....” But more hours passed and nothing hap- I wasn’t ready to listen to dollar amounts—I pened. My wife came in. Diane got home from was seeing too much red. I darted into the john, school and we all sat down to dinner. switched on the light, and locked the door. The When my daughter went to bed and Monica low roar of the exhaust gave me the illusion I was reading in the bedroom, I holed up in my had some privacy to think. Of course, when a study with a bottle and resumed my channel man needs a window to crawl out, there isn’t surfing. The strain was already getting to be too one to be found. much. It wasn’t that I hoped to be caught; I just Okay. If Monica catches on, it’s all over. I’d al- didn’t know how long I could endure the ten- ready lost Gretchen. That’s what the teary scene sion of waiting for something to happen. I felt had been about a few weeks ago—Wellington like a schoolboy who isn’t prepared for a math had been sicced on Gretchen again by Leonard test—there’s no way to avoid it even though he Trecker. She understood our little fling was go- knows taking it spells disaster. ing to have to end, and she’d been distraught About twenty minutes into the 11:00 news over it. Unless I paid this human vermin off, there was something that made me jump there would be nothing left to lose. straight out of my chair. The camera panned Like a sleepwalker I reached for the crystal the Soho Grande Hotel at the same time the vase on the runner above the washbasin. I anchorwoman reported a murder victim had plucked out the three flowers, dropped them been discovered in one of its rooms. In such an

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 89 upscale establishment, this was nothing short I gestured desperately at her to cover the re- of shocking. Police were investigating, and they ceiver. “Who is it?” weren’t giving up details. “May I ask who’s calling?” Monica parroted I stared at the screen. Now what? What was I into the mouthpiece. She shrugged and held supposed to do? I could think of nothing but the instrument out to me. “She won’t say.” going for another bottle and drinking myself “T-tell her I’m not here...!” into numbness. “She says it’s important.” Which is what I did. Or tried to do. Afterwards Of course I knew who it was. Reluctantly I I crawled into bed next to Monica and lay star- took the phone. Gretchen’s voice was strained, ing into the darkness. I wished I could shake frantic. It was over for her, she said. And it was her awake and talk about what happened, but going to be over for me, too. when her fleshy leg bumped into my toes, I re- I kept my eye on my wife who was watching coiled. Confess? What was I thinking? Maybe I the blood drain out of my face. was losing my mind. “We have to talk,” I said after hanging up. I By the time morning light penetrated the told her about the affair, leaving out certain drapes, I hadn’t slept a single wink. Somehow I hurtful details. I confessed to killing Norman dragged myself out of bed. “I’m not feeling all Wellington, pleading it was a mistake in judg- that well,” I said to Monica over breakfast, “but ment, an act of desperation. ‘Manslaughter’ was I’m going to my study anyway.” But work was the word I used. Because I needed someone in the last thing on my mind. I locked the door my corner and my wife was the obvious candi- and planned my escape: Mexico. France. Mo- date. Maybe, just maybe, she would under- rocco. Every time the telephone rang, I nearly stand. jumped out of my skin. “I know it sounds preposterous, even insane, There was nothing new to be learned from but I did it to protect us—you, me, Diane.” the TV. In fact, as the day wore on, the slaying of Monica looked painfully old to me at that Norman Wellington wasn’t even a story any- moment. For one horrifying instant, I felt like I more, having given way to the war on terror, ris- was coming clean to my mother instead of my ing gasoline prices, a coup in sub-Saharan Afri- wife. ca. “If you’d talked to me before you had this af- Late in the afternoon, after deliberately fair, Richard, I would have told you that you avoiding a check of my e-mail throughout the were better off at home. But I suppose it’s a lit- day, I logged onto the last address I’d used to tle late for learning lessons.” Her eyes were cold communicate with Gretchen Trecker. To my and hard, like I’d never seen them before. “Oh, horror, there was a message. dear. Now we’ll just have to cook you up an ali- ’Jonathan’—I know who you really are. I know bi, won’t we?” your real name is Richard Marzten. Norman Wel- My heart leapt with the unspeakable relief of lington found out everything about you, and be- someone who’s just won a reprieve from the fore he went to meet you, he told me. It was you gallows. At the same time I couldn’t help but be who killed him, wasn’t it? The police have been to aware of how there were entangling strings ev- my husband’s office asking questions. Call me as erywhere I looked now, steel ropes and cables soon as you get this message. If you don’t, I’m go- even, and I was flailing in them like a big, helping to call you. This is so sad. So very sad. I was fall- less fish. ing in love with you.—G Gretchen Trecker was arrested for murder to- I could hear the telephone ringing out in the day. I know it’s only a matter of time before she kitchen. This was the main house line that was talks and I’m dragged into the sordid mess. publicly listed under my name and one my wife What am I thinking? She’s spilled everything al- and Diane were prone to answer. Seconds later ready—she’s had to, in order to save herself. I’d Monica was knocking at the door. bet anything the police are on their way for me “It’s for you, dear.” right now. When they get here, my fate will de-

90 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine pend entirely on my wife. If she swears I was at “Sure, you can,” I tell her. home when Norman Wellington was killed, I I slip my hands around the wrinkled flesh of might have a chance. Otherwise— Monica’s throat and begin to squeeze. By the way, Monica’s put two and two togeth- “Richard—stop. Richard...what are you do- er and decoded my ruse for throwing her off ing? Richard! Richard!” the scent of my infidelity, and I’ve copped to Killing someone is easier the second time, a my earlier deception. As we sit in front of the TV lot easier, much easier than I thought it could watching a clip of Gretchen being deposited in be. I’ll figure out what to do with Monica’s body a squad car outside her Long Island mansion, later, when she’s dead. Maybe I’ll put her in the she says “I’ll try to protect you for as long as I trunk of one of the cars and take a nice little can, Richard. For Diane’s sake, mostly. But I don’t ride out to the Atlantic Ocean, since it’s only an know how long I can do it. I mean, if there’s hour away. With the autumn sun shining, it’s a pressure from the police, or.... This time I think perfect day for that. On the way I’ll cook up you were just a little too clever for your own something plausible to tell Diane. good.” On second thought, if they’re going to come I smile, a little sadly. I can’t disagree. “You’re for me, I’d better move fast. right, honey.” I squeeze harder, harder. I move closer to her on the sofa. There, that’s it. “What are you doing, Richard?” The important thing is that there are no wit- “I was going to kiss you,” I whisper. nesses. Now it’s my word against Gretchen’s. “No. Oh, no. I don’t ever want you to touch They can’t pin anything on me, can they? I’m me again. In fact, until you find another place to clean. Hell, there’s even a report up in Monica’s live I’m going to move your things into one of desk to prove it. the guest bedrooms. We’re finished, you and me. Obviously I can’t trust you.” Mark SaFranko’s stories have appeared in doz- I’m angry, infuriated even, but I keep my head. ens of magazines and journals, including Ellery I know what this means. It means Monica’s not Queen’s Mystery Magazine. He has been cited in going to give me an alibi if the cops turn the Best American Mystery Stories 2000 and nomi- heat up. It means she’ll talk the minute they nated for a Pushcart Prize. His novel Hating Olivia start to back her into a corner. It means I can’t will be published in September, 2005 by Murder trust her. Slim Press in the United Kingdom.

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 91 >> The wretched man is deﬁned by a handful of moments in his life when temptation is too strong to overcome. Lox Crabtree Copyright © The Deep Six Lox Crabtree The Deep Six 2006 Gin E L Fenton Copyright © Copyright Illustration Illustration

er name was Betty. It might as well have the dark cloud that covered our land would be- Hbeen Kay or Ellen or Dottie—any of those gin to dissipate. No matter what the papers who’d come before. A hint of the bright eyes of were saying—that the war would soon be over her youth, an over-rouged mouth that had and Johnny would come marching home. It been kissed more times than a baby’s cheek, was 1945 and people were still sacriﬁcing— and a stain on her soul that could only grow some dying, some surviving, most living a bare darker with time. existence that gnawed at them deep down She knew the drill. No hearts and ﬂowers. No where the light couldn’t get at it. promises of a little cottage in the country. A Betty was a survivor. Long before her man few drinks, a few laughs, and few nights in the had been killed by a Jap sniper’s bullet, she’d sack. For me, somebody to keep the sheets joined the thousands of women in the facto- warm and to listen to my life’s story. For her, ries. Doing a man’s work for a man’s pay and ex- someone to pretend with—that the world pecting to have a little peace and comfort and wasn’t a quagmire of lost hope and dreams joy at the end of long, hard days. She could par- sometimes came true. ty with the best of them, and after she got the It seemed the day would never come—when letter from the War Department, she partied

92 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine even harder than most. The lame, the crippled, floorboard to prove it. As he brandished the the emotionally unstable—the 4F-ers like bottle of bonded liquor, his face collapsed into me—were her stand-ins for what she’d lost on a grimace and he slumped forward against the that distant beach somewhere in the Pacific. steering wheel. We skidded off the road and My excuse for using her wasn’t that noble. into a field of tall grass where Betty was able to I was a struggling private eye with two ex- turn off the ignition before we hit either of the wives and an unsympathetic bookie looking tall oaks that loomed ahead. for regular payoffs. Cases were scarce and most It had all happened in a wink of an eye, and I of the money I made usually went to them. My was groggy from slamming my head against saving grace: I chose women who were willing the front seat. to pay their way—and mine. I wasn’t proud of Betty was screaming loud enough to wake it; it’s just the way things were. the dead. “Danny! Danny, get out and help On the night it happened, Cab Calloway and me!” his orchestra were playing on the old Philco ra- As I opened the driver’s side door, Jack Carter dio, and Betty and I were getting dressed to go fell onto the ground, face first. I felt for a pulse. out. In the light of what was to come, all our “You better scream louder, Betty...if you want to other troubles, real or imagined, would pale in wake this one.” comparison. “But...what happened? What—?” Gas rationing and bald tires on her car meant “Who knows? Heart attack, maybe. Whatev- we’d have to find another way across town to er...his dancing days are over.” the nightspot Betty had in mind. No taxis; they She sat on the edge of her seat, rubbing her cost money. We’d hitchhike, she said, raising her knee and cursing the fact that she’d torn her skirt high above her knees, showing the bait. nylons against the dash. “What are we going to It’d worked before, she said, and tonight would do, Danny?” be no different. Neither one of us knew just I looked out across the field, through the twin how wrong she would be. beams of the headlights. We were twenty yards After twenty minutes of hard walking—there from the road. “Five miles back to town. Five was an unusual chill in the air and a brisk wind miles in the other direction to Lila’s. Take your whipped at our faces—Betty caught the atten- choice.” tion of a man in a Ford coupe. He was looking I lifted Jack Carter’s head. There was a gash in for company and only mildly objected when he his scalp where he hit the door handle as he discovered there were two of us. She got in be- fell. side him; I begrudgingly took a back seat. “We’ve got to get him...take him back—” “Where you headed, dreamboat?” he said, It hit us both simultaneously. Take him leering at Betty. where? To a hospital? No need. To the police? When she told him, he laughed, stared down What good would that do? And who’s to say we at her exposed legs, and maintained he had a didn’t knock him the head? similar intention. I reached into his pocket and retrieved his “Sounds good to me, doll. I was thinking wallet. Jack L. Carter, Detroit. He was a long along the same lines.” He glanced back at me. way from home. A traveling salesman, he’d “What say I get the first dance?” said. No roots. Unlikely anyone besides clients I shrugged; Betty nodded. even knew he was in town. His first day here, Five minutes later we were outside the city he’d said. I thumbed through the thick wad of limits, headed toward the roadhouse known bills. Close to eight hundred bucks. simply as Lila’s Place. A dance hall, a juke joint, “Is there a phone number there, Danny? a place to forget, for a little while, the ever-pres- Someone we can call?” ent cruel and unforgiving days. “Nah,” I said, putting the wallet in my jacket. Jack Carter, he said. Traveling liquor sales- Maybe it was the bump on my head; maybe man. And he reached into a satchel on the it was the pack of ravening wolves that was

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 93 constantly howling at my door. In a brief sec- My mind teemed with ‘what-ifs’: what if we’d ond, I’d crossed the line. I’d made up my mind been seen from the porch of some nearby to do something I would’ve never thought pos- farmhouse? What if someone had noticed us sible. getting into Jack’s car...and later reported it “Help me get him up, Betty.” when the whole thing made the papers? What She eased across the seat, expecting that I real difference could any of that make now? My meant to put him back in the car. We’d take only answer was to speed up, to get back to him back to town, she was thinking, turn him town and ditch the car as soon as possible. over to somebody. Mark the night off as a We walked back to Betty’s after leaving the stroke of bad luck. car in a dark alleyway a few blocks from her “Get his feet, honey.” apartment. She waited till we got back to un- She did as I said, then shot me a look of sur- load on me. prise as I started backing away from the car. “We have to call the police, Danny,” she said, “What are we doing, Danny?” throwing her purse across the room. “If we “There’s a pond down below those trees. See don’t—” the water glimmering in the moonlight?” “And tell them we took his wallet and liquor “You’re crazy!” she said, dropping his legs. and personal belongings for safe keeping, just “We can’t—” in case he came back to life and needed “You want to try to explain to some cop how them.” we got this guy to pick us up, how we decided “Tell ‘em you panicked...tell ‘em—Danny, your to roll him for his dough, then got cold feet and head, it’s bleeding. What—?” brought him in?” “Hit it against the front seat. I’ll be okay.” “That’s not how it happened. It was just bad “Not unless we call the cops, Danny.” She luck. The guy—” clutched at the front of my jacket. “Please... “Who’s gonna believe a down and out sha- we’ve got to. It’s the right thing to do.” mus and a party girl? We rolled him for his mon- “It’s too late for that. No way now to explain ey...or we were going to. There’s a gash in his what we did. Here, let’s have a drink. Maybe it’ll head. One of us put it there, that’s what they’ll calm you down.” say. And no matter what, they’ll put us in the “I don’t want a damn drink! I want this night- slammer while they sort things out. You’ll lose mare to stop...to be over.” She ran to the bath- your job. I’ll lose my license.” room. Automatically, in the fear of the moment, she I dug into Jack’s satchel, took out a fifth of reached and grabbed his legs. As we struggled bourbon, opened it and drank straight from toward the pond, she babbled her reluctance the bottle. It was the good stuff; it burned all in short, sobbing statements that more resem- the way down. bled questions and were swallowed up by the Moments later, Betty reappeared, her eyes sound of loud-chirping crickets and whining red and puffy, mascara streaking her face. Be- locusts. fore I could stop her, she grabbed the phone, I emptied his pockets, took his watch and ran to the bedroom, trailing the long cord be- rings, then we dumped him unceremoniously hind. into the water. Betty cried the whole time. “Come out of there, Betty! Don’t do it! I’ll go When we got back to the car, my heart was to jail...you’ll go to jail.” pounding, my pulse racing, more in anxiety “I don’t care,” she screamed through the than from exertion. Betty was quiet now. She locked door. “I can’t take this.” slid across the seat and put her head in her I shoved, kicked against the door to no avail. hands. I picked up the keys off the floorboard It was stout oak and she’d lodged a chair or where she’d dropped them, cranked the coupe something under the knob. I scrambled across and backed up. Moments later, I swung out the room trying to find the other end of the onto the road, turned left towards town. cord to pull it out of the wall. It wouldn’t budge

94 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine either; it was hidden behind a cabinet that its way in from that place inside us all—that must’ve weighed four hundred pounds. No place so dark that light can’t get at it. pocketknife. No time to look in the kitchen. I gulped another swig of bourbon; spit half of Frustrated, I went back to the bedroom door it onto my shirt as I began to laugh uncontrol- and tugged the cord hard, pulled with all my lably. Like poor old Jack Carter, I’d been deep- might. I wrapped it around my wrist and jerked sixed. By choices, the wrong ones. And finally, it again. It seemed to give some, but not much. the worst one of all. I banged on the door. The radio blared the National Anthem. John- “Let me in, Betty! Don’t do this...please.” ny was marching home. Two hours too late for No sound. I put my ear to the door. Was she Jack Carter, for Betty. Perhaps a lifetime too late even then whispering a frantic message into for me. the phone? I backed up, then ran at the door, I walked back into the bedroom, put the slamming into it with my shoulder. Again and phone in its cradle, then looked over at Betty. again I threw myself against it. Suddenly, the Another choice to make. Probably not my best jam gave way. I pushed through, dislodging one. Certainly not my first one. I picked up the the chair and shoving it aside. receiver to call the police. I could barely hear She lay across the bed, the phone turned up- the dial tone for the loud celebration over the side down, spilled from its cradle. The cord was radio. Slowly I put the phone down, gathered wrapped around her neck where she’d gotten up the satchel, my coat, anything that said I’d tangled in it as she attempted her call. Even as been there. I closed the door behind me, I loosed the cord, I knew she was dead, stran- walked hurriedly into the night. gled when I’d put everything I had into pulling Somewhere out there—in bars all over it from her hands. Her eyes bulged, her tongue town—people were starting to party. Party like protruded from her mouth. I dropped the cord the world would never end and all their dreams and turned away. would soon come true. I wanted to be there, I stumbled into the other room, collapsed lose myself among them, pretend for just one onto the sofa. It was minutes before I moved, night...that when Johnny came marching home and then to snatch the bourbon, turn it up, feel he’d bring the light—and the gnawing dark- the fiery liquid scald my throat. I switched on ness would end forever. the radio. It was so quiet now. Too quiet—like a morgue. I had to squelch the silence. Sorting In addition to being a tugboat captain on the through the static, I found music. Cab Calloway Mississippi River, Lox Crabtree is a retired oilfield again. production specialist. He has written numerous Thirty seconds later, they interrupted the freelance articles for Mississippi newspapers and song, made the announcement. I could hear his present passion is fiction writing. He’s had sev- the nightclub erupt into a crescendo of whis- eral stories accepted for publication in The Writer’s tling, clapping, shouting. I looked toward the Hood, Nimue’s Grotto, and Futures Mystery bedroom at Betty’s lifeless body and I smiled— Anthology Magazine. He is currently an editor on a weak, pathetic thing that quivered lips against the Muse Marquee Newsletter staff. Lox can be teeth. contacted at [email protected]. I glanced at my watch. What had happened in the last two hours? A man had died, been trashed like so much garbage. A sad and lone- Writers and Readers Network ly woman had been killed attempting to make something right. And the war had ended. Two Bringing Writers and hours in one man’s life—that’s how I’d be Readers together judged. A thief. A murderer. Not even a casual- ty of war, just attrition. Something that hap- www.writersandreadersnetwork.com/ pened over time; a consumption that seeped

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 95 >> Mary O’Gara is an astrologer in private practice in Albuquerque, NM. Her short story “Trouble on the Home Front” is included in the anthology, THE TROUBLE WITH ROMANCE, published by TrebleHeart Books. Visit Mary at: www.iowapoet.com or see her new book at: https://www.trebleheartbooks. com/GrandDames.html

TIME TO WALK IN BEAUTY STARFIRE January - February 2006

The Brigham Young University Museum of Art defined its exhibit of Navaho work with these words:

Encompassing beauty, balance, order and harmony is the essence of the Navajo philosophy and thesis of this exhibition. Given there is no word in the Navajo language for religion or art, “hózh ó” describes both and is considered the essence of the Navajo philosophy.

96 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine The Navajo Night Way Ceremony includes a look like bargains. Shoppers and lovers have prayer that focuses on finding the beauty in the same problems. It’s such a deal–never mind our lives even when we walk through the night, that it’s the one color I can’t stand. Sure, and all the time of fear and danger in Navajo tradition. those cowboys are going to stop drinking and The story of the Night Way Chant is told by the riding off into the sunset once they have a taste Dineh (the Navajo people) at The chant in- of love and home cooking. What were we think- cludes the famous prayer about walking in ing? beauty: The other side of Venus retrograde is that we do start thinking about all those evaluations In Beauty may I walk. we made during the approximately 18 months All day long may I walk. since the last Venus retrograde cycle began. We re-evaluate relationships and recommit to Through the returning seasons may I walk. them–or we revoke the commitment. We figure out that Bozo Enterprises is never going to It is finished in Beauty. make it back to the price we paid. We under- It is finished in Beauty. stand why even the least demanding charities refuse to pick up some of our donated trea- The lines I have quoted were translated by sures. We come to terms with our own bargains Sister Pamela Clare CSF. The full poem is on her and the emotions behind them. website at Another site attributed a slightly dif- We may not reform. We just understand. We ferent version of the prayer to the ceremony sign and go on. about Coyote, the trickster, but in the south- But this time, we really may reform. This Ve- west I’ve always heard it referred to as Night nus direct chart has some unusual–and not Way. necessarily–comfortable potentials. The principle here is that we create beauty Nine of the ten planets are gathered within a by creating order, harmony and balance in our semicircle. Jupiter is the leading planet of that lives. Beauty is more than decorative; it is the group and Jupiter in Scorpio represents an ex- foundation on which a life is built. pansion of desire and the potential for rising Venus rules personal values (from art to mon- from the ashes of our old ways and turning into ey to relationships) through her two signs: Tau- the risen Phoenix. Bringing up the trailing end rus with the keywords I Believe and Libra with is Mars in Taurus, ready to take action on our the keywords I Relate. Since Aries, the sign pre- real values, no matter what it costs us. (Do be ceding Taurus, has the keyword I Am, we can careful with that no matter what it costs atti- understand Taurus as saying “Because I am my- tude; Mars can go through resources faster that self, I believe or value.” Libra, of course, is about Paris Hilton in a new shopping center.) how we interact with, balance with, and relate On the other side of the circle, Saturn stands to those people and things we value. Libra val- alone and retrograde in Leo. Saturn’s isolation ues include both discernment and judgment. is emphasized by its being the only retrograde Venus goes direct on February 3, 2006, after a planet in the chart. Saturn rules restriction and long season of retrogrades. Mars retrograde, condensation. We’re used to thinking of Saturn from October 1 to December 9, 2005, was a as density and blocks and barriers of all kinds, time of reaction and releasing people and situ- but Saturn is also the means of bringing our ations from our lives. Mercury retrograde in the personal creativity (Leo) into form. midst of Mars retrograde gave us time to re- Focus is a vital ingredient of manifestation, think and plan for our changing lives. Then just and Saturn provides the focus as Venus goes before Christmas, Venus turned retrograde on direct for manifesting whatever we have cho- December 23rd. sen during the 42 days she was retrograde. Ju- Venus retrograde, unfortunately for some in- piter in Scorpio provides the consistent emo- vestors, is a time when ridiculously bad buys tional desire to fuel the process, and Mars in

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 97 Taurus provides the willingness to give up one awareness. Suddenly you just don’t want an- resource to gain another. other cigarette or another dessert. Suddenly The Moon in Aries promises to help us stay you’re tired of relationships that go nowhere focused on our personal desires and the things and quit flirting with impossible people. It just that will benefit us personally. That’s not al- happens. ways a good thing when we’re discussing val- But in some parts of the world, if Pluto is well ues and relationships. Moon in Aries can be placed by house or close to an angle, we may selfish and demanding, but it does suggest we see sudden transformation that awes us with won’t let Mars sacrifice anything we really val- its horror or–something we’ve forgotten in re- ue. cent years–its absolute beauty. That beauty The Moon is already in the third decanate of could come from a sound and reasoned Su- Aries when Venus goes direct. The third decan- preme Court decision or the discovery of a new ate bringing in a blend of Sagittaria philosophy, spiritual philosophy. It can be personal, but it love of learning, and willingness to contract has implications beyond one person or tribe or with others. nation. The Moon was last over (conjunct with) Ura- With the Moon already void before it aspects nus in Pisces, suggesting we may all have come Pluto, the Pluto manifestation is virtually im- to some unexpected emotional decisions while possible to predict. We could predict it in one Mercury was retrograde. We may have had new place. Where I live in Northern New Mexico, Plu- insights into our values about issues of world- to will be in the first house of appearances and wide concern, or we may have been surprised personal presentation; I’m planning to spend into new attitudes in personal relationships. Ei- some quiet time studying the spiritual tradi- ther way, that emotional change of direction is tions that are most meaningful for me, allowing the background and foundation for many of them to permeate me with the thoroughness the choices we will make as Venus moves for- of Pluto transformation. In another place, Pluto ward. might bring about a major creative shift for an The Moon makes only one significant aspect artist or the rise or fall internationally of an im- after Venus goes direct and before the Moon portant currency. goes void: an inconjunct to Pluto. Many astrol- It’s a time for small steps, consistent steps. It’s ogers would discount the inconjunct as a mi- a time to make small changes that reflect our nor aspect. If you discount the inconjunct and changing values. Exercise for ten minutes every say the Moon is void, then Venus direct is more day. Replace ice cream with fruit for dessert. likely to be an internal shift that manifests slow- Meditate for five minutes in the morning. Write ly over time. If you consider the out-of-rhythm even one page in your journal. Keep a blog. inconjunct to Pluto, you have to anticipate per- Write one thank you note a day. manent transformation and change, some- Each of those suggestions is a small way to times as abruptly as hurricane damage or radi- walk in beauty in our world. Venus is beauty, or- ation burns. der, balance, harmony and the rhythm of relat- Personally, I like to balance both alternatives ing. Saturn forms habits. about the void Moon. Most results of Venus Whatever you start now, may you finish it in going direct, I think, will be small, sudden and beauty. unexpected changes of direction. We may all be surprised as we find ourselves changing course in small but significant ways. We’ll need to focus deliberately (Saturn) to maintain those FMAM changes. MYSTERY Other changes will come along slowly over www.fmam.biz time and will be so slow developing that new habits will be set almost without our conscious

98 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine >> An attractive couple gets more than just bed and breakfast at The Lookdown Lodge in the Florida Keys. Frank Foster

eeder bands, the weather people call them. hurricane which had near-missed the Keys. All FThey’re the spirally cabooses of hurricanes - in all, he figured it would cost him five days of squalls, sometimes bright red on radar - that work—up to $2400 including tips. He’d can- foil outdoor plans when a passing big storm celed today’s charter when he saw the forecast has faded from the lead news story. last night. Oh well, would have been a lousy day Bud Yurovich was watching one of the bands anyway. In squally weather the bonefish and come in from the Atlantic, across the reef, and to- tarpon drop off to deeper water where they’re ward Little Torch Key where he sat on his porch hard to find. If there was one thing worse than drinking his morning coffee. He could feel the losing a charter, it was taking the client’s mon- energy which telegraphed the approach of the ey and not finding them fish. Captain Bud squall. It was like someone had opened a refrig- Yurovich had a reputation to maintain. erator door. He guessed the gusts were maybe The phone rang. 35 or so, and the white caps mottled the water’s “You hanging on to a palm tree?” the jocular surface which moments ago had been the Flori- voice on the phone asked. da Keys’ trademark blue-green. Bud Yurovich recognized the caller and He scratched the blond hair on his head, brightened. tugged on his near white beard, and cursed the “Nah, it ain’t that bad. Just a squall coming

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 99 through. Feeder bands. How in the world are Thursday of the month. It was a spectacle: thou- you, Joe?” sands of small boats dotted the Keys, flying It was one of his favorite clients, Joe Malone their red dive flags and dragging snorkelers from Orlando. Malone and his wife, Puddin, around at idle speed looking for Florida lob- were expert fly fishing anglers and were regu- ster. lar pursuers of bonefish and tarpon on Bud’s They left their bags in the car and climbed a skiff, which he had named This Bud’s For You. curved stairwell which had a veneer of conch Joe Malone’s call was to confirm that he and shells and fish pattern tiles and went to the Puddin were coming down for the two-day main level of the house. They rang the doorbell, sportsmen’s lobster season and staying over to the button of which looked like the eye of a ce- fish with Bud. ramic Lookdown fish. It struck Joe that the “Didn’t you say something last time about a Lookdown fish was looking down, all right - di- new place for us to stay?” Joe Malone asked. rectly at his crotch. “Yeah, The Lookdown.” “Strange-looking house,” Puddin said while “The what?” they waited. “The Lookdown Lodge. Named after the “I know,” her husband said. “All angles, with a Lookdown fish. You know, those bright-colored few curves just to confuse you. What were their little buggers that nibble stuff off the coral names again?” reefs? Got their name ‘cause they always seem “Melvin and Grace.” to be looking down their noses? You’ve seen The front door was a massive mahogany- them snorkeling.” looking slab. A carved, arched-back mermaid “Oh, yeah.” with bare breasts protruding prominently “Melvin and Grace Smythe own it. I’ve kinda served as the handle. It opened, and Joe and known ‘em around the Keys since they came Puddin stood looking at a lanky man with long, down from the Berkshires up north. They had a dark, wavy hair which glistened with an over- B & B up there, too. They’re a little weird, but the abundance of oil or lotion. Other than one ear- house and location are great; it’s right on the ring which dangled like a miniature wind water. If you and Puddin don’t like it, I’ll move chime, the only thing he wore was a red Spee- you someplace else.” do bathing suit. He was quite Caucasian, but his skin was so tanned he could have passed for “Okay, we’re supposed to turn left here,” said mulatto. Puddin Malone, reading from the notes her “Grace, they’re here!” he hollered over his husband had made during his last phone con- shoulder. versation with Bud Yurovich. “It’s at the end of “Joe and Puddin Malone,” Joe said. this street.” “Right. Come on in.” His tone was flat but cor- The Lookdown Lodge on Cudjoe Key was the dial enough. last house at the end of a secluded road whose Joe and Puddin stepped into a round atrium terminus was at the ocean. with tropical plants everywhere. On the wall “What a marvelous spot,” Puddin said with was a framed super-enlarged photograph of a excitement. multi-colored Lookdown fish, nibbling away at “Damn sure better be at two hundred clams a coral reef. Joe looked closer at Melvin and de- a night,” Joe said. He turned his GMC Yukon in cided he was past fifty and that his hair was the driveway, the tires crackling over the shell dyed. He was convinced of it when Grace ap- surface. peared, because she was definitely past fifty, if As they emerged from their air-conditioned not sixty, and was not wearing her bikini nearly vehicle, they met a searing blast of July tropical as well as Melvin was wearing his Speedo. steam bath. July was a little late for bonefish She waddled and jiggled toward them in and tarpon, but the two day sportsmen’s lob- small-heeled sandals which clapped loudly on ster season was always the last Wednesday and the Mexican tile floor. “I’m Grace and this is Mel-

100 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine vin,” she said with an outstretched hand. He reached for her and held her so their nos- As Joe took her hand, he tried to look at her es almost touched. “You’re the cutie,” he said. eyes instead of the folds of wrinkly flesh hang- Joe and Puddin Malone, who met at Florida ing out of her green, flower-patterned bikini. State, had been happily married for twenty- “Grace,” he said, half-bowing and forcing a one years. Joe was from Orlando, Puddin from smile. Daytona. Puddin was a petite blond with a pug “You two are so young and so cute,” Grace nose who regularly astounded fly fishing said. “And you’re our only guests right now so guides with her casting. She had built a thriving you’re going to get plenty of attention. Unless, interior design business in Orlando. Joe— of course, you don’t want it. After all, we’re here blond, chunky, and cherubic-looking—had to please you.” She smiled. founded Malone & Company, a prosperous “We do like to be pleased,” Puddin said, smil- general insurance agency in Orlando. ing back. They disengaged from their near embrace, “But we spend most of our time on the wa- resumed unpacking, and looked around the ter,” Joe added. room which, like the house’s exterior, was all “Oh, yes, lobster season,” Grace said, holding multiple curves and joined angles. The furnish- her index finger in the air and raising one eye- ings were eclectic, had the effect of “designed brow. clutter,” and included numerous massive piec- “And bonefish and tarpon fishing after that,” es from the Orient. The television was on an oak said Joe. table which, on closer inspection, turned out to “Right,” said Grace. “Well, here’s the way it be a very old gynecological examining table works around here. We serve wine and conch complete with stirrups which were down in fritters at 6:00 every evening, and a full break- their unused position. One convex curved wall fast is at 8:30.” was almost entirely covered with semi-erotic Joe said, “I’m not sure how available we’ll be paintings and exotic objects. The whole effect for all that. We’ll probably be away at first light was so disorienting that Puddin said, “I’m not after the lobsters and may not be back for the sure I could tell anybody a thing about this wine.” room, it’s just so….” “Oh,” Grace said, disappointment evident on “I know,” he said. her face. “Well, that’s a shame.” They had no excuse for skipping that day’s “So where’s our room?” asked Joe. 6:00 wine and conch fritters, so they went. Mel- “You’re welcome to look at all the rooms,” she vin and Grace were still in their brief swim- said, “but we already have you in the Yellowtail wear. Room. You’ll see it’s our best.” “Quite a house,” Joe said. “Can’t quite figure it Joe and Puddin exchanged glances. “Yellow- out.” tail Room it is,” Joe said. Grace laughed. “Nobody can. He designed and built it.” She pointed to her husband. “My “Those people are weird,” Puddin Malone Melvin’s a genius, really. Very innovative.” said when she and Joe were unpacking in Joe took a sip of what he thought to be a per- their room—the Yellowtail Room—obviously fectly dreadful glass of chardonnay and nod- named after the tasty snappers which are so ded. He looked at Melvin and sized him up as a plentiful in the Keys. techie of few words, maybe a retired engineer “What’s so weird? This is the Keys.” who’d said, “Who needs the rat race?” “I don’t know. This wacky house. The way “Where is your room?” Joe asked the couple. they just…look at you.” Melvin pointed and said, “Up there.” “Hey, I saw you looking at Melvin in his Spee- Joe and Puddin looked where he pointed. do,” Joe said. They were sitting in the atrium, which was cir- “Oh, that man is sooo gross,” she said. “But I cular. On the far side was a metal staircase think Grace has her eye on you, Mr. Cutie.” which hugged the curved wall, ascended it like

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 101 a line on a bar graph, and stopped on the sec- an ice-cold Budweiser began to control his very ond floor at a metallic door. Earlier, Joe had being. He hopped in his truck and made the stepped outside for quick look around the five minute drive to the house of his friend and place before the wine and fritters and, from his fellow guide, Ralph Dorsey. recollection, that metal door would have to Bud drove up to a house more modest than lead to thin air. He said so. his and not on the water. Ralph Dorsey was “No, not really,” Grace said, smiling. “If you much younger than Bud Yurovich and still try- looked closer, you’d see that’s not the case.” ing to get his guide business well established. “Well then, your room is sort of over ours,” Bud knew Dorsey was there because his truck Puddin said. was in the driveway, but a knock on the screen “Sort of.” Grace was still smiling. door got no answer. It was open, so Bud went After forcing down some more of the wine through it and knocked on the front door. Still and trying a conch fritter which contained no no answer. He pushed it open and called out conch but was more like a hushpuppy, Joe and for Dorsey. “Hey, you out of beer—is that why Puddin left for dinner. They went to Little Palm you’re not answering?” Island, an exclusive island retreat which runs “In here, Bud,” Dorsey called. diners and lodging guests back and forth from He found Dorsey, a large man with a prema- Little Torch Key on their own fleet of boats. turely salt-and-pepper beard, in a small room There they enjoyed superb fresh-caught yel- hunched over his laptop computer. He was so lowtail snapper en papillot washed down with engrossed in what was on the screen that he a fine bottle of Mersault. did not look up. Back in the room, both were just tipsy enough “Bud, you gotta see this,” Dorsey said. to partake of romping, adventuresome sex ac- “If that’s what I think it is, you know I ain’t into companied by playfully naughty language they it. You got any Budweiser or not?” both enjoyed using on such occasions. After- “Come on, Bud, look at this,” Dorsey persist- wards, while engaging in pillow talk, they joked ed. again about their eccentric and idiosyncratic Bud headed for the desk to look over Dors- innkeepers. ey’s shoulder. He was sure he would see what he believed Dorsey spent entirely too much Bud Yurovich finished washing down his flats time and money on: Internet pornography. The skiff and thought about his day on the water. man had a problem, and Bud’s attempts to get He’d put his clients on some tailing bonefish in him off his habit had been unsuccessful. Coupon Bight early, and in the afternoon found Bud knew Dorsey’s wife worked at the bak- some back-country tarpon up against some ery at a nearby Publix. “You’re at it again, huh? mangroves in a little bay off Niles Channel. He Kitty must be at work,” he said as he stepped wouldn’t tell any of his guide friends about behind Dorsey. the tarpon and would go straight there in the Bud, who did not own a computer, planned morning, his first day fishing Joe and Puddin to humor his friend by glancing at the screen Malone. momentarily to see the expected nude couple Joe had called on the cell phone earlier to grinding, undulating, displaying orifices and touch base and fix tomorrow’s time. When Bud the like, then to quickly head for the fridge and asked about The Lookdown Lodge, Joe’s reply the Budweiser. was, “It’s okay, but a little weird.” He wasn’t sure As he glanced away from the couple making what to make of that, but planned to interrogate love on the screen, his head involuntarily jerk- the Malones the next day. He wondered if he ed back. He suddenly moved in close behind should have recommended the place to any- Dorsey and watched intently. body before checking it out more thoroughly. “What site is this?” Bud said tightly. He looked at his watch. It was a little after Dorsey’s eyes were still on the screen and he five, still incandescently hot, and the thought of didn’t pick up on Bud’s tone. “See, I thought

102 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine you’d like this.” “You get hold of a judge?” Bud asked him. Bud clapped his hand on Dorsey’s shoulder “I got hold of The Sheriff. He’s supposed to be and spun him around. “Goddammit, I said what getting hold of the judge. Any way you slice it, site is this?” He said it violently, looking at Dors- we’re looking at sometime tomorrow before ey with eyes red as coals. we can get a search warrant.” Dorsey was the much larger and younger “I know, I know,” said Bud. man but he cowered. “Geez, Bud, what’s got His cell phone rang and he flipped it open. into you? It’s just some good porn…” “Joe, thank God,” he said. “Now look. I just want Bud’s hand was still heavy on Dorsey’s shoul- you to listen to me. Don’t say one word or ask der. “No it’s not just some good porn. I know any questions. You’re gonna have to trust me. I those people. They’re my clients, for Christ’s want you and Puddin to get dressed to go out sake. I’m fishing them in the morning, you horny to eat, but I want you to somehow slip out to bastard. Now tell me everything you know your car with your toilet articles and another about that website.” change of clothes, because you’re spending Ralph Dorsey spread his hands and looked the night at my house. Whatever you do, don’t back at the screen. “Hell, I don’t know, Bud, it’s say anything to Melvin or Grace. I’ll be waiting just one of the sites I use.” He looked back at for you at my house.” Bud. “Where are your people staying?” “The Lookdown. Why?” “This better be good, Bud,” said Joe Malone as Dorsey shrugged. “No reason, just curious.” he strode into Bud’s house with Puddin in tow. “Wait a minute,” Bud said, and he looked “And what’s the sheriff doing here?” His face closely at the screen again. “That’s where that is, was in a murky scowl. Puddin’s was tight and isn’t it? That’s one of the rooms at The Look- anxious. down.” “There ain’t nothing good about it, my friend,” Dorsey looked at the screen and shrugged said Bud gravely. “You and Puddin need to sit again. “Beats me.” down.” He looked at Matt Adams, the deputy. “Get me the number of The Lookdown,” Bud “Maybe you could, like, check and see if you’re said. getting a radio call or something?” he said, tilt- Dorsey complied, and Bud dialed the num- ing his head toward the front door. The deputy ber on his cell phone. nodded and walked outside. “Uh, yeah, this is Bud Yurovich. That you, It was one of the toughest things Bud Yurov- Grace?” He paused and listened. “Yeah, I’m look- ich ever had to do. He had debated on how to ing for your guests.” Another pause. “Okay, phrase it and finally decided to just blurt it out. when they get in please have them call me on “It looks like Melvin and Grace Smythe se- my cell phone right away. It’s about our fishing cretly filmed you and Puddin making love at tomorrow.” The Lookdown and then put it on the Internet,” He snapped the phone shut. He hadn’t want- he said. ed to telegraph anything. “Damn. They’re not Puddin gasped and covered her face with back from lobstering yet. Gimme that phone her hands. Joe just leaned forward in his chair, book.” his brow suddenly bunched up in a massive Bud furiously looked up another number, furrow as he tried to digest what he’d just heard made a call, and in forty minutes the Monroe and formulate what to say. County Sheriff’s Department deputy-in-charge Bud shook his head from side to side looking for the Middle Keys, Matt Adams, rolled into the at the floor. “Joe, I don’t know what to say about driveway. A friend of Bud’s, he was a man whose this. It’s my fault. I should have made somebody square-jawed good looks were spoiled by teeth besides my favorite client a guinea pig with which should have been fixed when he was a those weirdos over there.” He looked up at the child. Bud reluctantly showed him what was couple. “What can I say? I’m—” still on the screen. “What are you talking about, Bud? How do

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 103 you know…?” Grace calmly said, “Can I get anyone coffee?” “Guide friend of mine has an Internet porn Bud Yurovich leaned closer to Grace Smythe problem. I went by his house for a beer and he and put his face inches from hers. “You can shut showed me.” He tried not to look at Puddin. “I… your fucking mouth is what you can do. Where’s just sort of glanced at it for a second to make Melvin?” sure who it was.” “At Publix. Should be back any minute.” Puddin looked up, her eyes red and wet. Joe and Puddin kept silent. Along with Bud, “I have to see,” Joe said. they followed the searchers around the house, “I figured,” Bud said and tilted his head to- identified their room, and pointed to the curved ward the kitchen. “My friend’s laptop’s in there. metal staircase which they had been told led to He’s cued it up.” the Smythe’s room. Puddin didn’t want to look. She sat with Bud The search turned up nothing. while Joe was in the kitchen and silently wept. Joe and Puddin were stunned, as was Bud. Bud went outside and asked Matt Adams to Matt Adams wore a frustrated expression. They come back in. stood in the Yellowtail Room. Grace Smythe sat When Joe Malone re-entered the room, his on the deck reading a book. face was a hellish mix of pain and fury. He “We’ve looked everywhere,” Adams said with turned to Deputy Matt Adams. “So when do a wave of his hand. “Took all the stuff off the you arrest those two sickos?” bedroom walls hunting for a peephole or a “Afraid we can’t just yet, Mr. Malone,” the dep- place for a camera. Found nothin’. We’ve uty said. “The Sheriff should have a search war- searched every room in the house.” rant tomorrow. We’ll all go in the place and see “No, you haven’t.” what we find.” All heads jerked around to face Puddin, who spoke for the first time since they entered the The mahogany door with the bare-breasted house. mermaid opened. Grace Smythe, in a blue-flow- “I’m sorry?” said Adams. ered bikini, looked at four uniformed sheriff’s “I said no, you haven’t. There’s a room we can’t personnel, plus Bud Yurovich and Joe and Pud- see.” din Malone. When she saw her callers, her face “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but…” collapsed. “Hold on, Matt,” Bud said. “She’s a decorator “Oh,” she said. “I already sent my check for the and— “ Policeman’s Athletic League.” “Bud, this ain’t about furniture and wallpa- Deputy Matt Adams said, “Not very original, per…” ma’am. You the owner of this place?” “My wife is not just a decorator, she’s a de- “Yes.” signer,” Joe Malone said. “She’s what they call Adams displayed the search warrant and an ASID. It’s like a degree in design, including pushed his way past her into the house with structural. I suggest you listen to her.” the three other uniforms. That left her looking Puddin walked toward the curved, convex at Joe and Puddin Malone with Bud in the back- wall in the Yellowtail Room from which Matt ground. Adams and his crew had removed the erotic art “You two were naughty last night,” Grace and avant-garde objects. She pointed to it. said to Joe and Puddin in a playful tone. “Stayed “There’s a room behind that wall, and I think it’s out all night, didn’t you?” directly below the Smythe’s room. Let’s go up Bud stepped in front of the Malone’s. “Put a there.” lid on it, Grace,” he said. “How can you make They all ascended the curved metal staircase. jokes after what you’ve done to these people?” Bud thought the Smythe’s bedroom was the “Haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking strangest he had ever seen. There were mirrors about, Bud.” everywhere, including the ceiling, the bed was “You will in a minute.” round, and erotica predominated.

104 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine “I’m telling you, there’s a room below this one Dorsey said nothing. Bud slammed his head we haven’t been in,” said Puddin. against the wall. Bud looked at the new-looking carpet on the “Where is it?” he yelled. “You’re going to tell floor and thought for a few long moments. me one way or the other, so you may as well do Then he motioned to Matt Adams to follow it now. I may be able to get the Sheriff to cut him outside the room. Alone with Adams in the you a break.” Bud tightened his grip on Dors- atrium, Bud said. “Look, I need a little time. Less ey’s shirt. than an hour. Can you guys sort of, you know, “Okay, okay. There’s a hidden room right un- keep searching for a while?” der their bedroom.” “Have you been there and seen it?” Bud remembered from their last conversation Dorsey nodded. Ralph Dorsey did not have a fishing charter “Why couldn’t we find it?” that day. He was relieved to see Dorsey’s truck Dorsey tried to shrug that he didn’t know, in the driveway. He didn’t bother knocking this but Bud slammed his head against the wall time, just walked in. Dorsey was hunched over again. “You tell me. Now.” his computer again, but not so engrossed he “They…they have a way to cover it up with didn’t notice Bud’s entry into the room. carpet. I, uh…I could show you.” “Hey, Bud. What’s up?” Then Bud remembered from less than thirty “What’s down is the question, Ralph.” minutes ago. The Smythe’s bedroom was the Dorsey did a double-take and said, “Huh?” only one in the house with wall-to-wall carpet. Bud walked over to the desk which held And it looked new. Should have figured it out, Dorsey’s laptop and swept the computer off he told himself. the desk onto the floor, where it landed with a clatter. In the next motion, he sat on the desk Less than thirty minutes after he left the Look- where the laptop had been. down Lodge, Bud Yurovich walked back in with “The fuck you doin’ man? That’s my lap—” Ralph Dorsey. He had called Matt Adams, who Bud’s shoe struck him square and hard in the was waiting in the atrium with his team. Joe chest, upending Dorsey’s chair and sending and Puddin and the Smythes were sitting there, him to the floor in a heap. Bud slid off the desk, too. picked up the laptop with both hands, and with When the Smythes saw Dorsey, both their fac- one motion wrenched all the cables from it. es went ashen. “What is he doing here?” Grace “You mean this laptop?” he said, and hurled it Smythe asked in a voice no longer smug. against the wall as hard as he could. It landed “Shut up, Grace,” said Bud. with a sickening clatter and fell to the floor. Everyone went upstairs except the Smythes, “That doesn’t look like a laptop to me. That who remained in the atrium with a deputy. looks like a bunch of laptop parts.” “Here,” said Ralph Dorsey. He seemed to be Dorsey picked himself up and was now on pointing at the round bed. one knee. Bud pulled him to his feet and “Where?” said Bud. slammed him against the wall where the com- “It’s the bed, but first you gotta take up the puter had landed. carpet.” “It’s you, you piece a shit, and you didn’t tell With the help of Melvin Smythe’s tools, they me,” Bud yelled in Dorsey’s face. rolled back the Berber carpet. The carpet had “I…I didn’t do anything,” Dorsey squeaked. been kept on hand by the Smythes to use if “Yes, you did. You told the Smythes we were on they needed to conceal their access to the film- to ’em. And now you’re gonna tell me some- ing room. When the carpet came up, they saw thing.” it. The round bed was on its own track, allowing “Tell you what?” it to roll away onto the hardwood floor. The fre- “Where the camera room is. It’s under their quency of the bed’s movement had left perma- bedroom, isn’t it?” nent indentations in the floor—thus the need

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 105 for the carpet camouflage. your visit to the Florida Keys has turned out this They rolled the bed away to reveal a spiral way. I know you’re glad it’s over.” staircase, hugging the wall much like the one in Puddin’s eyes welled with tears and she said the atrium. They descended the staircase to the in a rising voice, “It’s not over. Those horrible round room beneath. Several holes on the wall people have put Joe and me on computer next to the Yellowtail Room had been inge- screens all over the world. Having…sex.” She niously plugged. Melvin Smythe had used dow- cupped her hands over her face and sobbed. els, previously prepared and fitted for the occa- “No, they haven’t.” sion, and stained on the other side. They Everybody turned to Ralph Dorsey, who had matched so well that they escaped the initial been sitting there waiting his turn for interro- detection of Adams’ team. One look at the dow- gation and subsequent arrest. els, the sophisticated camera equipment and “What did you say, Ralph?” asked Bud. recording system was all Adams needed. “They’re not on the Internet.” “Go read ‘em their rights,” he said. “I’ll be there Bud said, “But I saw it on your laptop.” in a minute.” “I know, but it wasn’t on the Web. Grace gave me a CD. I was supposed to make the contact Bud was sitting in the atrium with Joe and Pud- and get it on the Net. Hadn’t done it yet. I still din when the Smythes emerged from their got the CD, and you already smashed my hard bedroom, having been allowed to change from drive.” He looked at Puddin. “So you can stop their swimwear to street clothes. They were led, crying, lady. Me and Melvin and Grace is all that handcuffed, toward the front door. ever saw you, and we’re all going to jail.” Grace Smythe looked over her shoulder at Joe and Puddin. “You really were one of our cut- Frank Foster, sportsman and the former chair- est couples. And so passionate.” She looked di- man of a publicly-traded company, has com- rectly at Puddin. “Your little scream was—” pleted his first mystery novel. He has secured the “Get ’em out of here,” Adams said sharply. representation of a New York literary agent and After the Smythes were hustled out the door, is hopeful of publication. He lives with his wife in Adams turned to Joe and Puddin. “I’m sorry Lakeland, Florida and Cashiers, North Carolina.

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106 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 107 >> For the doctors and nurses it was routine, but for Alan it was anything but... John Hawfield A Minor Fear Copyright ©

he fear was there. It seemed silly that a trust that hung over my everyday life, like a Tgrown man could be enslaved by an irratio- seemingly benign cloud that would one day nal fear, but it had always been with me and was, open and drown me in its downpour. to me at least, always valid. It was not one of de- The fear was always there. mons and devils dancing a Faustian waltz of hor- Yet I got through each day by reminding my- ror upon a stage of fog. Nor was it a fear of pain. self that these feelings were just irrational. That, No. This fear was a feeling that things were not as mother always told me when I was a little what they appeared to be. That underneath the boy and terrified of going to school because I veil of what was considered reality was a layer of was certain Mrs. Thompson was an alien from flesh rotting from deceit. It was a feeling of mis- another planet and wanted to steal my brain 108 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine away for some God knows what ritual on her the page)? home planet, I was being stupid. There were What wouldn’t they do? times when I was so afraid of the bullies on the Look, these are the people we trust (flipping playground that mother would have to spank the page). some sense into me, as she always said. How can we trust them? Strangely enough, though, the fear wasn’t We have to (slamming the magazine shut). there at first when I walked through the doors They’ve gained our trust by being in a position of the hospital for minor surgery to treat a her- of authority. nia that threatened strangulation. I was oddly And, they are the ones that have all control at ease and didn’t have to keep reminding my- over us while we sleep. self there was nothing to worry about. This was Maybe it was the endless flipping of the pag- a hospital for Christ’s sake, full of people with es, or the shifting in my seat trying to find a degrees that said they understood diseases comfortable position while my mind battled with complex names and knew exactly what to bullies, but it must have been obvious some- do to treat them. These were people that cared thing was bothering me. Out of the corner of about one’s well being and did what was for my eye I saw the admitting nurse watching me the best no matter what. What safer place could closely. one be? Calm down. For the first time I could remember, the cloud “Is this your first time in a hospital?” a voice wasn’t hanging over my head as I strode into the questioned. admitting ward full of confidence and trust in I hadn’t noticed her before, sitting two chairs those whose hands I was about to place my very down from my right. She smiled at me, waiting life, handed my pre-filled paperwork to the ad- for a response. missions nurse, took a seat, and began to flip “Sorry. I probably seem a little nervous, huh?” through an outdated issue of Psychology Today. “A little,” she said with a slight laugh. Leaning After a while I started to notice just how hard over she stretched out her hand, “I’m Sarah.” the seats were. One would think a hospital “Alan,” I answered, taking her hand in a po- could afford something a little more comfort- lite, albeit not too, handshake. able. But at least my discomfort didn’t seem to “Nice to meet you.” bother my hernia which really never gave me Her touch was gentle and surprisingly warm pain, so I was lucky the doctor found it right given the relative coolness of the hospital. For away –before it became a problem. Still it felt that matter, hospitals can be downright cold like someone was sticking a knife up my bot- places, and this one was no exception. The tom and rooting around. stench of rubbing alcohol hung in the air-con- That was the trigger. ditioning system, even finding its way into this Thoughts crept into my head of what could closed off region far from the need for steriliza- happen when one is under the knife. But, those tion, adding to the chill. Tropical foliage plants thoughts were just nonsense. Weren’t they? No, set artistically around the room looked out of they weren’t nonsense. But, I had to trust these place against the arctic white walls and foreign people. in the chilly air, and so did Sarah. Her red hair It was like I had become two different children stood out like the Japanese rising sun against a seesawing back and forth between anxiety and field of white. I had seen her somewhere be- logic, both battling over who was to be King-of- fore, maybe at the grocer’s or on the street— the-Hill, on a fertile playground that conjured up maybe only in my dreams. thoughts beyond the slip of the knife. “So, what are you here for?” she asked. I tried to focus on the magazine but to no avail. “Oh-um-well I have a hernia they need to fix.” What if they are actually doing things to peo- I was nervous just speaking simple pleasant- ple? ries with her, the familiar quiver in my voice What sort of things would they do (flipping that was so prominent when the teachers

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 109 would call on me for the answer to a question, or tions. I undressed fully, feeling a bit of shame at when mother wanted to know what I was doing my nakedness and feeling utterly alone. Yet at in my room for so long, was back. But, who could the same time there was the sense the whole blame me for not wanting to fully draw back the world was watching my every movement- the curtain and expose the view to the playground walls had grown eyes, wide and scrutinizing, below where I was currently being beaten for examining my naked body, laughing at me. milk money. Besides, she was very pretty which Now dressed in the gown, I lay back on the would make anyone nervous. bed and closed my eyes. I could hear voices “They said it’s a simple operation. I should be from deep inside the hospital, murmuring from out of here tonight, tomorrow at the latest.” behind closed doors, coming up through the “Simple operations. Those are the ones you sink’s drainpipe. In my mind they were voices of have to worry about,” she said with a wink. But warning, tinny and distant, telling me to flee the joke was lost on me as I must have become while I still could. I opened my eyes, shook my noticeably more agitated. head, and the voices stopped-replaced by the “Sorry. Bad joke. I guess I’m a little nervous, strong chill in the air that felt like slivers of ice too,” she said, fiddling with the chain of a lock- stabbing into my body, impervious to the thin et around her neck. material of the hospital gown. Shivering, I What followed was an uncomfortable silence crawled under the blankets and wrapped my- as if someone had farted during a State dinner. self up into a protective womb. After a while I “I’m finally having my tonsils taken out,” she started to doze. said, breaking the silence. “Can you believe that? I’m 32 years old and having a procedure It was maybe twenty minutes later, maybe little kids have done.” longer, when a nurse entered my room and “At least you can have all the ice cream you roused me from my half-slumber. Silent and can eat afterward.” unsmiling, she read my chart. Maybe it was Before she could say anything more a stocky her silence, maybe it was her almost feature- nurse wearing a uniform fresh out of a Heming- less appearance under the same costume-like way novel, all white with sharp pleats and a uniform that had been worn by the admit- crown with a bright red cross on the front-a ting nurse, but the mattress began to feel like uniform that must have been favored only by a bed of needles pressing hard against the the older staff and the non-professionals-came exposed flesh of my back where the gown over saying, “Follow me. You’ll be in room 212.” would not completely close-the surgical sharp My operation had been scheduled for 3:00 points piercing tiny holes, drinking the blood PM; it was now just half-past nine. that trickled into yawning holes for collection. As I followed the nurse out of the admitting The strangest thoughts tend to come to mind ward, I turned back to Sarah and said, “Look me when I’m overly stressed. up if you get a chance. You know what room I’m Finally she looked up from the chart and in.” gave a crooked smile. “212, easy to remember.” She waved as I went “I see Dr. Lyons is your surgeon.” through the door. “Yes,” I replied. I had met Dr. Lyons briefly during a visit with It was a Spartan room with everything in its my family doctor, Dr. Jeffery, who had discov- place. Blinds covered the only window and had ered the hernia and decided surgery was the been drawn closed cutting off my view to the only option. Jeffery had explained that Dr. Ly- outside and allowing only the barest amount of ons was considered to be one of the best sur- sunlight to enter. On the bedspread lay a pale- geons in the country, making it a point to em- blue, lightly patterned hospital gown. The nurse phasize “the best” knowing of my little told me to change into the gown and someone problems. He had said Dr. Lyons was a close would be along shortly for surgery prepara- friend, specializing in transplant surgery, and

110 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine would as a favor perform the operation. I had window blinds. The hospital had a stagnant, af- known my family doctor for most of my life, ter-hours calm, the kind of calm that surrounds ever since I was a child when my mother had a funeral home viewing room when the body is drug me into his office, kicking and screaming, laid out for the first time, and no one is around for an ear infection. She knew him well enough but just the two of you. before that, giving his daughter piano lessons Sitting up in bed, I felt both hunger pains and at one time. Mother had died during a trans- –for the first time –the pain from the hernia, plant operation. which shot through my body like adrenaline “I’m sorry, but the doctor has been called off being pushed through a needle into a stilled for emergency surgery. We’ll have to resched- heart. What time is it? The room was spinning a ule your procedure for late tonight.” bit as I searched the nightstand beside my bed “Couldn’t we just make it another day then?” for a clock and found it contained neither a I asked, not wanting to stay one minute longer clock nor a phone, only the nurse’s call-button than necessary. Plus, the thought of someone which I pushed. No phone, so much for calling just coming off of all day surgery then cutting out for pizza. on me was not a settling one. I rubbed my face with the palms of my hands She smiled again, the same crooked smile, –tried to push away the sleepiness –and felt then went over to a cabinet along the wall that two little bumps plastered to the side of my stood at the foot of the bed. Inside were a vari- right cheek. Pulling the lumps free from my ety of instruments and concoctions that all face I could just make out the two little white seemed foreign and somewhat sinister to me. pills with the red dots in the center. I must have She selected a little amber colored bottle and left them lying on my pillow, and they stuck to poured out two tablets into her hand, made a my cheek while I slept. Quickly I hid them in- note on the chart, then handed me the pills. side the pillowcase so the nurse wouldn’t see “Here. Take these. They will help you relax them when she arrived. and maybe get some sleep.” Not that I wasn’t Where is the nurse? sleeping before she arrived and woke me up to I pushed the button again, listened to the give me pills that will help me sleep. darkness, and watched for the faint glow of I held the pills in my hand –both white with a light streaming in from under the door to be red dot in the center-as the nurse looked on ex- broken by the shadows of approaching feet. pectantly, waiting for me to take my medicine But none ever came. like a good little boy, that damned crooked “Hello?” I tentatively called out into the dark- smile still plastered to her face. I watched as her ness, answered only by the stillness of the room. smile grew bigger, slicing around the circum- More time passed, and still there was no nurse. ference of her head separating it into two I began to draw myself out of bed when the halves that popped open, as if hinged in the slightest of knocks came at the door followed back, exposing a tiny demon inside of her head by a low voice. laughing and pointing at me, asking me if “Baby “Are you in there?” wants his mother back.” The voice was familiar, and it took a few sec- Tentatively I placed the pills onto the tip of onds as I stood at the side of my bed to recog- my tongue and reached for the cup of stale wa- nize who it was. ter sitting beside my bed. The voices in the “Alan,” Sarah called me by name this time, drainpipe were screaming now: Don’t swallow! still in a hushed voice. She can’t be trusted. Just push the pills to the “Sarah,” I answered with relief at a friendly side and spit them out when she’s gone. voice. “Yes, I’m in here. Hold on a second.” I swallowed. Satisfied, she left the room. I searched the room for my clothes not wanting her to see me in my gown. But they were I awoke to a darkened room; sunlight was no gone, having been spirited away by some or- longer sneaking in through the cracks in the derly while I slept.

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 111 “We don’t have a second!” She made clear. “Behind what!” With that, I opened the door and her body “You don’t get it, do you?” rushed past me, closing the door swiftly and si- I shook my head no, feeling as if my mind was lently behind her. “We need to leave now. They about to explode and come gushing out my mustn’t find us.” ears like spit-up oatmeal. The voices in the “They who? What are you talking about?” pipes were screaming now with laughter, but “The people that work here. Get your Sarah didn’t notice. things.” “Alan, they’re harvesting organs.” “Umm-this is all I have. My clothes are gone.” “Oh that’s ridiculous,” I exclaimed in disbelief. “Fine,” she said pressing her ear to the door, Even so, I could feel the tiny hairs standing up listening. She seemed to be satisfied that what- along the back of my neck as if a specter was ever, or whoever, it was she was listening for blowing an icy breeze against my flesh through was not there. pursed lips. I knew it! “Come on. Follow me and I’ll get you out of “Alan, you have to trust me,” said Sarah. I here.” heard her words repeated from far away-one of She opened the door, peered out into the the voices in the pipes or behind the walls-fol- hallway to make certain no one was in the hall lowed by childish giggling. “I’m telling the truth. or at the nurses’ desk, and started to bolt. But Do you trust me?” for some reason my hand, as if guided by some- I don’t know why, but I nodded a yes. one braver than I, caught the door and prevent- “Good. Now follow me.” ed her from passing. Sarah checked the hallway again, it was “Now wait a minute.” I closed the door then clear. demanded an explanation. “What’s going on “We can get out from the roof,” she said mo- here?” tioning toward the elevator at the end of the “Keep your voice down.” She quieted me hall. harshly. She paused, listened once more at the “Why the roof?” door. “Look, I’ve been sneaking around watch- “Because they are watching all of the other ing them. They tried to give me pills to calm me doors. There is an auction going on right now, down, but I didn’t take them. It’s all pretend, and the only exit not being watched is the Alan.” roof.” “What do you mean it’s all pretend?” We entered the elevator, and she pushed a “This hospital! They’ve made up this elabo- button. The door closed behind us and the ele- rate show so people don’t know what’s going vator began to groan its way up. on: the admitting ward, the doctors, the nurses, “When we get to the top.” Sarah couldn’t wheeling patients through the corridors with complete her sentence. Somewhere in the hos- IVs dangling. It’s all fake! They give us pills to pital an alarm went off. All of the buttons and deaden our senses, help keep us unaware.” lights on the control panel lit up and began She smirked, then added, “The only thing real flashing as the elevator stopped. here are the bidders.” “What just happened?” “The bidders?” “They’re on to us. Help me open this door,” “The parts have to be fresh. So the bidders she said. “Maybe we are between floors and can line up along the walls, waiting for the auction climb out.” to begin. That’s how I found out. I could hear We positioned ourselves on each side of the them shouting out numbers through the walls. narrow fissure between the two stainless steel When it’s all done the bodies are zipped up in a doors. Our fingers dug in hard as we strained bag and taken to the morgue-still alive! I’ve against the door’s mechanism. The sides began seen the morgue. It’s filled with them!” to budge a bit, then finally gave up resistance She listened at the door again. and slid open freely. With luck, we had come to “Dr. Lyons is behind it all. Your doctor, Alan.” a stop just above another set of doors leading

112 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine out to a different floor. Those doors slid open You knew better than to be here. more easily into a dimly lit wing of the hospi- I’ve got to get out of this. tal. Mother can’t help you now. Paint peeled from the walls, broken doors I’ve got to find Sarah. hung loosely on rusted hinges, cables snaked Why do you really trust the girl? from open ducts in the ceiling emitting a slight Cold sweat poured down my face and neck. hum, barely perceivable to the human ear. Each foot miraculously found the next step There were papers strewn across the floor, amid without tripping as the light in the stairway shards of broken glass that glittered in the flick- dimmed toward darkness. And as the light fad- ering light like faux diamonds sparkling for the ed, so did the voices trailing after me. fools that bought them. Within a few more seconds I had reached the Gingerly we inched down the hallway –the bottom of the stairs as well as the limit of light. crunch of glass under our feet –toward a set of Shrouded now in black, my hands felt in front stairwell doors –toward any chance of escape. of me and were met by hard cinder blocks. “Alan, one of us has to get out of here no mat- Now what? ter what. We have to split up.” I closed my eyes and sank down to the floor, My instinct was to put an end to this non- shivering, not wanting to open them so I could sense right now, but at the same time I trusted escape whatever horror waited in the dark for her implicitly. I would have done anything she me-like a child hiding under blankets to keep asked of me. the monsters away. Many minutes passed with I nodded, “Which way do you want to go?” still no sounds from the stairs above. I opened “You take these stairs, and I’ll double back. I my eyes. remember seeing another set of stairs along My vision had become more adjusted to the the other side of the building. Try to reach the lack of light. Now, I could see a short passage roof.” bending off to my left. I rose to my feet and fol- I hung my head, uncertain of what to do. lowed the passage until its end, at which stood “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll see each other a door outlined by a faint glow that escaped again. At the top.” through the crevices between it and the door- She gave me a quick, reassuring hug and frame. then was gone. I opened the door and began I placed my ear against the door like Sarah climbing the stairs toward the roof. had done and listened for any movement on From a few floors above voices began echo- the other side. There was a laborious sound as if ing down. They were on the stairs, coming my someone was carrying something heavy, fol- way. I knew I needed to reach the roof, but there lowed by the slam of doors, and then nothing was no chance of doing that now. I’d have to more. After some time of listening, still with no make my way down into the depths of the more sounds of movement, I felt it safe to enter building and then try to find a way out from the room. I fumbled with the resistant handle there. before it finally gave and allowed me to open Turning, I ran down the stairs. They must have the door and enter a room bathed in pale green heard my descent. Now the stairwell was filled light against even paler green walls. Behind me, with the echoes of many feet pounding hard before I could reach for it, the door closed, its against concrete. I could feel dull vibrations latch making an audible click into the locked rumble through each step as I went faster and position. There was no handle on this side of deeper in the bowels of the building, all while the door making it too late to turn and go thoughts screamed in my head. back. Body parts. The vast room was filled with stainless steel What will they do to me? tables upon which lay black, satiny bags, each Auctioning body parts. with a zipper down the front. I was in the They’ll kill me if they catch me. morgue Sarah had spoken of with its endless

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 113 supply of bodies submerged in a sea of green. I deep inside of her. She pulled me toward her, began to sidle through the rows of tables to- mouth opened wide as if to swallow me whole. ward a set of double doors with round win- I screamed. dows set into the centers. These must have been the doors I had heard slamming shut The scream still echoed in my head as I woke while I was still out in the stairway-slamming from the nightmare into reality. I was in my shut after orderlies had brought down a fresh hospital room, and it was daytime. The window body. I took my steps carefully as to not disturb blinds were no longer closed, allowing bright the dead, fearing they would wake up. sunlight to beam into the room and further Halfway through the room, they did. enliven a cheerful arrangement of flowers in a The bags began to rise up; muffled groans of vase that wasn’t there the night before. agony permeated the black material. Inside Dr. Lyons raised his eyes from the charts in each bag the outlines of hands and arms his hands, “You’ll be happy to know the opera- pushed against the fabric, clawing, wanting to tion was a complete success.” be borne back into the world of light. “Operation?” I questioned, trying to shake off Running, turning over tables and pushing the panic from the nightmare and a drug-laden lumps of flesh enveloped in dark cocoons out sleepiness. of my path, I reached the doors. They were “Yes. We did the procedure last night. Don’t locked. I hurled my body against the steel, you remember?” pounded my fists, as figures closed in behind “No. I don’t remember.” I was groggy and un- me. I could smell their death; taste their decay certain of anything at that moment. “It must in my mouth. I yelled, calling for Sarah –for any- have been those pills the nurse gave me. They body –to come to my rescue. really knocked me out.” Through the doors’ windows I saw the hospi- Dr. Lyons smiled, “Well it’s over now. You tal staff converge to watch the show like a should be on the mend for about two weeks.” crowd watching the monkeys at a zoo, the The surgery was a success! I had made it. wavy glass distorted their faces in grotesque “Wow, Doctor, I didn’t remember a thing. And shapes. it’s funny, but I don’t feel any pain. Shouldn’t I My eyes searched the room, looking for an- feel something?” other way out. Instead I saw her along the wall. “You won’t for a bit. It’s the pain killers you’re “What’s wrong, baby?” Mother asked, trying on.” to push the entrails back into her body. “Look A nurse came into the room, startled by my what they did to me.” Her eyes bled from their waking scream. sockets as she gazed around the room, trying “Is everything all right, Doctor?” to focus. “We’ll do the same to you,” she hissed. “Everything is fine, just a little post-operative “No!” I turned away, covered my face in my dream.” He consulted the chart again. “It’s time hands and cried out Sarah’s name. I pleaded for the patient’s medicine. Please make sure “Sarah-Sarah-Sarah-” between bursts of sobs you give it to him.” The doctor replaced the through clutched fingers until I heard her voice charts onto the foot of the bed and left the behind me. room as the nurse busied herself in the cabi- “Alan.” net. I felt her hands on my shoulders, turning me “Knock, knock,” came a familiar voice from around slowly, almost caressing me into a feel- the door. Sarah stuck her head into the room. ing of safety. Mother’s dead eyes, wide and hol- “Hey. I was hoping you were still here. I guess low, stared into mine. Her skin had washed everything went well then.” away into a thin sheet of white set against a pil- “Yeah, I guess it did. But I don’t remember a low of auburn. thing except this wild nightmare.” “You’ve been a very bad, stupid boy!” Her face The nurse came over to the bed and handed twisted wildly as a guttural growl emitted from me the pills, “Here you are.”

114 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine I took the pills from the little paper cup; they I’d be up and around again. were the same little, white tablets with the red “Sarah,” I said as Dr. Lyons reentered the dots in the center that I had taken previously. room, “I hope everything goes well for you, too. “I’m not sure if I should take these things Don’t be nervous. You’re in good hands here.” again, not after what they did to me the last I felt my body growing numb, my arms re- time.” laxed behind my head. The nurse gave her crooked smile and hand- “Is the patient all set, nurse?” he asked. ed me a cup of water. “Everything is fine,” she answered. It was odd “Now drink up.” how much, in my drugged haze, her voice I did, allowing the pills to wash down my sounded like Sarah’s. throat. I had been childish to worry, and this The fog of sleep was filling in across my mind. was my way of proving to myself all of my fears Dr. Lyons came over to my bedside. were just simple foolishness. I wanted to leave “You know, Alan, I actually met Dr. Jeffery the fears out on the playground where they be- through your mother.” longed. “How do you mean, doc?” I asked, trying to “Do you like the flowers I sent?” Sarah asked. focus, my hand brushing lightly along the pil- “You sent those? They’re very nice. Thank lowcase in hopes that the effort would keep you.” me awake for just a few minutes longer. The nurse went back to the cabinet, arrang- “You see, back in those days Jeffery drank ing bottles and instruments, taking inventory. heavily. I warned him against it, but you know “So how about your tonsils?” I asked. how it is. Before too long, well, his liver was “It was moved back, which is why I’m still about gone.” here.” Sarah then gave me a puzzled look and I tried to say something, but my voice came said, “You mentioned something about a night- out muffled and distant. mare.” “Funny thing is, your mother turned out to “Oh it’s nothing. I just had this wild idea from be a perfect match for the donor organ.” the beginning that something was going to I felt the two tiny lumps inside the pillow- happen to me here. I’ve always had a problem case. trusting people, and I guess it all came out “Your father was an alcoholic,” he continued. while I was under for surgery.” I yawned. “Any- “So you know it’s just a matter of time before all way, it doesn’t matter now. This is truly the best alcoholics are back at it. And, well, let’s just say I’ve felt in years. It’s funny, but as scared as I was the need for another operation arises.” about being here, I really feel safe.” Sarah and the nurse turned back around to Sarah smiled. face both of us. In the haze that now filled my “Thank you again,” my voice coming out vision I could see Sarah holding something somewhat more muddled. shiny in her hand. Maybe it was a gun. Maybe “For what?” she laughed. they were on to the doctor and knew what was “You know, for being here. And for those going on here. Yes. They were. I was sure of it. flowers.” They were sneaking up on the doctor. I could They were pretty, just like her. tell. “Those pills are starting to take effect,” she “So,” Dr. Lyons continued, “we figured like said. “I’d better be going.” mother, like son.” I tried to shake away the grogginess but Sarah and the nurse were now directly be- couldn’t. hind him, the gun poised in Sarah’s hand. I “Yeah, I’m getting really sleepy now. Sorry.” could see beyond them –through my dimming “Don’t be,” Sarah said standing up and going vision –a group of men lining up along the wall; over to the cabinet. The nurse was still preoccu- each carried a number and a clipboard. In the pied with its contents. Sarah spoke quietly with middle was Jeffery. her, maybe asking how long it would be before I waited for Sarah to make her move, to put

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 115 an end to this. Sarah passed the doctor, came over to my bedside, bent down, her locket with the initials “S.J.” spilled out from between her breasts. She brought her lips close to my ear. Her warm breath was soothing against my skin, and she whispered, “Like father, like daughter.”

John Hawﬁeld lives in Mid-Michigan with his wife and two children. He is active in Lansing area Writers’ Workshops where he can be found nick- ing the coffee and doughnuts, and disrupting a reading with bursts of laughter at inappropriate moments.

DEATH TO THE CENTURION MARK MISERCOLA “Death to the Centurion” is a page-turning thriller, Purity of Blood from novelist and life- Arturo Pérez-Reverte long comic book fan Putnam, Jan 2006, Mark Misercola, about $23.95, 288 pp. Suspense corporate intrigue, insider ISBN: 0399153209 Available now! trading, underworld ties, and murder. In 1623 Madrid Chief Constable Martin Saldana Richard MacAllister, a young comic book arrives at the crime scene of a strangled writer, ﬁnds himself being stalked after he woman sitting in a sedan chair in front of is ordered to kill off the world’s greatest the church; she holds a pouch containing superhero in a desperate bid to rekindle fifty escudos and a handwritten note stat- interest in the character and save his publisher ing: “For masses for her soul”. He confides to from bankruptcy. his friend Captain Diego Alatriste that he is ISBN: 1-931201-26-9 unable to resolve who murdered the woman Trade Paperback. $16.95 U.S. and what motive caused the homicide. ~ visit ~ Don Francisco de Quevedo asks Alatriste www.twilighttimesbooks.com to help him before the soldier returns to his hometown of Breda, Flanders where hostili- Twilight Times Books ties have once again broken out. Francisco’s Kingsport, Tennessee daughter Elvira is being held at La Adoracian, a convent that is a harem for the dangerous Father Juan Coroado. The duenna who brought Elvira and two other novices there

116 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine simply vanished. Adding to Francisco’s fears picture of Harvey and puts his claws through is that he and his daughter are not “not of it. Qwill senses the cat doesn’t like the man pure blood”, which makes them fodder for the but wonders why. When the sesquicenten- Inquisition fire. Alatriste accepts the assign- nial activities begin, Koko gives a piercing ment as he is not one to idly stand for the yell in the middle of the night, which Qwill abuse of power, but soon connects Coroado’s knows means someone was murdered; an concubine center to the plaza homicide with out of town visitor was killed when he and his both linked to the Inquisition brother were hunting rabbits. During all the The sequel to the wonderful seventeenth activities the Ledfields are in seclusion because century sword-buckling CAPTAIN ALATRISTE, their allergies are bothering them. First Mrs. is a terrific action-packed tale that starts off Ledfield dies and soon Mr. Ledfield succumbs with the plaza homicide and never slows down to the same ailment. Their deaths put a pall on until the final confrontation. Besides the heroic the celebration. escapades of the lead protagonist, who has After twenty eight “The Cat Who” books some set backs during his rescue attempts, one would think that the series has run out readers obtain an in depth look at Inquisition of lives but nothing can be further from the Spain, but the historical tidbits are cleverly truth. The CAT WHO DROPPED A BOMBSHELL interwoven into the fabric of the adventures. is a purrfectly delightful cozy and Koko the Once again Arturo Pérez-Reverte provides a cat with ESP delights the audience with his fabulous fast-paced thriller starring a wonder- amusing antics. Readers who like a fun cozy ful super soldier who delays his entry to the with delightfully eccentric characters includ- war flaring up back home to risk his life trying ing the felines should look no further than to rescue a damsel in distress. Lilian Jackson Braun’s latest novel.

The Cat Who Dropped All Night Long a Bombshell Jayne Ann Krentz Lilian Jackson Braun Putnam, Jan 2006, Putnam, Jan 2006, $24.95, 416 pp. $23.95, 208 pp. ISBN 0399153055 ISBN 0399153071 In the small Northern California The town of Pickax, four hun- town of Dunsley, Irene Stenson dred miles north of everywhere, is celebrating missed curfew because her best friend Pamela the sesquicentennial (a century and a half of Webb deliberately kept her out late. When she existence) with plans being made for three finally arrives home she sees the murdered parades, family-reunions, and two auctions bodies of her parents on the kitchen floor. (one centers on people bidding on kittens). Their deaths were deemed murder-suicide and Newspaper columnist Jim Qwilleran, the rich- Irene left town and never returned or spoke to est man in the northeast central United States Pamela. and the owner of those adorable Siamese cats Seventeen years later, Pamela e-mails Irene Koko and Yum Yum, intends to immerse him- asking her to come back to Dunsley because self in the festivities so that he can write up she has something important to tell her. She articles for his column. checks in at the Sunrise on the Lake Lodge and The wealthy Ledfields ask Qwill, through is immediately attracted to the owner Luke their attorney, if their nephew Harvey could Danner who finds himself very interested in his sketch his barn for his college entrance port- boarder. When Irene arrives at Pamela’s house, folio. When Harvey arrives to do the designs, she finds her former friend dead, a bottle of Koko leaps down three stories and lands on empty pills and liquor near the body. The Harvey who hates cats. Koko also swipes a sheriff rules it a suicide but from the urgency

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 117 of Pamela’s message Irene thinks she was than the powers that be. murdered. As a reporter she starts her own John Ridley is an expert when it comes to investigation because she believes there is a writing excellent, exciting, and entertaining link between her parents’ deaths and Pamela’s urban fantasy. Humanity is already question- demise. Luke helps her and saves her life quite ing the laws that says metanormals are not a few times because it is obvious someone is human (just like today many are question- willing to kill to keep Pamela’s secret hidden. ing the Patriot Act) believing it is biased and A Jayne Ann Krentz novel is always a joy too overkill since there are many good metanor- read and ALL NIGHT LONG is no exception. The mals who want to live ordinary lives and help protagonists are drawn true to life and are not humanity just like there are bad mutants who as quirky as Ms. Krentz’s characters usually are use their powers for their own gain. This is an but that is because they are dealing with dark, action created work but the characters are fully troubling and dangerous situations and emo- developed so that the audience feels as if we tions. The mystery is very complex and filled are part of a very special reading experience. with red herrings and unusual twists and turns. There is a secondary character, one of Luke’s The Session brothers, who deserves his own story. Judith Kelman Berkley, Jan 2006, What Fire Cannot Burn $24.95, 368 pp. John Ridley ISBN 0425205568 Aspect, Jan 2006, $6.99, 432 pp. She loves her job working as ISBN 0446612030 a therapist on Riker’s Island and the small victories mean more to her than During the Age of Heroes, man- the money she would make in private prac- kind was willing to let the meta- tice. After working with Jeannie for months, normals be the policeman for mankind but the inmate who hid under her cot and hardly when two of them fought and destroyed half said a word marches in to P.J.’s office and tells of San Francisco and killed six hundred thou- her she is getting married. Seeing no harm sand people, humanity turned on them with in allowing that to happen even though it a vengeance. Overnight, they were declared wouldn’t be legal, the ceremony is marred by non-human, their rights stripped away and a fire alarm drill that upsets the inmates. After those that turned themselves in were sent things calm down and the patients are settled to a special facility or transported out of the down, Jeannie is found murdered and P.J. is country. fired for allowing the ceremony to happen in Soledad O’Roark of the Pacific MTac, a divi- the first place. sion of the LAPD, is dedicated to fighting and Through her former boss, she meets a wom- killing mutants, but is injured during a nasty an who believes P.J.’s talents shouldn’t go to battle. While she recovers, she is transferred to waste and refers clients to her until she can get the DIA, the unit that gathers Intel on mutants a job in the forensic field of psychology. When and hands it over to MTac for them to catch or she goes to Jeannie’s funeral she meet’s her kill. A man from I. A. approaches Soledad ask- late patient’s son and Aunt Lottie who believes ing that she infiltrate a rogue cell within DIA the husband Charlie Booth killed her. Lottie that is killing mutants illegally. She infiltrates shows the therapist a scrapbook of pictures the group because she believes she can gather chronicling Charlie’s abuse of his wife and son. real Intel; the mission goes south so Soledad’s Unable to think of a little boy in that monster’s comrade in MTac, Eddi Aoki, takes her place care P.J. decides to find the proof that Charlie and finds she is dealing with a serial killer and is a killer so the little boy will be taken out of an illegal cabal with a vision much different his care and winds up almost becoming the

118 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine murderer’s next victim. Nero from the throne. The authors have done The heroine will endear herself to readers such a good job of historical research that the as she goes against the advice of her twin sis- audience will feel like they actually witness the ter, her ex-husband, her former boss and the events that occur in the novel. Thus readers police to get justice for Jeanie and freedom will find this book so educational and enter- from fear for her son. When she finds that taining they will finish it in one sitting. she doesn’t have the evidence to put Charlie away, she takes the little boy into her home Forever Odd because Lottie is in the hospital and there is Dean Koontz no one else to keep him safe. Her courage and Bantam, Dec 2005, determination will insure fans will want to read $27.00, 334 pp. more adventures starring this heroine. Judith ISBN 0553804162 Kelman has written a riveting, exciting crime thriller. In Pico Mundo, California lives a man with two powerful para- The Last Sacrifice normal gifts. He can communicate with the Hank Hanegraaff & dead and using psychic magnetism that can Sigmund Brouwer visually hone in on whoever he is looking Tyndale, Oct 2005, for. One night Odd Thomas sees Dr. Jessup; $19.99, 344 pp. he knows that the man is dead and that his ISBN 0842384413 adopted son Danny is in terrible danger. When he reaches the Jessup home, he finds Once Vitas was part of Nero’s the battered body of the doctor on the floor but inner circle until at a feast he tried to choke the Danny is nowhere around. His psychic magne- emperor because the ruler planned to have his tism leads him to the tunnels of the Maravilla way with his wife Sophia, a follower of Christos. Flood-Control Project where Danny and his He was supposed to be sent to the arena to die kidnapper traveled. He eventually finds the but a group of powerful Romans set in motion trail that leads him to the destroyed Panamint a plan that would have someone else take his Resort and Spa Casino where explosives are place while he was sent to Alexandria, with taped on Danny. The ringleader Datura used John, THE LAST DISCIPLE who wrote the letter Danny as bait to get Odd to the casino because of revelation on Patmos. she wants him to produce a ghost for her. As The people who saved Vitas believe he back-up she has two strong men under her has a chance of killing Nero once he gathers spell to do her bidding. Odd saves Danny the puzzle pieces that they sent to various hustling him into a safe place while he plays people in the empire and deciphers them. with these vicious hunters in the hopes that a Vitas doesn’t know that his Sophia mourns his plan for getting Danny and him free of these death, not even receiving comfort from her psychopaths will come to him. belief in Christos. Damian, Vitas’ brother and This novel takes place a year after the events a slave hunter is looking for John to return in ODD THINGS and readers find the vulner- him to Rome but Vitas convinces him to help able, likeable, and emotionally drained Odd him on his journey to Caesarea and Jerusalem Thomas still working with the authorities to to find out just what his saviors hope he can put the bad guys behind bars. The villainous accomplish to rid the empire of an insane woman whose beauty hides an ugly heart and monarch. soul will creep out the reader with her per- This second book in The Last Disciple’s series ceived belief that she does the right actions. is an exciting thriller as Vitas tries to stay one Dean Koontz is at the top of his genre with a step ahead of his enemies while trying to sequel that his myriad of fans will treasure. figure out what role he is to play in toppling

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 119 Turning Angel school in Northern England. Popular classics Greg Iles teacher Roy Straitley, in his ninety-ninth term, Scribner, Jan 2005, recognizes that truism as he for instance could $25.95, 512 never have attended this upper crust school ISBN 0743234715 for the affluent, but though his roots differ from that of his students the headstrong Former Houston prosecutor proud instructor loves teaching here as he has Penn Cage returns home to for three decades. Natchez, Mississippi to become a writer. He However, this year is different though it loves his hometown and thinks it is a place has just begun; Roy remains utterly loyal to to get away from the crime and corruption of St. Oswald’s, but fears his time is over and big city life. He begins to get an inking that his considers retirement as the electronic age town is a microcosm of big city life when he has made him feel like a dinosaur and the and his friend Drew Elliot learn that the golden German department displaced him from his girl of the St. Stephen’s Preparatory School, the long timer office. He might adapt to email class valedictorian, Kate Townsend, was found though he doubts it and relocation though he murdered with her body partially naked. hates it, but five new faculty members prove Drew hires Penn but also confesses that he difficult. One of the newcomers Snyde, the and Kate were in love and he was going to long time handyman’s child, hides his identity leave his wife for her. Evidence shows that Kate returning as a teacher with plans to destroy St. was raped and other circumstantial evidence Oswald’s. As the violence Snyde perpetuates paints Drew as the killer. Penn investigates grows increasingly dangerous, an academi- Kate and is shocked to learn that she had a cally cocooned Roy and his peers ignore the connection to the town’s drug supplier. Penn omen that murder may follow. who didn’t even realize yet there was a drug Readers know from the start that Snyde has problem in the area comes under fire from an Everest gripe with his mistreatment when the drug selling crowd. Penn wants to clear he lived here as the son of a worker as he and his friend and clean up Natchez by running for Roy share narrative honors. Roy is a fabulous mayor if he doesn’t get killed first. crusty aging teacher who considers retire- Greg Iles has written a crime thriller that is ment. On the other hand Snyde’s anger from full of non-stop action and characters that rep- alleged childhood affronts at home and from resent a cross section of America. The protago- the school fuels his obsession but fails to come nist goes to extreme measures to help a friend across as a potentially deadly antagonist as his and almost dies in the process of seeking the alibis condoning his sociopath behavior seem truth. Readers feel sorry for Penn who is disil- weak. Still readers will appreciate this game of lusioned by people he thought he knew yet chess between an in check Roy vs. Snyde seek- he has a core of inner strength that allows him ing checkmate, which he defines as the demise to overcome every obstacle the criminals, the of St. Oswald’s. corrupt D.A. and police throw at him. TURNING ANGEL is a compelling reading experience. Already Dead Charlie Huston Gentlemen & Players Del Rey, Jan 2006, Joanne Harris $12.95 288 pp. Morrow, Jan 2006, ISBN 034547824X $24.95, 432 pp. ISBN: 0060559144 He looks like an ordinary man, can see his reflection in the Only the elite attend St. mirror and has a girlfriend. She has HIV and Oswald’s boys’ grammar won’t make love to him but he doesn’t tell her

120 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine he’s a vampire who can cure her by her drink- planet it would awaken the planet and make it ing his blood but that would mean she catches become sentient enough to modify over time the vampire virus and would become like him. the humans who live there so they can adapt The vampires group together in clans but Joe to the planet’s harsh conditions more easily. Pitt is an independent, working for the power- Sean and Yanaba are deeply in love and quite ful Conclave and the Society. unexpectedly they give birth to twins that have He sees zombies and follows them into a the same genetic mutation as their father. The deserted warehouse and kills them all except twins turn into seals when they enter water the one human who wasn’t bitten. His sense of and this proves dangerous because a visiting smell is so strong that he smells a carrier, some- scientist who saw them change wants to cap- one who transmits the disease but doesn’t suc- ture and examine them. For their own safety, cumb to it. The Conclave asks him to come to they are sent to a space station where people their headquarters where their security chief of all races and cultures live and work in har- tells him he has to find and kill the carrier that mony. Petaybee is giving birth to another night or things will go bad for him. He is also landmass and Sean is exploring the area when expected to meet the wealthy and powerful underwater creatures capture him. His only human Merilee Horde who wants him to find hope is his children who can communicate her runaway daughter Amanda. During his telepathically with him and most other crea- investigation, he is hunted and almost killed tures of Petaybee but first they must neutralize so many times he loses count but he finally the danger from a scientist who has a special realizes that his cases intersect and someone interest in the shape shifting twins. wants to kill him to keep him from discovering The inhabitants of Petaybee, regardless of what that junction point is and what is means race or culture, live in harmony with the sen- for the vampires. tient planet who cares for them and helps ALREADY DEAD is an intriguing vampiric them in too many ways to count. Discord romantic investigative tale starring an inter- comes from out-worlders who want to exam- esting protagonist whose morality is different ine the unusual aspects of the planet and from those of humanity yet seems similar the mutations among the general population. especially when it comes to his girlfriend as Joe CHANGELINGS, the first book in this second proves he can love someone. The cast starting Petaybee trilogy, is full of action, danger, and with the lead character makes the audience adventure. believe that the paranormal is normal while Joe’s sleuthing is fascinating to follow as he The Witness struggles with both of his assignments. Charlie Dee Henderson Huston provides an engaging supernatural Tyndale, Feb 2006, 378 pp. who-done-it that readers will appreciate. ISBN 1414308124

Changelings Deputy Chief of Police Luke Anne McCaffrey and Granger is in a shopping mall Elizabeth Ann Scarborough when a female tells him there is Del Rey, Jan 2006, a woman in the ladies room who needs help. He $19.95, 258 pp. rushes over there; a shocked Kelly Brown (w ho is ISBN: 0345470028 really Amanda Griffin who is on the run) informs him to go to the storeroom in Bressman’s Jewelry The Irish and the Inuit with a where he’ll find victims murdered by one of the sprinkling of other races have been relocated worker’s ex-husband. She also tells him that she from old Earth to the terraformed planet of can’t stay because she is being chased by some- Petaybee, a cold desolate place. The powers one who wants her dead and she has been on that be had no idea that by terraforming the the run for five years.

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 121 Three years later, Amanda Griffin contacts after having an argument with Broadway busi- Luke, telling him that the crime lord who wants nessman, Joe Berk over a juicy role in one of her dead is in jail even though some of his loyal the plays produced in his theatres since she is men are willing to kill her after they get the getting too old to play the younger parts. That ledgers that belong to Robert Wise. Mandy hope is dashed when her body is found broken came back because her sisters inherited a lot of in a ventilation shaft, the victim of a homicide. money which is in the news and makes them a A couple of days later Joe is almost electro- target of her enemy. Luke assures Maggie that cuted but the authorities determine it was an he will keep her family safe so Mandy decides accident. Illegally gotten DNA points to Berk to stay awhile. Two deaths related to heir sis- as a suspect but Alex has no probable cause ters’ inheritance occur and the man who tried to request it through channels. The closer Alex to kill her in New York City is in town. Another gets to closing out both investigations, the death occurs and Mandy decides that she will more she puts her life in danger. find the killer who is trying to destroy her and One of the very best qualities of Linda her loved ones. Fairstein crime thrillers is that it accurately Dee Henderson has the magic touch when reflects real life. Not every case comes to a it comes to creating characters readers care satisfactory conclusion as suspects disappear about. The audience will find themselves cry- before they can be convicted and judges don’t ing, rooting for the killer to be found and always hand down a ruling that makes a pros- hoping Mandy can find some happiness after ecutor happy. Readers get a behind the scenes eight years of running from a killer not know- of dance in New York with all the petty jal- ing where to go so he can be safe. The deaths ousies and jockeying for position just as they that occur weigh on her and the guilt almost learn that date rape drugs do not lessen the destroys her but Luke, who cares about her, realities of the crime. Ms. Fairstein is a great helps her carry her burden and her need to storyteller who uses real life experiences to cre- find the culprit. THE WITNESS is an exhilarating ate a storyline that is realistic and which stars thriller that has enough action, romance and likable heroes battling criminals and at times intrigue to grab and keep reader interest. the system.

Death Dance The Damned Linda Fairstein L.A. Banks Scribner, Jan 2006, St. Martin’s, Feb 2006, $26.00, 416 pp. $14.95, 496 pp. ISBN 0743254899 ISBN: 0312336241

As the assistant district attor- Family members meet ney in charge of the Sex Crimes beloved dead mothers who Prosecution Unit, Alex seeks to convict Dr. should have been in heaven, but instead were Selim Sengor for the drug facilitated rape of liberated from hell to bring terror to humanity; two Canadian women. Alex wants him denied one touch is all it takes to change a sane per- bail since he could leave the country and return son into a raving lunatic or if they are fortunate to Turkey but a judge who doesn’t fully under- death. All hell is breaking loose complements stand what rape is, lets him out on his own of Lilith, the Unnamed One’s consort. She has recognizance. freed the minions from the layers of hell as a While Alex works that case, she also investi- preliminary skirmish in the inevitable war. gates who murdered dancer Natalya Galinova Even the Neteru-Guardian team has felt the with her detective friends Mike Chapman impact with members lost due to the touch and Mercer Wallace. At first they thought she of a living dead loved one. Lovers Damali and walked out of the Metropolitan Opera House Carlos interrupt their interlude to stop Lilith

122 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine and to obtain the key reference The Book of he is in danger, she with the help of her new the Damned before all is lost. However to vampire friend Quinn rescues her brother from prevent Lilith from furthering her diabolical a place that is collecting sperm and eggs from scheme they must cut off her head; a task that the supernatural community against their will. is not just daunting, it is impossible. Failure This ties into the disappearance of several meets pandemic infection of humans with the guardians who are part of the Directorate and hell spawned madness. an illegal cross species clones project to create The sixth Vampire Huntress Legend tale is an the perfect soldier. As Riley, Rhoan, their boss action-packed thriller that grips the audience and Quinn investigate, attempts are made on from the start when the daughter asks her their lives and Riley will soon learn the pain of mom why she is not in heaven with a response betrayed by those she trusted most. that only THE DAMNED could provide and Keri Arthur is one of the best supernatural never slows down until the final confronta- romance writers in the world and the best to tion at the gates of hell. The mother-daughter come out of Australia. After the audience reads relationship sets the tone of the tale. Carlos is this book, they will want to read her backlist heroic as he knows what must be done but (see imajinn books.com) because they are as though expecting to fail courageously sets good as FULL MOON RISING. There is enough out to do the job. Surprisingly the usually romance, action and intrigue to satiate the confident Damali spends a lot time doubting most discerning reader.. Character develop- her relationship with her lover and the mis- ment is incredible making readers want to sion. However, Lilith is the fascinating one in a read future books starring Riley, an incredible macabre sense as she liberates the minion to person who will do what is necessary to keep attack living loved ones. This is one series read- her loved ones safe. There are several loose ers can bank on as being powerful and fun. threads dangling so readers can be assured of at least one sequel and this reviewer can Full Moon Rising hardly wait. Keri Arthur Bantam, Feb 2006, $15.00, 304 pp. Harriet Klausner was chosen the number one ISBN 0553804588 reader in the entire USA by BOOK Magazine. What does that mean to you? She reads constantly and Riley and Rhoan are two hybrid knows what’s out there and wants to let you siblings, half vampire and half know, too. werewolf with the wolf side dominating both of them. They keep their nature secret because Harriet says, “I particularly take pleasure from the werewolves look down at the rare hybrid. almost all the sub-genres of mystery to include Both work for the Directorate of Other Races, comic books starring Batman and Ms. Tree. I do an organization that polices the supernatural not enjoy non-ﬁction, especially biographies and keeps humans safe from the ones that are (Boring) or most westerns. Being a hyper-speed- evil. Reily enjoys sex with different partners reader (as my husband calls me), I sometimes because the heat of the moon demands she read two-three novels in a day. I enjoy writing a have sex as the full moon rises or she will be short synopsis of what I read and evaluate the hit with moon madness, a state where she is tale. I take immense pleasure telling other read- not in control of her faculties and can commit ers about newcomers or unknown authors who damage without know she is doing it. have written superb novels. Finally, my husband Although she has two fantastic sex partners, has told me that my epitaph will read ‘Give me she is aroused when a sexy powerful vampire literature or give me death.’” knocks on her door asking to speak to Rhoan who is out on an assignments. When she senses

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 123 >> A lonely crime boss’s wife discovers love isn’t what she imagined it to be. Ron Savage Her Eye In The Sky Copyright © Ron Savage Her Eye InThe Sky 2006 Vivian Prince Vivian 2006 Copyright © Copyright Illustration Illustration

he’s falling in love with his graying temples, typing her “Why I want to Win a Dinner and Shis voice that rumbles through her chest, Conversation with anchor Ivan Lockheart” let- his cut-you-in-two blue eyes, and those sto- ter on a new Apple Titanium. He does care, she ries—oh, my God, those stories—the ones knows it, she feels it. Though Mr. Lockheart where planes fall from the sky and babies die in doesn’t love her yet—and please, let’s not go fires. Film at eleven. She adores how he says counting our chickens—he certainly has the that, film AT eleven, the little half smile peaking capacity to love, and to love her better than the corners of his mouth. Then the music rises: that lying two-face shmekel she married. violins, trumpets, French horns, drums, a reeling After six months of connubial ambushes, her crescendo. Fade to The Channel Six Eye in the bam-bam thank you ma’am groom, Maxie The Sky graphic, and the logo, “Yours in the tri-state Rose Rossman is, well, God can only guess –just area. Yours because we care.” never home. Maybe she’s seen him a few less Alone in her king-sized bed with the Laura times than the thumbs and fingers she uses for Ashley sheets and buckwheat pillows, Phoebe counting, but it’s nothing a person can say with Rossman listens to the TV news as she begins assurance.

124 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine At 32, she’s become what gives her the creeps, the girl who married a daddy runner up and her dear but hideous mother: the woman who now must sidestep him for another man. Grant- hooked the invisible man and liked her wine a ed, her story isn’t an airplane falling from the glass or two more than necessary. We always sky, or babies dying in fires; it isn’t the SARS vi- marry what we know, not what we want, isn’t rus coming soon to the tri-state area, or a long that the saying? awaited east coast invasion of Killer Bees. Phoe- Imagine being trapped on the lower east be knows things, though; she hears things. side in your three-story Village brownstone, Beansy Butler also has a casino, types the dis- surrounded by plasma TVs and Hummel figu- contented bride; she, propped up on her buck- rines, by Chagalls and dangerous rugs. wheat pillows, the Apple Titanium dropping Imagine looking outside at an endless pa- her words across its screen like tiny footprints. rade of ingratiating dentists and boys who And he’s just a block or two away, on Waverly. yearn for a life in the theater. Her Maxie the The competition, Maxie calls him. Did the Eye whirlwind, her Maxie with the Curiously Strong in the Sky know who gave Beansy-Weansy his Peppermint breath and a tongue forked start up money? Here’s an answer that ought enough to stab a lamp chop. to take the night beyond burgers and fries: “Come on, Phoebe, darling, buy us one of How about the Prince of Vice himself: Lieuten- those precious brownstones in the Village,” he ant Alvin H. Furlong—Mister Clean, The Cop of says, while fondling parts of her that weren’t the Year. Now Phoebe’s thinking, God, this is so much more than strangers before he’d shack- Liz Smith, so Cindy Adams. She absently grasps led her heart. the glass of chardonnay on her nightstand and Now men who smell like onions and ciga- does an audible sip while looking for question- rettes are invading their home on Mondays, able syntax. Maybe she should click “send” and Wednesdays, and Fridays, rearranging the toss the Nose for News an appetizer, an e-mail downstairs. They’ve sealed off the windows hint of the entrée to come. As she imagines and polyurethaned the pine floor. They’ve pa- Ivan Lockheart in the midst of an information pered the walls with pictures of wild dogs and drool, Phoebe taps the key and the e-mail van- horseback riders who wear red coats and tote ishes into cyber darkness. firearms and bugles. They’ve imported long Maxie The Rose has decided to grace her mahogany tables topped in green felt. with his presence. About time, too, what’s it Phoebe wants to know: “What are you doing, been...a week, ten days? How darling of you to Maxie? Who in God’s name are all these men? drop by. His signature—the smell of rose water What’s happening to our home?” cologne—wafts up a beat or two before he ap- He tucks a finger beneath her chin, gently pears in the bedroom. She begrudgingly gives kisses her cheek then whispers, “It’s a casino, him a glance then returns to the TV and her Eye my darling, a palace of dreams. Terrific, isn’t it? in the Sky. I’m about to make you an incredibly rich wom- “Where’ve you been?” Phoebe mutters. This an.” is followed by another quick sip of chardonnay, “I am an incredibly rich woman,” she mur- as if fortifying herself for his creative response. murs, letting him kiss her again. “Efforting our future,” Maxie The Rose says, The new Mrs. Rossman is writing about these not a speck of hesitation. He talks like that: ef- peculiar events to her fantasy boy, Eye in the forting the future, thinking the problem, col- Sky Lockheart, as part of the deal. “Tell us YOUR laborating the deal, et cetera. The man’s a veri- story,” was how the Channel Six announcer had table potpourri of gerunds. put it. “If your news is news to us, you’ll win a Maxie’s at the walk-in closet now, repatriat- big night on the town, Dinner AND Conversa- ing his navy Varvatos to its wooden hanger, his tion, with our very own Eye in the Sky, Ivan Thomas Pink silk shirt to the dry cleaning bas- Lockheart.” At this moment she’s doubting her- ket near the door. “Beansy Butler came to see self, feeling like the oldest news in the world, me today,” he says, slipping into a yellow and

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 125 white striped linen robe. “Assembling some what, life’s a crap shoot— I’m stuck with Beansy get-out-of-town money, I’m guessing. Wanted as the competition...which is, let’s face it, no two grand, that moron twit.” walk in the park, either.” The estranged groom home and talkative, “...what’re you gonna do?” It’s her very own she can’t believe her good fortune. With the tri-state lotto question. Phoebe tries to sound blasé reach of a gunslinger, Phoebe aims and casual. clicks the TV remote, her Eye in the Sky winking “Oh, I’ve got a plan,” her hubby says. “You just to black. need to keep yourself home tomorrow night.” “You always bring me an adventure,” she He shuts the bathroom door. says, big smile, eyes wide and waiting, the poor She mumbles the “S” word. Then the e-mail little rich girl from Westport. icon starts blinking. Phoebe reaches toward “I didn’t give him the money, of course.” the laptop, clicking the icon, and a letter from Prioritizing survival skills, that’s what You Know Who appears on the screen. should’ve occurred to Beansy. Did the twit Hi... think Lieutenant Alvin H. Furlong would back It sounds like you’ve got an interesting story his casino for free? Hey, read the badge, does it to tell. Forget the contest, let’s meet some- say Saint Francis? Furlong wanted 25 percent where. Drinks on me. :-) off the top, and he ordered two thugs, the Fat Your Eye in the Sky Guy, Moshakie brothers, to do nightly pickup and I.L. delivery. But what truly irked Beansy Butler was Phoebe cups palm to mouth, muting a squeal. the additional $50,000 “defense fund” the lieu- She re-reads his e-mail, thinking: Where...where tenant instituted to free his degenerate friends. can we meet? On the other side of the bath- That particular coin came directly from Beansy’s room door, Maxie is talking on his cell phone. pocket. She tiptoes over, leaning her ear to the door. “...so tonight our Mr. Butler was getting numb What Phoebe hears is: “...the moron deserves on Scotch,” Maxie’s saying. He opens the ar- that and worse, believe me. Uh-huh...uh-huh. moire next to the closet, retrieving a white bath Take my advice, sport, hold on to your money towel. “Now we have an inebriated furious and stay home tomorrow night.” twit...who notices Patrick Manchette—big re- It occurs to Phoebe how to impress her Eye porter at the Times—two, maybe three bar in the Sky Guy. What better place to meet than stools down. Dumber than dirt Beansy decides The Rialto, that restaurant just below Beansy to trot his moron self over there and tell all: the Butler’s casino. Sure, absolutely, put the darling set-up money from the Cop of the Year, the boy right smack at the center of his story, a twenty-five percent off the top, the fifty large... newsman’s dream. As Phoebe writes him you hearing me?” back—9:30 PM, The Rialto—she imagines the “I’m hearing,” Phoebe says. gratitude, those pale blue eyes sparked with “Tells all, okay?” Maxie The Rose doesn’t wait eagerness, his voice recorder poised for the for an answer. As he lumbers toward the bath- play by play. She even feels his words vibrating room, he’s talking: “...Manchette says to Beansy, through her chest, “...this is your Nose for News ‘Wait right there. Let me get the photographer.’ man, live from The Rialto.” Eat your heart out, To make a long story short, the moron’s in the Geraldo Riviera. Times tomorrow, nice picture and everything, The following night, while she and Ivan— discussing the Cop of the Year.” he’d suggested first names—while she and “You should’ve given him the money.” Ivan are finishing their lovely jumbo shrimp Maxie The Rose does his Look to Heaven eye cocktails, Phoebe can’t help noticing how no- roll, like help this woman, Lord. He says, “No— body else is in the restaurant. Beneath empty no, if I give Beansy the money, I’m stuck with tables, light reflects off the glossy black and Furlong. And, if God forbid something should white tile floor. True, pictures of Beansy and happen to Mr. Wonderful Furlong —who knows Lieutenant Furlong did make the Times; and

126 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine true, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago, this Furlong person, along with three men who resembled Neanderthals in bad suits, had marched through the restaurant and up the stairs to the casino. But they are gentlemen all; she hears no gunshots, no furniture breaking, no shouting. Yes, obviously gentlemen and they are there to reason. Ivan uses the white cloth napkin to pat his lips. His hand is quiver- ing; a drop of sweat traces the left cheek. “Perhaps this wasn’t the place to meet,” he says, eyes scanning the room, a shaky hand Who am I? What is my purpose? These loosening his silk mauve tie. “Why not call the are life’s greatest mysteries. Enjoy Kristin station tomorrow and –” Masterton’s journey inward as she poetically Then a body bounces down the steps like a explores marionette without strings. It’s Beansy. The “Just what the heck is going on here?” Nose for Newsman squeals, grabs his voice recorder, and runs toward the door. Beansy’s arms and legs sprawl in weird crooked angles. Phoe- DEATH be doesn’t know what to do first, yell at that Death calls but I do not answer pompous wuss Lockheart or fix Beansy. Some- Pretending I am not home body needs to straighten them both out. From upstairs, gunfire breaks her indecision. But Death is no fool Immediately, she drops to the tile floor, crawling under the table. The shots are loud and Only I continue, making the table legs vibrate. Her eyes shut tight. Dear, God...dear, God. The guns The one who imagines she can hide don’t stop; plaster from the ceiling falls to the Without cost floor and shatters. In the midst of this, Phoebe smells rose water cologne. “Not the evening I had in mind,” she says, as a THE BOUNDARY hand grips her arm, dragging her from beneath the table. Maxie hikes her over his shoulder Surrendering to your touch – we meet at the boundary fireman style, heading for the front door. “Let these morons shoot each other,” he yells Time is no more over the gunfire. Then he tells her how she ought to quit listening in on his calls. Sensation moves me to ecstasy

Ron Savage has a BA and MA in psychology and I ﬁnd my place in the world beyond dreams, a doctorate in counseling, all from the College of Beyond space, beyond mind William and Mary. He’s been a newspaper editor and broadcaster, and worked 27 years under the Here I awaken title Senior Psychologist at Eastern State Hospital in Williamsburg, Virginia. His work has been pub- I see you lished in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science I see God Fiction, Tomorrow Magazine, TallGrass Writers I see myself Anthology, The Bitter Oleander, and Crimewave 8, among others. All merging into One

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 127 WHEN FRIENDSHIP IS MADE TIME TO DANCE Let’s get naked today Late at night when it’s only you and I and the Let’s take it all off! stars And we tell our secrets Why be shy a moment longer? And laugh Or cry The time to dance is so very brief here These delightful bodies do not last That’s when friendship is made Why waste a moment with false modesty And when the time comes when the hammer Or pretending to be so damn good falls Or so terribly bad? And it’s you or I who feel hurt One by the other I know you are afraid – to be seen And temptation screams to shoot It is the fear that makes it hurt Yet we throw our weapons aside It is the fear that keeps you fully clothed Stand naked Alone One before the other Standing in the hallway That’s when friendship is made Looking at those BIG feet Because what truly matters You always did have the biggest feet Whispers the moon that witnessed our union Better cover those funny looking toes Late at night when it was only you and I and Someone might start to laugh the stars And we told our secrets I know you are afraid – to undress And laughed Or cried – But why not – just this one time – Give those tootsies a chance What matters is not our bodies To breathe Or our minds Or who is right or wrong The guests are waiting And who are they but reﬂections of you What matters Sent by God Is our friendship made holy through love So you can dance And know SECRETS And love

Once we learn the secrets Let’s not be shy a moment longer It is easy to take from life The time to dance is so very brief here For God is inﬁnitely generous The time to dance – is now Yet what transforms us back into God Is not what we can take – In addition to writing, FMAM’s poetry columnist, But how much we can give Kristin Masterton enjoys teaching meditation, yoga, and being a mom. Visit Kristin’s website at www.namastebreeze.com or e-mail her at [email protected] for questions or conversation. Kristin Masterton 128 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine >> A Good Samaritan with a very different approach to ‘helping’ people on the road.

found the old man in a bar off Highway 535 tles and mirrors could have shown porn or PBS Ioutside Milltown. The wrong side of sixty, and the guy would have sat there staring at it. bald, wrinkled white, but well-dressed once Hypnotized. Lost. you saw past the creases. He sat hunched for- I thought about it while I ate. I still had a ward on the wooden bar, gazing up like a kid at choice; I could have walked away right then. the Red Sox and the Tampa Bay Devils on ESP Climbed into my Olds and disappeared. But the I could have had my drink and driven away. guy reminded me of my old man, from the But that’s the problem with me: I can’t walk blue-stripe shirt that needed pressing to the away from someone in trouble. It’s just the way scuffed black wing-tips angled on the stool. I’m made. Like a businessman starting the slide down, still So I shook rain off my coat, sat a few stools wearing his old uniform of office clothes be- down from the guy and ordered a beer and a cause he didn’t know what else to wear. meatball sub. I said something about the Sox’s When I looked over, the barman folded his new star southpaw, Myers. newspaper, waddled to the taps and poured The old guy blinked at me like an aquarium fish. me another drink. I pointed to the old guy’s “I’m sorry, I don’t know very much about baseball.” glass. “Coors?” I’d guessed that. The TV slung above the bot- The guy hesitated. He looked at the flat dregs

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 129 in his glass, then smiled. “I suppose so, yes. there are no good furniture stores in our town. Thank you.” So we drove into Green Falls, had breakfast at a I looked around. A yellow bulb picked out Denny’s and started looking around the larger the corner payphone. A few drinkers sat in the department stores.” room’s shadows, probably regulars from the He and his wife had a few things to buy. New cinder-block projects I’d just driven through. table and chairs. A bookcase. Coffee table. But They looked into their glasses or at the TV. the biggest piece was a new bed. They wouldn’t remember me. Nobody ever “We looked at metal frame beds,” George does. said, “and ones with solid bases. Some with “Bitch of a night for driving,” I said, moving drawers for storage. Some with motors and in- down the bar. “You headed for New York?” dependent sections that rose and fell like the “New York? Ah, no. Not really.” The old guy ones we supply to hospitals. There were plenty sipped his beer as if tasting it for the first time. to choose from. Plenty.” “I’m...just passing through.” I didn’t know where this was headed but I “Me too.” I watched Arroyo face to face with stuck with it. the umpire and tried to figure how many thou- “Then we saw it: solid mahogany, with the sands he’d earned while he stood there and ar- headboard curved like a wave.” George made a gued. I gave up. “They’re all the same, right?” shape in mid-air with his right hand. “The wood “Pardon me?” glowed. It looked more like a ship than a bed; in I leaned a little closer. “These roadside bars. fact, the salesman called it a bateau lit, French Depressing. Like someone backed a truck up to for something like ‘sleeping boat’. My wife fell in the window and sucked out all the life.” love with it right then.” “I suppose they are.” The old guy traced I watched George finish his beer. On the shapes in the condensation on his glass, like screen above the bar, the roar of a home run. you used to see kids do with a soda. “And I realized,” George said. “I looked at that I ignored the quick twinge in my chest and bed and I realized.” stuck out my hand. I picked a name at random. “What?” “Jim Travers.” “I was looking at the bed that I’d die in,” “George Henderson.” He shook my hand and George said. “I’m sixty-three now. This would be smiled, then didn’t seem to know what to do the last bed we bought, and it would outlive next. me. Simple arithmetic. One day, they’d find me I waited. I knew George had something to huddled in the middle of it, this big mahogany tell. The expensive, creased clothes; the gold carcass.” watch on his wrist; that accent: they all added George seemed to shrink inside himself. “It up to a story. was like looking into my own open coffin.” He dropped his voice and said, “This isn’t real- Amazes me, it does, how people can still ly my milieu.” catch me out. “So what did you do?” I smiled at the word. “I’d kind of guessed that.” “I ran. I left Mary standing in the store. He hesitated, then poured it all out. Married Climbed into my Cadillac and just drove. I had for thirty-eight years. Three kids, one dead of no idea where to go; no destination. I had to Leukemia at nineteen, the other two teaching get away.” in Midwest schools. George with his own suc- What could I say? Everyone gets frightened, cessful business supplying hospital equipment. sooner or later. Except the real psychos, the George, member of the local Elks and two-time guys that have no idea of their own deaths. councilman. A guy settled in his own life. With George, it had probably been building up He downed half his beer in one gulp. “It hap- for a while. If the bed hadn’t kicked him off pened last week. Saturday.” something else would have. “Have you called I waited, nice and quiet. home?” “Since Matthews and Castleton closed down, George looked down at the counter.

130 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine “It’s okay to get scared, George.” hoods. I could smell gas and damp soil. “I feel so stupid.” No cars passed by on the road. Nobody else I thought about all the guys I’d seen dead. moved in the lot. The New Jersey Turnpike glit- More than my fair share. “Okay. This guy I knew tered a mile away, a snaking line of yellow and years back, Pete, thought nothing could touch red leading north to the City’s bigger glow fill- him. Big, stocky son of a bitch. Never sick, never ing the horizon. even visited the doctor. Like that film, you know George shook my hand. “I should go.” the one? Where the guy walks away from a “Where to?” train crash and can’t get hurt no matter what He shrugged and turned away. he does? Same with Pete. I saw three guys go at I thought about my old man lying stuck full him with chunks of two-by-four. Two of ‘em of tubes and wires in that hospital bed. Hell, ended up in traction. Pete walked away.” maybe George’s company had supplied it. Then, George stared at me with wide eyes. He prob- in my mind, my dad’s face turned into George’s. ably wondered what kind of people I’d mixed “Hey. Wait a minute.” with. Surprises me, sometimes. George looked back at me. I went on, “So Pete starts to make plans: he “I’ve got something in the trunk that might puts money aside, thinks about getting out of help,” I said. “Here. Take a look.” the business he’s in, makes a few investments, I popped the trunk of the Olds I’d clipped looks around for a nice quiet house out Irving- from the Orangeburg mall. The courtesy light ton way. It’s looking good for him; the future’s came on. George leaned over, saw the spare tire bright. and jack. He frowned and opened his mouth to “Then people start to tell him he’s losing speak. weight. He doesn’t eat so good, no appetite. In one smooth move I swung the blackjack Can’t drink like he used to. But he puts off go- and slammed it into the back of his head. It ing to the doctor until he’s got no choice. When connected with that familiar damp thud. the results come back, you can guess what they George slumped into the open trunk. I hauled said. Nothing the doctors could do. Pete - or his legs over the sill and curled him into the what was left of him - died three weeks after he trunk. He weighed next to nothing. was due to move into his new house.” I checked his pockets and slipped his wallet George shook his head and finished his beer. and watch into my coat. A car swung off the He thought about my story for while. I could Highway and past the bar, sweeping its lights tell he didn’t get it. over the lot; I hunched down but the beams “See, George, Pete forgot one thing: when slid away from me. you think you got your life pinned down and all Before I locked the trunk, I looked down at planned out, it turns around and bites you on George; he could have been asleep. He never the ass. The trick is, take nothing for granted. It’s knew what hit him. It’s a lot better that way. If all down to chance.” George could have spoken, I bet he would have “You’ve never made any plans? Never settled agreed with that. Just like my old man. down?” I grabbed my bag and climbed into George’s “No sir. No way.” Cadillac. Nice car. Comfortable if a little heavy He nodded. “So you think I did the right and underpowered. At the exit, I waited for al- thing.” most a minute, wondering whether to head left “I’d say yes. Sure.” or right, north or south. South, I decided, for the George thought about that while I paid our warmer climes that all the TV holiday shows tabs. The bartender took the bills without a talked about. See what I could find on the way. word. None of the drinkers at the tables Drive whichever way the wind blew. No plans; watched us leave. no responsibilities. We stood in the dark lot. The rain had stopped As I put my foot down, I thought about poor but the trees still dripped onto parked cars’ George. I didn’t know which way I’d go but it

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 131 wouldn’t be lying in some big wooden bed sur- Tom Brennan is a British crime writer with short rounded by my whining family. stories appearing in Crimewave, Indy, Story No sir. No way. House, and Storyteller, among others; his ﬁrst mystery novel, The Debt (Five Star), is out now. Spotlight On . . . Teresa Tunaley by Bret Wright

When the FMAM art books and magazines.” department was asked What does she do when she doesn’t have a to come up with an illustra- specific assignment? “I sometimes come up tor who consistently wowed with really bizarre work. I like to create dreams them, there was no hesitation that I have had. My husband often wonders at all. They said that whenever a where it all comes from and what really lurks tough illustration project comes deep within.” She says it can be frustrating up, or a certain finesse is required, when she can’t re-create what she has in her the name of Teresa Tunaley springs immediate- head, when that one expression or situation ly to mind. Her illustrations and cartoons grace just won’t come together the way she envi- almost every issue of Futures Mystery Antholo- sioned it. “In these instances I found it easier to gy Magazine . . . for a reason. This talented gal start over and begin a totally new illustration has the “it” to flavor Futures just right. Her art is from a new angle.” a little noir, a little off-center, and a lot of talent. As for advice to novices, Tunaley echoes what To say Tunaley is a little different than most is great artists throughout history have told their an understatement. Her life exudes the kind of students, “Patience is a must. Never give up, and existence many might find under a definition always try to produce your best work. You can of paradise. For starters, she lives on the Canary never practice too much. Carry a sketch book Islands off of the Western Coast of Africa with around and capture natural settings, poses, her husband. The island life has afforded her landscapes . . . make notes of the colors on the the opportunity to explore things like diving, side so you can remember these when you get parascending, and quad-biking . . . just the sorts back to your studio.” of things that one doesn’t normally associate Of her own work, Tunaley demurs, “I certainly with a former freckle-faced British Police Offi- don’t see myself as in the same class as many of cer. But it’s all just part of the dream come true the famous or infamous artists. I’d be more than for Tunaley. “I have the freedom to paint every happy just to earn a living doing what I love day among these truly wonderful tropical sur- best.” rounding—if I choose!” Teresa Tunaley prides herself on putting oth- Tunaley isn’t just about fun and games, er’s needs before her own. This trait is perhaps though. When it comes to art, she’s all business. why editors turn to her for the really tough il- This talented artist has been at it since before lustration assignments. It’s also what makes her her teens, and she is constantly thinking of new special and makes her work identifiable. “I had things to cartoon and illustrate. “Having worked an editor tell me last year that she knew my in all genres,” she says, “I would have to say that work without looking at the signature. What my favorite ones are children’s and horror. Odd that is, specifically, I really don’t know. From the combination, I know! Cartoons pop into my reaction of others, I seem to be able to capture head all the time, and I illustrate them just for what the authors envision and bring their fun . . . but the real me loves to create original il- words to life . . . and that, to me, makes it all lustrations for author’s stories, or cover art for worthwhile.”

132 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine >> Even in the twenty-ﬁrst century, jealousy can wreak havoc with the best-laid plans. Telett Telett Lyketes Brainstorm

t was the beginning of spring. It was the end images of accelerated growth. The delusional Iof winter. It was everything in between. It was slideshow assaulted his visual cortex like some grass shoots ripping through soil, and leaves great tropical storm, wave after wave, each new- blasting through bud tips. It was roses crashing er and stronger and more developed than the red through green fetters. It was the grass grow- last. And even more bewildering, Jon Pembroke ing and dying; it was the grass dead. It was the realized that he had been betrayed. leaves browning and crinkling; it was the leaves Dr. Emma Sloan, a colleague of five years, a falling. It was the roses unfolding and paling; it renowned neuroscientist, a friend, a lover—she was the roses petaling to the ground. It was the had done this to him. And he walked right into larvae, then the pupae, then the moths. Neurons it with a smile on his face, like the proverbial fired. Axons trembled. Dendrites fluttered. Syn- lamb being led to slaughter. He had not seen it apses opened and closed violently. Pembroke coming. Perhaps that was what irked him most. was overwhelmed by the chemically induced That he, a doctor, a twenty-first century scien-

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 133 tist himself—of some repute—had not the “Those are my sentiments exactly, darling.” slightest inkling of what was happening. He Not that she understood, but she was enjoying closed his eyes tightly, as if that would block herself immensely. She disappeared from sight out the unwanted visions that spun through for a moment. his mind on an unending reel. He was power- I’ve got to regain control, he thought. He less to stop it. And he couldn’t move. tried to separate the encyclopedic visions from He vaguely recollected some blurred time his evaluation process. He strained to think sequence when he sat down and allowed back to when it all began, hoping to slow down Emma to strap him in, connect the drips, the the onslaught and divert his attention from the monitors, and the digital readouts. He remem- dizzying nausea that was welling up inside. bered the choline-laced vitamin drink she had Somewhere behind him, Emma laughed. It was him swallow. In spite of the strawberry flavor- not a pleasant sound. More cackle than any- ing, it tasted like the worst kind of medicine. thing else. Not like the first time he met her. “Drink it all down, darling, or it won’t do you It had been a scant five years before, 2057, any good.” during the OktoberFest that celebrated the “You sound like my mother,” he’d said, gulp- one-hundredth year since the former Soviet ing the awful liquid, “when she was giving me Union launched their Sputnik satellite and thus Castor oil.” changed the world. Pembroke was a guest From that point, as the IVs began to drip into member of the Intergalactic Council of Scientif- his veins, he had become giddy, like some child ic Unions. Dr. Emma Marek Sloan was likewise at the dentist’s office who had just begun to ex- so honored. The gala that started with so many perience the euphoria of nitrous oxide inhala- dry, hot-air speeches turned into quite a fun tion. Gradually, he slipped into a hazy, outside- party, as the ban against drinking intoxicating of-body-looking-on demeanor. He watched beverages had been lifted for the occasion. the monitors, and he watched Emma as she flit- Even Van Geldt, the staid Euro Earth leader ted about with a notepad in her hand. and the Nobel recipient for 2049, was enjoying “Look, Jon. You can see the accelerator work- himself. He was to ramble on the whole evening, ing. See the dyes crossing into the spinal fluid? a drink in each hand, about his theories of brain Soon you’ll begin to metabolize it all...and you’ll evolution and the selection processes of neu- be even smarter than I am!” rons and synapses. It was on the occasion of his She’d thought that was terribly funny. He re- fourth round of drinks that Dr. Emma Sloan hap- membered musing, at the time, he was already pened to bump Van Geldt from behind. smarter than she was. Hadn’t he done most of “Yong Layty,” he said, turning around, “ver are the research? Hadn’t he gone before the Inter- hue going in zuch a hurry?” galactic Medical Committee and procured the “Excuse me, professor, I didn’t see you.” She research grants? There was no question as to was obviously embarrassed. the superior intellect in this collaboration. “Van Geldt? Hue did not see Van Geldt?” He He should have known something was amiss gulped down one of his martinis. “I can under- when his blood pressure monitor started to stand that hue vould not comprehend...vould beep. not see the meaning of vot I say...but, not to see “Stupid malfunction,” Emma said. “Here...I’ll Van Geldt? Preposterous!” just reset it all.” She stood between him and the Emma Sloan couldn’t help herself. She burst screen after that. into uncontrollable laughter. A fresh collage of birth-life-death images Pembroke had been standing there listening surged through his head. He was jerked un- to Van Geldt’s spiel, and the shift from serious pleasantly back into the present. He opened his to hilarious caught him off guard. He, too, broke mouth to speak. His voice was garbled and out laughing. sounded like an old, twentieth-century tape re- “Hue two...hue laugh at Van Geldt? It’s okay. corder in fast-forward mode. One day, hue will be sorry...ven hue need a

134 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine helping hand...on your way to the Nobel. Hue him Jon Jon unless they were in bed together. will be sorry!” Pembroke looked around self-consciously, as if It had taken them an hour and three more one of the other passengers might have under- rounds of drinks to smooth Van Geldt’s ruffled stood the significance of her familiarity. He feathers. In the end, he actually professed affec- laughed at himself. tion for them and invited them to come to his “Is that a hint?” He looked around again. “Do laboratory complex in Prague. More than the you suppose we could lock ourselves in the last vodka martini, it had been Emma Sloan’s lounge for about an hour?” laughter that reversed his disdain. When she “You wouldn’t last an hour, darling. And be- began to laugh at his corny jokes instead of at sides, the lounge on this shuttle is way too his pompous affectations and posturings, Van small for you and me.” Geldt was taken in. Jon Pembroke was down- He remembered the time they had done just right seduced. It was as if her laughter was part that. Locked themselves in the lounge of the of some spontaneous lyric, a tune to soothe the starship Cassiopeia while on the way to a con- mythical savage beast. ference in Sol City, Mars. The security police From that moment, Pembroke courted Dr. never really believed their story about the mal- Emma Sloan, both for business and for plea- functioning electrical system. But they had no sure. She was preeminent in her field, more way to prove their suspicions. than competent in her craft, and explosive in “A dilatory response. But I suppose you’re her passions. As far as Pembroke was con- right,” said Pembroke, licking his top lip. “Maybe cerned, that made her three for three. I can wait until we get home.” They began to collaborate on their research It had been like that almost from the start. and published important papers jointly. But it Two days after their accidental meeting at the was after they visited Prague and Cornelius Van OktoberFest, they had become lovers. More Geldt that it all fell into place. than that. They fed off one another with vora- “I’ve never been so excited in all my life,” cious appetites. Every laboratory triumph had Emma told Pembroke on the trip back. its bedroom celebration. “So, you believe he’s right?” Gradually, experiment by experiment, they “That he’s taken neuroscience forward—out began to restrict their research to tests that of the myths and assumptions of the 1990’s would prove neurons in the brain could be and the 2020’s? Of course I do. And I believe generated. Not only generated, but stimulated that it’s up to us to make practical application by induced chemicals, then metabolized per- of it all.” manently into the cerebral system of delicate “I couldn’t agree with you more, Dr. Sloan. I’ve neural networks. New junctions could be been saying that all along.” The problem had formed, synapses that virtually increased a sub- never been belief in the theories, but practical ject’s intelligence, as could be proven by mod- application. That’s where every twentieth-cen- ern-day I.Q. tests. tury and early twenty-first century scientist had It was a concept that had been discounted fallen short. Practical application. Even Van for nearly a hundred years. Most scientists be- Geldt only touched the surface of what could lieved the ability to become “smarter” no lon- be done to change man’s so-called innate intel- ger existed past a person’s formative childhood ligence. years. The skepticism had a long-standing ba- “Dr. Sloan? Aren’t we being the formal one all sis. No one had been able to produce a measur- of a sudden!” Emma was smiling. ably “smarter” person. Until Sloan and Pem- “Just a term of sudden respect, my dear. I love broke. Or, as Jon Pembroke would say, Pembroke it when you agree with me.” and Sloan. “Perhaps that was never my bailiwick, Jon They had begun to produce, under strict sci- Jon.” entific conditions, laboratory animals that de- She was teasing him now. She seldom called veloped new neural matter. For the first time

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 135 ever, scientifically acceptable “basic intelli- “Weird?” gence” had been increased. In rats. True to form, “Strange. I could see seeds germinating and Pembroke took the lion’s share of the credit. sprouting into plants...eggs turning into em- Even though it was Dr. Emma Sloan who had bryos...all sorts of births and developments.” synthesized the choline “soup”, as she called it. He shook his head as if to rid his mind of the “Seems to me you would be the perfect sub- vestiges. ject for the next stage of experiments,” Emma “What do you make of it?” Emma asked in her had told Jon Pembroke. best clinical voice. She had a pen and note pad “How’s that?” in her hand. “Why, what could be more appropriate than “I’m not sure,” answered Pembroke. “I think it to use the biggest rat in the lab for the final has something to do with the dosage. We’ll see, tests?” I suppose.” Pembroke remembered it was right after Each day, he allowed Emma to strap him in that display of professional jealousy Emma re- and hook him up to the tubes, probes, and sen- fused to sleep with him any more. When he be- sors. Each day, he prescribed a slightly larger gan to fill in the void by seducing young lab as- dosage of the chemicals for himself. Each day, sistants, Pembroke became the target for the images became more numerous, more viv- personal jealousy as well. At least, that’s how he id, more puzzling. Conception, birth, life. >From saw it. vegetable to animal and in-between. All flash- “The rat’s getting bigger but not smarter,” ing before his eyes instantaneously. Emma fired at him, soon after she’d observed Emma would inquire about the visions after one of his latest seductions. each session. She noted the increases and the “I assume, dear, you are addressing me?” changes, the elevated blood pressure, the re- “You’re the only rat in the whole lab who’s sidual nervousness. getting dumber!” she responded. “Still no ideas?” “Man cannot live by research alone, my sweet. “From a scientific standpoint?” asked Pem- He must have research assistants.” broke. Emma did not see the humor, and she re- “From any standpoint.” fused to join him in his self-congratulatory “Well...” Pembroke furrowed his brow. “It’s al- laughter. most as if they’re learning.” It was three days later that Pembroke agreed “They?” to be the first human to be injected with the “The new neurons. It’s like they’re searching “smart” drugs. After all, who was better quali- all the other cells, scanning the information fied to judge the results? Who should get most stored there...adding it to their own memory of the credit...the crowning glory? Pembroke base. Or, at least, creating a link to where the was determined to leave his mark on history... data resides.” even more, to make history. “Why?” Emma stood with one end of the pen Forty-eight hours into the preliminary tests, in her mouth. Pembroke began to notice the side effects. As “Hell, I don’t know.” It made him nervous not his brain started to generate neural matter, he to have a clear-cut answer. “Unless a neuron saw images. Fast-forwarded videos of things needs some informational foundation upon being born, growing...things germinating, which to base its growth. Maybe it needs a sprouting. He could feel heat and cold alter- building block, a reference of old knowledge, nately shoot through his veins. His mouth and from which it can generate new knowledge... throat became so dry he had to stifle a desire to without which it can’t justify its existence. May- cough. be that’s why an adult organism has signifi- What did it all mean? “That was weird,” he cantly fewer neurons than an immature one. told Emma, while coming down from the ef- Use it or lose it? I can’t say for sure.” fects of the drugs. “Makes sense to me.” Emma was writing on

136 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine her notepad. about my relationship with Emma...or you.” It was the next day, the next increased dos- “You told me it was over between you two... age that brought with it the pictures of aging the personal thing.” and dying. Over and over. Reference upon ref- “She thinks it is. But just you wait. When I’ve erence. proved my theory, she’ll be all over me like a “Stop!” Pembroke cried. “Dilute the drip. More tight pair of coveralls.” saline. Hurry!” He spent the rest of the evening trying to Emma followed orders. convince her he had no further romantic inter- “I think we need to go back to a decreased est in Dr. Emma Sloan. dosage, Emma.” Pembroke was visibly shaken The next morning, Pembroke was late to by the new waves of psychedelic images. work. And so was the blond assistant. Emma “But what if the new neurons need that full was the first to notice, as she checked and re- cycle of information—to be complete?” checked the equipment for the day’s experi- “No, Emma! Listen to me. I believe, in their im- ment. maturity, they’d continue adding on, storing, “Nice of you to drop by, Dr. Pembroke. Glad generating—perhaps even replicating—spon- you could find the time.” taneously...at an ever increasing speed...until Pembroke ignored her as he changed into the whole system failed...exploded!” his lab coat. “Impossible!” “Sorry,” said the blonde, as Emma glared at “Well, I won’t be the one to find out. Even if it her. takes months on a lesser dosage, to prove our “Can we get started now?” Emma’s voice was point.” Pembroke removed one of the tubes icy cold. from his arm. “Tomorrow we go back three dos- Minutes later, Emma started the drips, and, al- age levels. Then we can stabilize the experi- most immediately, Pembroke could feel the fire ment...begin to quantitatively analyze the re- in his veins. Suddenly, his recollections misted, sults.” then disintegrated. He was back in the electri- Emma was dissatisfied with Pembroke’s reti- cal storm. Neurons, axons, dendrites, and ex- cence to graduate the experiment as they had ploding synapses. He could no longer hold out originally designed it. But she agreed to the against the nausea, and his head throbbed with changes. pain. He regurgitated down the front of his That evening, Pembroke dined with the coat. The images bullied their way into the fore- perky blonde lab assistant—she of the ex- front of his mind as he struggled to focus on tremely tight uniforms—at her apartment. what was going on around him. The visual and “Jon,” she said as she was serving him des- the perceived battled for his attention. Slowly, sert. “Do you trust Emma?” agonizingly, the cinema stopped...then began “In what way, honey?” to roll again. Birth, life, death. “In any way. One of my earrings fell into the “Jon, Jon? Are we having fun yet?” wastebasket today when I was cleaning up. Emma’s voice, tipped with sarcasm, knifed While I was retrieving it, I found some notes through the clicking of neural transmitters and she’d discarded.” the clashing of video versus reality “And?” “When I win the Nobel, Jon...should I begin “From what I read, she’s taking credit for ev- signing my whole name...Dr. Emma Marek erything you’ve done.” Sloan?” Pembroke laughed. “Professional jealousy, Pembroke knew now she had increased rath- my dear. None of that will matter when I release er than decreased the choline solution with its my findings in the trade journal.” dyes and accelerators. That she had done it on “She looks at me funny nowadays. She knows purpose. And that the chemicals which were about us, doesn’t she?” pumping through his veins, would soon, like a “What if she does? There’s nothing exclusive raging river, crush him under the flood. His

FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 137 brain would not weather the storm. formed. Outside of and parallel to the speeding “I sent your girlfriend home. Told them all we images that wracked him, that spurred him to- wouldn’t need them the rest of the day.” ward a dark, yet unseen precipice. The picture He believed he could feel the chill from Em- was, at first, a seed...then slowly, a seedling... ma’s breath as she leaned over and spat the then a mighty, green-leafed oak. Then it aged words into his ear. before his eyes, became gnarled, and dropped Suddenly, from somewhere behind Emma, its withered, wrinkled leaves. A wind howled he heard a shriek, then saw her face twist into a through its branches. The tree groaned before painful grimace. As Emma slumped to the floor, the storm. There was a ripping, tearing sound he strained his bulging eyes, tried to grasp as the root system gave way. what was happening. Through the muddle of it all, Pembroke heard “Jon, Jon?” said a voice that perfectly mim- a laugh. More of a cackle, really. icked Emma. “Are we getting any smarter, yet?” With great effort, Pembroke focused upon Telett Lyketes is a desperate housewife, reared by the floor. Emma wasn’t moving; she lay as quiet television, oppressed by men, and under no con- as the proverbial church mouse. viction the world has more to offer than a brief “I can see the headlines now,” said the voice. glimpse of Eden. After a short stint as a gaslight “Famed scientists die in tragic lab experiment. stripper, she has turned back to writing fiction. Lovely lab assistant manages to salvage critical Her previous successes include stories accepted and earth-shattering data.” for The Adversaria, The Writer’s Hood, and In a corner of his mind, a shadowy picture Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine. 2006 Gin E L FentonSpot Copyright © Copyright Spot Illustration Spot Illustration

138 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine er >> He’d come to hear the sermon, but that day the Devil was in the pew. Charles Schaeff The Envelope, Please Charles Schaeffer Copyright ©

ilton Scrivener slid into the end of the lopes, cash, checks and change—would go Mpew, his usual seat, nodding at fellow pa- downstairs to the counters’ room. rishioners. His eyes lingered for a moment on Scrivener and fellow volunteer Ernie Fleagle the widow, Ruan Trumbull, comforting himself would sort, record and stow the offering under that she occupied her regular place at the op- lock for delivery later to the bank. The amount posite end of the same pew. It was the last Sun- was seldom noteworthy, but today was differ- day of Advent, just before Christmas. ent, because it was the year-end moment when Scrivener’s professional career had tanked in eccentric tither Ruan Trumbull would fulfill her an accounting scandal in June. With his unem- pledge by placing a tenth of her income in the ployment insurance expiring, he was staring at plate. The offering, Scrivener knew, as did other a bleak holiday season. Now, in his mind, he parishioners, would be a $10,000 money order, went over the plan that would change all that. unsigned, giving church leaders the option of By staying on as a church volunteer, a counter, using it as they saw fit. he’d been able at least to hold his head up. The Scrivener turned in his seat to assess the ush- counter’s task was straightforward enough. Af- er team, noting with mild distaste that one was ter the ushers passed the offertory plate, the Jasper Farkle, a stooped figure on a cane who money—an assortment of numbered enve- lived in a halfway house supported by the FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine ~ January - February 2006 139 church. Farkle’s slow-witted presence made the plan even simpler, Scrivener mused, as the offertory plate progressed along the rows of pews, pausing as each worshipper dropped in FIRE OWL a contribution. From the corner of his eye, GERALD W. MILLS Scrivener watched Ruan Trumbull place her en- “No matter how James velope, numbered 210, on top of the pile. Then Foster tries to use his as the plate passed in front of him, Scrivener paranormal gift for fell back on wiles honed in many a poker game. the betterment of his In a swift motion—undetectable—he palmed fellow man, society is envelope 210 into his coat sleeve while sliding just not ready.” his own envelope onto the moving plate. When later the check was discovered to be Suspense Available now! missing, any and all of the congregation would “Wealthy, brilliant and highly respected, become suspects. Scrivener felt a twinge of Secretary of the Interior Benjamin Howland mild regret at that but quickly overcame it. believes America can be restored to world greatness only if he takes over government In the counters’ room, Scrivener’s partner, Ernie and declares martial law. All it will take Fleagle, puzzled over the numbered envelopes is a healthy dose of national panic and stacked numerically. “Funny,” Fleagle said, “this upheaval...” is the week that Ruan Trumbull donates big time But where’s the envelope?” ISBN: 1-931201-85-4 “Maybe next week,” Scrivener said, his arm Trade Paperback. $16.95 U.S. held at a right angle. At that moment the door opened. Ruan AVAILABLE AT Trumbull and Farkle entered. “Absent-minded www.twilighttimesbooks.com me,” she tittered. “Mr. Farkle kindly led me down here to get my envelope back. I forgot to put the check in.” Twilight Times Books Scrivener blurted, “But it’s not here.” Kingsport, Tennessee Farkle’s cane suddenly dropped from his hand. Instinctively, Scrivener reached down to catch it. Envelope 210 popped from his sleeve FMAM M and fluttered to the floor. The others stared Y first at the envelope, then at Scrivener. ST ERY The author has published short mysteries in Futures Magazine, has won honorable mention in the Fire-to-Fly Contest, and placed second in the 2004 Slesar Twist Contest. His work has appeared in Harper’s, Esquire, and The Nation. His short mysteries have also appeared in Web Mystery Magazine, Mysterical-E, Crimson Dagger, The Dana Literary Journal, Detective Mystery Stories, The Storyteller, and New England Writers’ Network. He is a two-time winner of Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine’s “Mysterious Photo” Contest. www.fmam.biz

140 January - February 2006 ~ FMAM - Futures MYSTERY Anthology Magazine Submission Guidelines

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Coming in March - April 2006:

LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN by John M. Floyd THE ENGLISH LADY - A Tobias Talmo Tale by Rus Morgan BLOOD MOON, BLUE BAYOU by Chick Lang

...and more...STORIES, COLUMNS, POETRY, CARTOONS AND FABULOUS ARTWORK