|Aldrich, Janet M.
|Allen, M. G.
|Ammonds, Phillip J.
|Aymar, E. A.
|Baker, Bobby Steve
|Baumgartner, Jessica Marie
|Bohem, Charlie Keys and Les
|Bonehill, L. R.
|Boran, P. Keith
|Bowen, Sean C.
|Boyd, A. V.
|Brawn, Jason D.
|Brock, Brandon K.
|Brown, R. Thomas
|Butler, Simon Hardy
|Cameron, W. B.
|Campbell, J. J.
|Campbell, Jack Jr.
|Christopher, J. B.
|Compton, Sheldon Lee
|Cooper, Malcolm Graham
|Cosby, S. A.
|Crouch & Woods
|Crumpton, J. C.
|Curry, A. R.
|Dabbe, Lyla K.
|Danoski, Joseph V.
|de Bruler, Connor
|De France, Steve
|De La Garza, Lela Marie
|de Marco, Guy Anthony
|Deming, Ruth Z.
|Di Chellis, Peter
|Dick, Paul "Deadeye"
|Drake, Lena Judith
|Dromey, John H.
|Dunham, T. Fox
|Dunn, Robin Wyatt
|Elias, Ramsey Mark
|Elliott, Beverlyn L.
|England, Kellie R.
|Fedigan, William J.
|Flanagan, Daniel N.
|Flanagan, Ryan Quinn
|Funk, Matthew C.
|Gardner, Cheryl Ann
|Goddard, L. B.
|Gurney, Kenneth P.
|Hanna, J. T.
|Hanson, Christopher Kenneth
|Hardin, J. Scott
|Hayes, A. J.
|Hayes, Peter W. J.
|Henry, Robert Louis
|Hilson, J. Robert
|Hobbs, R. J.
|Huguenin, Timothy G.
|Huskey, Jason L.
|Jacobson, E. J.
|Jaggers, J. David
|Jones, D. S.
|Jones, Erin J.
|Kaplan, Barry Jay
|Keaton, David James
|Keith, Michael C.
|Kimball R. D.
|King, Michelle Ann
|Knapp, Kristen Lee
|Krafft, E. K.
|Lacks, Lee Todd
|La Rosa, F. Michael
|LeJay, Brian K. Jr.
|Lerner, Steven M
|Lewis, Cynthia Ruth
|Lopez, Aurelio Rico III
|Lo Rocco, Brian
|Lucas, Gregory E.
|Manteufel, M. B.
|Marlowe, Jack T.
|McFarlane, Adam Beau
|Monaghan, Timothy P.
|Mooney, Christopher P.
|Morgan, Bill W.
|Moss, David Harry
|Muslim, Kristine Ong
|Neuda, M. C.
|Nienaber, T. M.
|Ogurek, Douglas J.
|Perez, Juan M.
|Powers, M. P.
|Purfield, M. E.
|Quinlan, Joseph R.
|reutter, g emil
|Richey, John Lunar
|Roberts, Paul C.
|Robinson, John D.
|Rodgers, K. M.
|Rogers, Stephen D.
|Saus, Steven M.
|Schraeder, E. F.
|Scott, Jess C.
|Servis, Steven P.
|Seymour, J. E.
|Shaikh, Aftab Yusuf
|Simmler, T. Maxim
|Sin, Natalie L.
|Sinisi, J. J.
|Smith, Adam Francis
|Smith, Daniel C.
|Solender, Michael J.
|Stewart, Michael S.
|Stryker, Joseph H.
|Swartz, Justin A.
|Taylor, J. M.
|Thomas, C. T.
|Thompson, John L.
|Valent, Raymond A.
|Waldman, Dr. Mel
|Weir, G. Kenneth
|White, Judy Friedman
|Art by W. Jack Savage © 2014
IS A GOOD THING, RIGHT?
The rustic old used book store, The Written Word, with its two studio
apartments on the second floor, had managed to evade the urban renewal planners for half
a century. The apartments had been the
real money-makers for the building’s owner for the last ten or fifteen years. The cursed Internet and the movie rental industry
had changed the way of doing business for a lot of retailers. Many
had gone through reorganizations to accommodate the different customer preferences and
had stayed afloat. Many others had tried
and failed. The owner of The Written Word, Frank Jenkins,
had seen the oncoming tsunami, but had realized there was very little he could do as far
as making changes in the way a used book store did business. Had he
dealt in rarities, he could have taken advantage of the Internet and gone global. As it was, most of his clients lived in a forty-block
radius of his storefront. In the back of
the store, he was going through a box of books he had found at an estate sale. The person whose estate was being settled had
had a very nice collection, indeed. His only
employee, Mary Gibbs, was up front at the cash register talking to a teenager. Mary was a recent college graduate, an English major, no less, who
in addition to working six days a week at The Written Word, drove cab three or four nights
a week to make ends meet. When Mary wasn’t
waiting on the few customers who wandered in, she had her nose in a book. She especially liked late 19th, early
20th century horror and supernatural authors like Algernon Blackwood and Arthur
Machen. In less than a year she had learned
the business and was well liked by Frank’s regular customers.
Frank stopped to listen a minute as it sounded like Mary was giving this kid the
bad news. He rarely ever heard her being
anything but friendly to the customers.
I’ve told you a million times; the change we have is for our customers. If I give it to you, we might not have it when we need it,” Mary
said quietly but firmly.
“But I’ll miss my bus if ya don’t
give me change. My mom’ll get all
wigged out and maybe ground me,” complained the teenager in front of her. Frank supposed that Jimmy was the kind of kid who would be known by
his schoolmates as a geek or a nerd. Tall,
gangly, lots of acne; he even had some white tape holding one of the bows of his glasses
to the rest of the frame. Jimmy was a classic,
“Okay, I suppose if ya have to catch
yer bus, ya have to catch yer bus. But try to
plan ahead a little, will ya, Jimmy?”
face lit up with a big smile as he took the change. “Thanks, Mary,”
he said. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”
“You know it will happen again, don’t you, Mary?” Frank
said after Jimmy had gone. “I think
he’s got a crush on you.”
be silly,” said Mary blushing. “He’s
just a kid. I’m almost ten years older
than he is.”
“I didn’t say he was going to
ask you to elope with him to Vegas. I just
think he enjoys spending a little quality time with you.”
“Quality time; I’m so sure,”
harrumphed Mary as she went back to her book.
change Jimmy needed, if he really needed it, and the inability of Frank to make the changes
necessary to keep the store going, got him thinking about how words like change had different
meanings in the English language. He really wished
there was something he could do to change the way he did business and turn a profit again,
but couldn’t think of any way to do it. He
was absently paging through one of the books that was part of his recent purchase,
mumbling the words “change this, change that” to himself, when a piece of paper
fell to the floor. It appeared to be a note
that had been used as a bookmark, and considering the recent thoughts that had been going
through his head, it was a strange note indeed. “So it’s
change you’re looking for, is it?” the note stated in someone’s careful
cursive. “I’ll show you change!”
Frank looked at the
book’s spine for title and author information. The title
was “Everyday Spells and the Use of Incantations” by an author named Francis
Jenkins. Odder and odder. The
copyright date was 1872. Maybe some crazy
great-great-uncle. Frank put the note back into the book and
decided to go for a walk to clear his head and then stop someplace for lunch.
going for an early lunch, Mary,” he said going out the door. “I’ll
be back before 12:30.”
Frank headed toward the market district, and
though feeling a little light headed, discovered he was glad to be out of the store and
into the fresh air. A welcome change. “There it is again,” he thought to
himself. Normally he would have chuckled
at this continuation of word play, but for some reason he felt uneasy. Looking
down, he saw a nasty looking rat was scurrying along, keeping pace with him. Then he saw another, equally nasty looking, coming toward him from
the other direction. The odd thing was that
nobody else walking in either direction seemed to take any notice of the two rats.
No, now three; now four rats. Frank was glad when he got to the little
bistro he often frequented and could leave the rats behind. Even as he sat down,
it bothered him that no one else had paid any attention to the uncommon occurrence of those
rats trundling down the street like they had important rat business to take care of.
Gerald, the waiter who usually took Frank’s order, was nowhere
to be seen. A rather scruffy little man,
in a dirty sweater much too large for him, sidled over to the table.
he asked, looking over Frank’s head and out the window.
around at the other customers and didn’t recognize a soul. “I
guess I’ll have a grilled cheese and a glass of ice water,” he stammered nervously. “Yes, grilled cheese and ice water; that’ll
do it,” he trailed off.
“The fish didn’t like it when
we put ice in the water, so we don’t have ice no more,” declared the waiter
as he shambled away.
Frank looked at the table next to him and
his jaw dropped. The couple next to him both
had water, and in each glass there was a live fish of some sort swimming around. The waiter came back with Frank’s water and
refilled the glasses of the two at the next table. Right then, Frank knew exactly
what was going on: He was losing his mind. Simple as that; going bonkers. First the rats and now the fish.
fish okay?” asked the waiter. “I can get
ya a different kind if ya want.”
I’m sure this fish is fine. But I suddenly
don’t feel too well and think I’d better leave.” He put a dollar on the table as a tip and started for the door. He couldn’t imagine eating a grilled cheese
that came from the kitchen of a place that put live fish in their drinking water. As he was walking out he saw a fellow do a
“bottoms up” with his glass and drink it right down, fish and all.
“Yep,” he said out loud. “Crazier than a peach-orchard
boar.” He decided to go to the little
grocery and just pick up an apple and some grapes to take back with him to the bookstore.
Why he thought the grocery would somehow be as it was the last time he was in it
was due to that age-old river in Egypt; denial.
Even though he had just verbalized that he was losing his mind, he still was going
through the motions of normality. The grocery
as seen from the entrance was a collage of weird goings-on that complimented the bistro’s
wackiness nicely. Two women were standing
by the fresh strawberries talking, but stuffing strawberries into their mouths as if they
hadn’t eaten in a week. An older gentleman,
about Frank’s age, was munching on a head of lettuce. He had
on an expensive looking sport coat, a strap t-shirt, boxer shorts, and mismatched socks. No shoes.
Frank put a bunch of grapes in a bag, set a couple of dollars on the unstaffed cash
register and headed quick-step out the door. There was a young
long-hired security guard at the exit singing an old Beatles song at the top of his lungs. Actually, he was pretty good…, if he hadn’t
been supposedly watching the exit of the grocery store.
got back to The Written Word, he saw that it was no longer The Written Word; it was now
“Mary and Frank’s Read It Again, Sam.” Somehow,
he was not at all surprised.
said Mary with a bit of a slur. “Wasn’t
expectin’ ya back. So freakin’ soon, I mean.” She moved the bottle of watermelon flavored
vodka from the counter next to her to the floor. It was one third gone. Looking around, Frank hardly recognized the place. There were movies and CD’s to buy or rent
and gaudy posters of punk rock bands decorating all four walls.
a glass for that vodka?’ Frank asked Mary.
“I was kinda
jus’ drinkin’ right from the bottle,” replied Mary with a dopey grin.
“So gimme it, already,”
Frank sighed in resignation. “I guess
I can drink outta the bottle for a change.”
Then brightening a bit, he said, “Ya know, Mary, I really like what
you’ve done to the place; ya did a good job.
I should’ve made some of these changes a long time ago. We’re gonna have to get some rat traps,
though. A lot of rat traps.”
|Art by Brian Beardsley © 2014
“I beg your pardon!”
Matthew Byrnes had just finished dinner at his favorite restaurant and
was getting ready to leave. He had moved into this neighborhood six months ago after retiring.
He had been a circuit court judge for almost thirty years and was thoroughly enjoying retirement.
On his way to the door, a slight altercation had occurred. “No
need to get all huffy,” said Judge Byrnes. “I didn’t know it was yours.
It’s raining and I needed an umbrella. This one looked like it had been on the top
of the coat rack for years. Here, take it.”
“Actually, it has been there for years. I
forgot it when I had dinner here with my wife on our fiftieth wedding
anniversary. That was three years ago today. That’s my wife over there by the
door. We were killed by a drunk driver just as we left the restaurant. He jumped the curb
and pinned us to the side of the building; we both died on the way to the hospital.”
The judge could only stare after that
little recitation. The man was obviously a little bonkers. He thought he’d best
be careful here or things could get ugly.
“Everything alright, sir?” asked
William, the waiter who had served him.
“Oh, things are fine, fine,” said
the judge. “I was just going to borrow what I thought was an abandoned umbrella,
only to find out that it belongs to this gentleman.”
Looking puzzled, the waiter asked, “And
which gentleman would that be, sir?”
“Why this gentleman right ….,” he
started. “Damn,” the judge thought to
himself. “He’s gone. The woman
by the door, too. How could they have left the restaurant that quickly? And without
taking his umbrella. How odd.”
“Well, sir, if that will be all,” said
the waiter, looking a little nervous now.
“Yes, yes, William, that will be all.
Thanks for the nice evening. See you again next week,” the judge said, trying
to make as graceful an exit as possible.
He stepped out onto the sidewalk and put up the umbrella.
He now felt a little odd taking it, but it was just an umbrella; though its previous owner
was certainly an odd duck. Even with the umbrella, the wind was blowing rain into his face
as he stepped into the street. Halfway across, a horn sounded and a car skidded to a stop
just inches from him. He looked through the windshield and saw the strange fellow and his
wife smiling at him.
“Hey, buddy, ya gonna stand there all
night?” came from a delivery truck driver who had stopped his van on the other
side of him. The judge didn’t bother to turn back to see if the mystery couple
and their car were still there.
“No, I’ll be walking back across the
street now, thank you very much,” the judge said, though not with as much
confidence as he normally would have had when dealing with sarcastic truck
driver types. He found he was a bit shaken. The first thing he was going to do was put
this umbrella back where he got it. He no longer thought of it as “just an umbrella.”
It seemed to be somehow connected to its owner. Or former owner. Or whatever; he decided
he’d rather get wet.
“Ah, back so soon, sir?” asked the
“Yes, William, I’ve decided that I don’t
need this umbrella after all. I’m going
to call a cab.”
“But, sir, it is still raining quite
hard,” said the waiter, standing on tiptoe and looking over the judge’s
shoulder out the front window.
“Thanks, but I’ll just stay in the entryway
until the cab gets here,” the judge said. “Say, William, do you know anything
about an accident happening out front about three years ago? Maybe two people
“Yes, sir, three years ago tonight. The
chef says to me earlier on, ‘Just you wait and see, William, there’ll be some
strange things happening in here tonight. There are every year on this date. People
say they see people who then, poof, are no longer there.’ Oh my, sir, you didn’t
see something unusual earlier, did you?”
“No, no, William, I didn’t see anything
strange at all,” said Judge Byrnes. “Now, would you please call me a cab? It
doesn’t look like this rain’s ever going to let up.”
“Yes, sir, right away. Oh, careful, sir, do watch your step. Water’s
dripped on the floor from your umbrella,” said William. “Oh, no! How awful!” he then shouted as the judge slipped and fell to the
floor. “Someone help me here! Someone call 911!”
“He’s awake, but still a little
groggy,” the judge heard a nurse whisper in the hallway. “You can stay for
a few minutes. He has no family in the area so we’re making an exception for you.”
sir, hope you’re feeling a little better,” said William. “That was quite
a spill you took. Thought I’d drop by and bring you some flowers for your room.”
“That’s really quite nice of you,
William. You can just put them on that table in the corner. Oh, no,” the judge said.
“Did you bring that umbrella with you too?”
“No, sir. That was sitting in the corner
when I came in. I just got here a minute ago.”
“I’m going to call the nurse. Nurse!
“Yes, sir, everything okay?” asked the nurse.
“No, actually, it’s not,”
said Judge Byrnes. “Where did that umbrella come from? Did it come with me from the
restaurant where I was injured?”
“Well, sir, I don’t quite know
how to tell you this,” said the nurse. “After
you were settled into bed, that is, after the doctor examined you, I came into
your room and there was an older couple standing by your bed looking down at
you. I asked them who they were and what they were doing and they both just
smiled at me. I went out front to ask the receptionist who they were and she said
nobody had come in for the last half hour. When I came back in here, they were …,
well, they were gone, sir. I guess it was them who must have left the umbrella.”
A look of distaste appeared on Judge
Byrnes’ face. They had been standing over him while he was unconscious. “How
creepy,” he thought to himself.
“That’s fine, that’s fine.
You may go now,” he said, dismissing the nurse.
“Just leave it for now, William. But after our
visit, please take it with you and put it back on the coat rack in the restaurant,”
the judge said.
“Do you really think that will be the end of it
then, sir?” said William, raising his eyebrows a little as if for emphasis.
“No, William, I have no idea what we
could do to bring an end to this. I think
you and I may be at just the beginning of it.
I don’t know how or why I’ve become connected to those two. But I tell
you one thing: I do plan to be at the restaurant for the fourth anniversary. I
hope that you will be there too. We can look at this as “our” mystery. You
know, the whole thing is actually quite invigorating, wouldn’t you say?”
William nodded his agreement, he rather
liked the old judge, but the look on his face said that he thought this whole
business was turning out to be anything but invigorating. He looked at the
umbrella resting in the corner and noticed for the first time that there appeared
to be blood on its tip. Blood had run down
to where the tip met the floor and a dime-sized spot of it glistened in the hospital’s
overhead lights. Judge Byrnes noticed the look of horror on William’s face and followed
his gaze to the spot on the floor. With a
grimace, he murmured to William, “Ever notice anything like that when it was on
top of the coat rack back at the restaurant?”
“No, sir,” said William. “It
pretty much stayed on the rack and behaved itself.”
“Interesting,” said the judge.
“Apparently something that happened tonight has brought about a change in its behavior.
I think it might have been us. Let’s leave it there until I’m released; then
we’ll both take it back to the restaurant and hope it goes back to sleep. I’d
still like to be at the restaurant for the anniversary next year. Maybe you can
get the night off and be my dinner guest.”
“I’m sure being your dinner guest
would be very pleasant, sir,” said William.
William then paled as he watched the
judge’s face become the face of another. It was of an elderly man that slowly
morphed into a grinning skull. At the
same instant, the judge was startled to see William’s face become that of the old
woman from the restaurant. After only a second or two, both faces were back to
normal. Each man eyed the other suspiciously. The judge then broke the ice when
he realized that in that instant William had looked as shocked as he himself had
“Did my face just change into something
rather ghastly?” asked the judge.
“Why, yes it did, sir,” said William .
“I thought so; yours did too. It was
the face of the old woman at restaurant.”
William groaned. “I’m not sure
I’m going to be up to this, sir,” he said.
think we have any choice, William. I don’t think
we have any choice.”
|Art by Steve Cartwright © 2015
INCIDENT AT THE CORNER GROCERY
Grocery. He’d passed that earlier,
hadn’t he? Yeah, he was pretty sure
To get a little exercise, Brad
Johnson had walked the ten or twelve blocks from his uptown hotel to this small ethnic
neighborhood and had somehow gotten turned around in his attempt to head back. No big deal; it was still early. He
could see the multi-storied buildings of the uptown in the distance. The morning fog was just about completely
burned off by now and there was no reason he couldn’t just walk toward that
skyline and be back in his room in an hour.
off again, he decided to put the grocery store puzzle behind him and think
about the upcoming day. He had flown in
early last evening and was looking forward to surprising his girlfriend, Linda,
at the museum where she worked. They’d
have lunch, and then after she got off work, they’d go someplace ritzy for
Linda had often made comments about his being too buttoned
down and not being spontaneous enough in their relationship. Flying cross country unexpectedly for lunch and dinner would surely
show her that he could be a little wild if he put his mind to it.
Ambling along, trying to stay
in the general direction of his hotel, Brad’s thoughts were still on Linda. They had lived together for almost two years. He loved her very much and he was sure she loved
him just as much. Friends, though, sometimes
remarked that it certainly must be true that opposites attract because his and Linda’s
personalities were quite different.
Brad was the cautious type.
He often diddled around seemingly forever
thinking things through before making a decision about something. Sometimes even ridiculously small things. Linda, however, wasn’t big on doing a cost-benefit analysis on
every choice that came along in her life. She
was a risk taker.
Linda had left Los Angeles for the new job in New York
City after giving the position offer ten minutes thought, her employer two week’s
notice, and Brad best of luck wishes in finding a position and following her as soon as
possible. He still remembers burying his
face in her hair at the airport and inhaling the smell of her one last time. Right then, he didn’t know if he would ever
be able to follow her to New York City.
was at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change when he saw on the other
side of the street…, Donatelli’s Grocery.
“That can’t be,” Brad said aloud,
causing the old woman next to him jump.
can’t be, mister?” she asked, eying him warily.
“That can’t be Donatelli’s;
I’ve walked past that store twice already this morning on my way back uptown.”
alright,” she said. “Been there
for years. Why don’t you just catch
the bus uptown if you’re in a hurry?”
hadn’t been in a hurry before, but now it had gotten a little later than he was
comfortable with. As luck would have it,
there was a bus stop up ahead in the next block.
He only had to wait a few minutes before a bus
with the “Uptown” sign on the front pulled up. He got on and
took one of the remaining seats as the bus pulled away.
bus was just about full with commuters heading to work.
It was then he thought that he should have thanked
that old woman for the bus suggestion. Thinking
about it now, he couldn’t remember her crossing the street with him when the light
changed. He couldn’t remember seeing
her at all again after she suggested the bus.
Settling into his seat, Brad thought
about how much fun lunch and dinner would be with Linda.
She was such a dynamo; always laughing and kidding around. He couldn’t wait to kiss her…
“End of the line,” a voice
called from a distance. “Hey, buddy,
wake up; end of the line.”
sat up with a start. Looking around, he saw
that he was the only one on the bus. He
was the only passenger, that is. The
driver was in his seat looking back at him through the overhead review mirror.
“Where am I?” Brad asked. “Are we uptown?”
“We’re at the end of the line. Ya know, the bus barns. My morning shift is over. We were uptown, but you didn’t get off. I always yell ‘Uptown’, when we get there but you must
have been sleepin’ pretty soundly. Ya
gotta get off this bus, but you can catch another one heading uptown just across the street.”
Brad looked out the window and saw
a yellow bench at a bus stop. The bench was right
in front of Donatelli’s Grocery.
“Must be a fuckin’ chain,” he said with a sigh as he walked past
the driver to get off the bus. Stepping down
the two stairs, he almost ran into a beat police officer who must have been stopping
to chat with the driver.
me, officer, could I talk to you for a minute?” asked Brad.
“Sure, buddy, what’s up?”
said the cop with a “here to serve you” smile.
“Well, I know this is gonna sound nuts,” said Brad, “but I seem
to be having a little trouble getting uptown. Every
time I start out, after a bit, I end up right back at Donatelli’s Grocery.”
Brad saw the cop’s eyes stray
from his eyes to a spot just over his shoulder. Out
of the corner of his eye, Brad could see the driver was rotating his index finger
to the side of his head and making a goofy face.
The cop smirked but then directed his attention to Brad again.
“…don’t see anybody
going in or coming out of that place.” Brad had continued
talking while the cop had been watching the antics of the bus driver.
“What’s that you’re
sayin’?” asked the cop.
said I just realized that even though I’ve been past this store three or four
times, I don’t think I’ve seen anybody going in or coming out. Is it open?’
it’s open,” said the bus driver. “It’s
open Monday through Saturday. Has been
for years. Do you remember when
Donatelli’s wasn’t there, Charlie?” he asked the cop. “I think it’s always been there.”
been there ever since I can remember,” said the
ever been in there?” the bus driver asked the cop.
“Sure, I been in there; it’s a nice little
grocery. Ya mean you’ve never been in there?”
“Well, no, I haven’t. And
I was just thinkin’, ya know, about what the whacko here said. I don’t remember ever seein’ anybody goin’ in
or comin’ out of that place, either. Do
ya think it’s a front or somethin’?”
“Whadda ya mean a front? If it was a front, I’d know, wouldn’t I?” groused
the cop. “Just ‘cause it’s
named Donatelli’s doesn’t mean it’s Mafia or somethin’.
The driver and the cop had now pretty
much left Brad out of the conversation.
answer me this: When was the last time
you were in there?” asked the driver.
Charlie looked at the driver and then at Donatelli’s.
He stared at Donatelli’s for a long time.
it used to be at the corner of Fifth and Edwards?” he said.
Brad decided that there was nothing
more to be gained from listening to these two and crossed the street to Donatelli’s. He pushed open the screen door and went inside.
After stopping to let his eyes
adjust to the darkness of the place, he looked around the little store and didn’t
see a shopkeeper or any customers. No one
was at the register. He turned and looked out the plate glass
Across the street was a little grocery;
Looking out the cobwebbed covered window
with his back to the dark storeroom, he felt his bladder let go. Someone, or something, had come up behind him and was breathing raggedly
on the back of his neck.
Still staring straight ahead
at the Donatelli’s across the street, he saw the old lady walking toward the store
coming from one direction and the cop and the bus driver coming from the other direction. They stopped in front of the store and were now
looking in the picture window. He could not
make out who was looking out the window back at them, but he could guess who it was.
A large, hairy hand took his and attempted to lead him away from the window. Brad resisted.
He supposed he should do something, but he couldn’t think what. He just continued to stare at the grocery across the street; watching
to see if anyone would go in or come out. Though
he couldn’t put his finger on it, someone going in or coming out seemed very important
“Damn you, Linda,”
he whispered. “Damn you.”
“Not Linda,” a rumbling voice said from
chuckled bitterly. Then he barked
laughter. No, whatever it was that owned
the hairy hand that now held his arm in an iron grip was probably not named
When roughly prompted by his captor, he decided to go docilely
along, carefully keeping his eyes to the floor.
He was no longer sure of very much, but he did know he wasn’t in a hurry to
look at whatever it was that was pulling him along.
“Linda, Linda, Linda,” said Brad.
“No, not Linda;
Igor,” said his gruff companion.
“Well, of course you are,”
laughed Brad. “Who else would you be?” He
finally found the nerve to look up into the face of his captor. A horribly scarred face was attempting a smile of sorts. Brad smiled back and said, “Well, Igor, ol’ buddy; where
said Igor with a look of childlike wonder on his face. “We see Donatelli.”
Brad was surprised that he was really
looking forward to seeing Donatelli. He even
started whistling as he and Igor walked into the gloom at the back of the store.
“No whistling in Donatelli’s,”
admonished Igor seriously with a comic raising of his bushy eyebrows. “No whistling is allowed.”
When Igor opened a large sliding
oak door on the back wall of the grocery, Brad stopped in mid-whistle. He and Igor stood and looked through the door’s opening at a
panoramic view of the inside of a colossal temple.
Hundreds of “Igors” were milling about aimlessly and Brad bet that
not one of them was whistling. Whistling
was not allowed in Donatelli’s.
Brad shuddered as he thought that he
was about to find out what was allowed in Donatelli’s. He was pretty sure that Donatelli
wouldn’t be wearing one of those full length white grocery aprons that tied in the
across the floor of the amphitheater for what seemed like hours, but may have been only
minutes, Brad saw that they were arriving at what looked like a large altar. He didn’t like the looks of that at all. Altars usually implied sacrifices.
on a bench outside the railings that served as the barrier between the altar
and the rest of the expanse were the cop, the bus driver, and the old lady. They were holding “take a number”
cards. The old woman started waving enthusiastically
until the bus driver gently pulled her arm down and whispered something in her ear. She then gave Brad a pained “wouldn’t
want to be in your shoes” smile and gave him a little “bye-bye” wave.
“That Linda?” asked Igor.
“No, Igor, that’s not Linda. I may never see Linda again.”
“Linda, Linda, Linda,”
back across the vastness that he and Igor had just crossed.
He could feel the distance from
where he now stood and the hotel room that was back there in his own world.
this morning after setting out on his walk, he had taken a right when he should
have taken a left. Zigged when he should
have zagged and entered a world that was much like his own at the start, but
then had turned more wrong with each step he had taken.
The experience had changed him,
though. The quiet, conservative Brad who
had started the morning would have gone mad with fear being where he was now. The new Brad felt strength in himself that he thought would help him
through almost anything.
He looked at Igor standing next
to him. Well, almost anything.
is Igor your real name? Seems kinda cliché.”
“You know, sorta Hollywood. Assistant to the mad scientist in the horror movies.”
“Hey, Igor!” Igor called
out. The dozen or so Igors closest stopped
and turned to look over at them. Igor smiled a big smile. They all smiled and resumed their walking around duties. “All of Donatelli’s helpers are called Igor,” said
Igor to Brad.
two of them settled back into their own thoughts until Brad heard Igor making a
sniffing noise. He had just turned to
ask him what he smelled when he smelled something himself.
“Linda,” said Brad. He quickly looked around to see if she was somehow there with them.
Igor stopped sniffing and said, “That
swallowed hard and looked Igor in the eye.
“Yes, Igor, that Linda.”
The madness that still threatened his mind was as close
as Igor and as far away as his hotel room. The
urge to bolt from Igor and the yet unseen Donatelli and flee back the way they had come
was strong but he held it at bay.
It was strong, though. Very strong.
“Linda, Linda, Linda,” said Igor, sniffing
the air again. He was smiling.
|Art by W. Jack Savage © 2015
CAFÉ ERRATA I & II: WHAT GOES
AROUND COMES AROUND
was 9:45 p. m. when forty-eight-year old Billy “Sloe-Eye” Jenkins noticed
the neon lighted “EAT” sign as he was coming to the outskirts of a small town
in the middle of southwestern Wisconsin.
Billy was getting too old for this life. Both he and his expensive custom-tailored suit
had taken a beating over the last few days. He
really, really needed a shower and a bed in a hotel tonight.
The problem was that he had gone
too long “between jobs.” This made him low
on cash, which in turn had him sleeping in his car at rest areas and in supermarket
He pulled into the greasy spoon’s gravel parking lot and drove
up to a spot by the front windows. His was
the only car in the lot. The small handmade
cardboard sign on the door was still turned to the “OPEN” side.
Billy walked up the three steps and into the diner,
hearing the little bell ring as he stepped through the old wood-framed glass
Two men who had been talking at
an order window cut in the wall that opened into the
kitchen stopped their conversation and turned to look at him.
“We’re only open ‘til 10:00, but we can get you
a sandwich and coffee to go if ya like,” said the gangly young man on the counter
side of the window.
looked to be a year or two out of high school, if he’d even made it
through high school, and his tone said it all; he hoped that this late comer
would just make a U-turn and head on out.
The other man, probably the cook, was very short,
his head just a bit above the window sill, and looked like he’d been around
the block a few times.
pulled a gun from under his coat and shot both men in the head
before either could even move. The older
man fell back into the kitchen and the younger onto the floor behind the counter.
He had just opened the cash register when car
lights played across the back wall of the diner.
“Damn! Gotta get rid of this guy
quick,” thought Billy to himself. He
ditched his suit jacket, reached down and took the paper restaurant hat from
the head of the guy behind the counter, plopping it on his own head just as the
problem patron entered.
“We’re only open for another ten minutes,
but I can give ya a coffee to go,” ad-libbed Billy.
been on the road for eight fuckin’ hours,” said the customer. He was a tough looking fellow with a long scar on one cheek. “You get me the coffee, I’ll sit here a minute and we’ll
chat, and then I’ll get back on the road.”
As he was pouring the coffee,
Billy groaned to himself as he noticed yet another car
pull into the small parking lot.
thirty-something local woman, Mary Barnes, got out of the car and
entered the diner. The car she had
gotten out of was still running, the lights shone brightly into the diner, and
somebody was slouched down in the driver’s seat listening to some country western
music that was turned up loud.
“Who the hell are you?” Mary asked
Billy, leveling a steely gaze in his direction. “Where’s Fred and Jesse?”
She had been talking to Billy but now she cast
a quick glance at the customer in time to see him pull
a gun from a chest holster and aim it at Billy.
Billy had already taken his gun out when Mary
had pulled in and had it beneath the counter.
men fired at the same time and both were hit.
pulled a small caliber pistol from her purse and put a bullet into
each man’s head.
“Jeezus, Mary, you dumb bitch, you were
just supposed to case the joint, not kill everybody
in the building!” yelled Tommy Jones upon entering the diner. “Fred and Jesse said that they would give us the money if we
would give them part of it.”
Mary had been looking through the kitchen order
window. “Fred and Jesse are both dead;
Fred’s behind the counter here and Jesse’s in the kitchen. I don’t know who these other two guys are.”
her pistol at Tommy’s chest, she said, “Ya know, I’ve about had
it with that ‘dumb bitch’ stuff, Tommy.”
Mary shot him three times at point blank range.
Now alone in the diner with five dead men, she
began to clean out the register.
She took the car keys out of the pockets of both
of the dead men she didn’t know. “You can keep that nasty old Ford, Tommy; I’ll just borrow
one of these gentlemen’s until I get to Chicago.”
As she was hurrying to the door, she saw the county
sheriff pull into one of the last remaining parking places. The lot was getting to be as full as the diner.
flashing lights weren’t on so Mary figured he wasn’t answering a call
to check out the various shots fired.
Probably just stopping for coffee at closing time.
quickly, Mary yelled out the front door, “Sheriff, get in here
right away; somthin’ awful’s happened.”
a veteran of twenty years on the force, gasped when he saw
the three dead men on the floor of the diner.
Walking in a little further, he saw Fred lying dead behind the counter.
He didn’t even get as far as the order window
when Mary opened fire, shooting him execution style
in the back of the head.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,”
said Mary as she left the diner and went to check out which car she would take.
was not destined for greatness as a criminal. Neither of the two cars had more
than a quarter tank and she had to use quite a bit of her loot just buying gas to get
kicked around Chicago for a bit, but wound up a year later working at
a little open all night diner in a small town off the interstate that was much
too much like the little burg she had left in Wisconsin.
night, she was working alone in the diner. There hadn’t been a customer
in twenty minutes. Mary decided that this
was her last night at the diner. She planned
to clean out the register and head for Nashville the next time a customer came and
thought that she was still good looking and had always had a good
singing voice. The plan was to hook up
with some country band that needed a singer.
While Mary was going over all
of this in her head, a lone man walked in and shot her
twice in the chest with the sawed-off shotgun he’d had concealed under his trench
coat. He left with a couple of hundred dollars
from the register; not much more than Mary had taken from her diner heist a year ago.
Ironically, this murder was one of those “small
world” things that happen now and then; the man
who shot and killed Mary was the son of one of the four men that Mary had shot back in
When another customer finally came in a half hour
later, he called the police and reported that there was a waitress lying dead
behind the counter and the cash register was open.
said the customer to the dispatcher. “Just
her; she and I are the only ones in here.”
|Art by Steve Cartwright © 2015
An Early Christmas Present
by Roy Dorman
“Hey, Eddie, it’s me, Charlie, down at the
station. We have a problem, bro.”
Just twenty minutes ago, Eddie Scranton had dropped
off his old beater of a Chevy at the two-stall garage his buddy, Charlie Roberts, owned.
on now, don’t you be givin’ me some bad news,” said Eddie. “I told ya that I only have enough to get the
exhaust system fixed and you said you could do it cheap.”
said ‘we have a problem,’ I should have said ‘you have a problem.’ And it’s a lot bigger problem than a rusted
out exhausted system, Eddie-boy. There’s
a body in your trunk.”
There was ten seconds
of silence. “Ya still there?”
asked Charlie. “I said there’s a
stiff in your trunk; I’m gonna call the cops.”
“Hold on a sec;
don’t call ‘em yet. Don’t do
anything ‘till I get there. I’ll be
there as soon as I can get a ride. Half
“Kinda sounds like ya know something about this. I’ll wait a half hour, but only cuz we’re
pals. After a half hour, I have to look out
for Charlie; know what I mean?”
yeah, thanks. Don’t worry; I’ll be
Eddie made it to “Mufflers, Etc.” with only
a few minutes to spare. “What were
you looking around in the trunk for, anyhow? Ya
don’t need to open the trunk to install a muffler.”
you get all pissy with me,” said Charlie.
“I put the Chevy up on the hoist and had just started to poke around at the
pipes underneath when I saw what looked like a bloody white dress shirt pushed
through the floor of your rusted out trunk.
I touched it and turns out that it is blood; it was sticky, but still
wet. I brought your heap down, looked in
the trunk, and gave you a call. Now I’m
gonna call the cops.”
“Who is it?”
know who it is; I didn’t touch him.
Older white guy, well dressed, pushed way to the back of the trunk. Probably shot in the chest or throat cut; I
“Sue Ellen used my car last night,” said
Eddie. “Said she had some Christmas
shopping to do up in Wisconsin Dells. She
called me from her place this morning and asked if she could use the car again tonight. I gotta talk to her before we call the cops.”
got five minutes this time. Do it.”
pulled out his cell phone and made the call.
“Sue Ellen? Yeah, it’s me, Eddie.
I’m at Mufflers, Etc. with Charlie.
You know anything about something in the trunk?’
I’ve already called the police and told them that you’re there,” said
Sue Ellen, the words coming out all in a rush.
“I was with Charlie last night and he robbed a guy in the Dells. He stabbed him and put him in your
trunk. He called me a half hour ago and
said that he’s going to blame it all on you.”
Eddie listened to all of this and cut his eyes over at Charlie.
He seemed to be very interested in a hangnail
and was doing his best to keep from looking at Eddie. “Be careful; Charlie’s
dangerous. He’s not himself. He’s got some big gambling debts and could do
anything to get those thugs off his back.”
turned his back on Charlie and started to talk to Sue Ellen in a voice just above a
whisper. Charlie picked up a large rubber
mallet from the work bench and took a step toward Eddie.
“Freeze! Put your hands in the air!” yelled someone
from the entryway. Both Charlie and
Eddie put their hands in the air; Eddie’s right hand held his phone and
Charlie’s the rubber mallet.
Two huge, tough looking
guys in expensive suits entered the work area with their guns drawn. “Nice command voice, Ronny; ya got ‘em both standing there
“Thanks, Tiny, I’ll teach ya how to do that sometime. I’ll take that mallet,” Ronny then
said to Charlie. “You both can put
your hands down, but keep ‘em where we can see ‘em.”
received an anonymous call this morning that there was a body in the trunk of a
car here in the garage,” said Ronny, the one of the two who was obviously in
charge. “We’ve got a warrant to search
the premises. I want you two to go and
sit on those chairs over in the waiting area and stay there.”
“I was just gonna call you guys,” said Charlie. “There is a body in the trunk of this guy’s
car. He told me that he killed him last night
in Wisconsin Dells.”
lie, you asshole,” yelled Eddie. “Sue
Ellen just told me that you killed the guy and robbed him to pay off some gambling
“All right, all right; you guys just go sit in the chairs
and shut up. We’ll talk more after
we check out the trunk,” said Ronny.
a minute. How do we know you’re cops; you haven’t shown us any ID,” said
Tiny shoved the barrel of his pistol into Charlie’s solar
plexus, causing him to double over, the wind knocked out of him. “I’m Officer Friendly,” he said with a smirk.
where’s the warrant?” said Eddie. “Aren’t
you supposed to show….”
pistol-whipped Eddie once across the face. “Looks
we got us at least one slow learner here. I’m Officer
Not-So-Friendly, by the way; pleased to meet the both of ya. Now get over there and sit on the goddamn chairs.”
Charlie walked over to the waiting area and sat down in the chairs. They watched as Ronny and Tiny looked into
the trunk and talked things over. Tiny
went outside and then drove their car into the remaining stall. It
was an older model Cadillac Eldorado in excellent condition
and definitely did not look like any police car Eddie and Charlie had ever seen.
you think that Sue Ellen really called the cops, or did she call these guys?” asked
Eddie. “Or if she called the cops,
did someone at the station call these guys?
What kind of shit are you in anyhow?”
“I’m in the
really deep kind of shit,” said Charlie.
“And I don’t think that it’s just me that’s in it; we both
are. We’ll be lucky if we’re
still alive at lunch time.”
the trunk of the Eldorado and then he and Ronny hoisted the body out of the trunk
of Eddie’s Chevy. They transferred
the body into the Eldorado and slammed the trunk closed. Ronny then took out
his cell phone and made a call.
are we gonna do, Charlie? They’re gonna
got a .44 hidden somewhere on you, I don’t think that there’s anything we can
Ronny finished up his call and he and Tiny walked over to where
Eddie and Charlie were sitting.
couple of questions. The one of you that
offed this guy…., no, no, don’t start that “he did it” shit again. Just listen to the questions.
One: Did ya know this guy? Two: Why’d ya kill
Eddie looked at Charlie and then when Charlie didn’t say anything,
he gave him a shove.
said Charlie. “You’re probably
gonna kill us anyway. I’ve got some
gambling debts. I asked Eddie’s
girlfriend if she’d borrow Eddie’s car and give me a ride to the casino up at
the Dells. I was planning to rob a high
roller; I didn’t plan to kill anybody. I
saw this guy win a bundle at poker and when he left, I followed him out. I
told him to give me the money and flashed my knife at
him to let him know I was serious. He went
for the knife and I stabbed him once in the throat. I didn’t
mean to! It just happened! It happened so fast! Sue
Ellen didn’t panic; she went and got the car, drove it over, and I shoved him into
the trunk. That’s it. We drove back
last night and here we are this morning.”
figure how you’ve got a lot of gambling debts; you’re one lucky fella,”
said Ronny. “The deader over there
in the trunk is Bernie “The Jaw” Molinski.
He’s from the Chicago mob and he’s been nosing around up at the Dells
trying to horn in on my boss’s territory.
It’s not a lot of territory, but it’s his. Now my boss is a funny guy.
Not funny “hah, hah,”, but funny like “kinda weird”. He figures that you did him a favor. Here’s what he just told me:
I’m supposed to give whoever killed “The Jaw” five thousand bucks. Then, I’m takin’ “The Jaw”
with me for disposal. Tiny will be takin’
the Chevy, also for disposal. You guys got
no say in the matter; no take it or leave it.
You just take it. And I shouldn’t
have to tell you how rarely something like this happens.
Don’t think you two can quit your day jobs. You’re probably not cut out for this kind
of business. What I mean is this: Our paths should never cross again, kapeesh?”
Charlie and Eddie just nodded. They
watched as Ronny and Tiny got into the two cars and drove out.
Eddie now knew where Charlie fit into all of
this, but what about Sue Ellen?
“You coulda got me killed, asshole,” said
Eddie. “You do know that you’re
gonna buy me another car, right?”
“Sure, sure, ‘course I am,” said Charlie,
showing Eddie the envelope containing the bounty money.
“But do ya want another beater that your half of this five thousand would
buy, or do ya want to go up to the Dells and see if we can add to this?”
Charlie two quick slaps across the face with the back of his hand and grabbed
the envelope with the cash. He stalked
out of the garage and started the three mile hike to Sue Ellen’s place. He felt like he could use the walk to give
him time to think. He thought that he
and Sue Ellen had a lot to talk about.
He figured she owed him not only a good explanation, but also at least half of any
money Charlie had given her from last night’s robbery. Call
it car rental fees. Or hell, she could call it an early
Christmas present to him if she wanted to.
|Art by W. Jack Savage © 2016
WORKING ON A COLD CASE
After getting out of a late model
dark blue sedan, a man and a woman walked briskly up the sidewalk toward a well
kept-up little bungalow. Standing on the
cement stoop, the woman, the younger of the two, pressed the doorbell and then
stood back to wait. She did this with a
practiced ease that said she had done this before. The inside
door opened and a trim older woman peered out at the
two through the still-closed screen door.
“Yes?” asked the woman.
“Good Afternoon. Are you Jill Masterson?”
“Yes, I am, but I’m really not interested
in anything you might be selling.”
“Ms. Masterson, I’m Detective Carla Barnes and this
is my partner Detective Bill Griffin,” said Detective Barnes, showing her badge. “We’re with the Yavapai County Sheriff’s
Department. We’d like to ask you a
few questions. May we come in?”
Jill Masterson lived in this little
one story ranch-style house situated on a quiet street in a residential
neighborhood in Sedona, Arizona. She was
single, had never really had any serious relationships since high school, and
until recently had worked for the Arizona Water Company’s Sedona office as a
meter inspector. The job had paid well,
had good benefits, and now provided her with a comfortable retirement.
Having taken seats in Jill’s
tidy living room, Detective Barnes had started the interview. “Ms. Masterson, the reason we’re here is
that we’re following up on an old case that has recently been reopened. The incident occurred almost fifty years ago
and involved the death of a classmate of yours.
According to the files, you were friends of the deceased, Arthur Birdsong,
and we have notes from your interview with the Town of Jerome Police Department from that
was so long ago,” said Jill. “Why
are you looking into it again now?”
“Apparently, Mr. Birdsong’s family was never really
convinced that his death had been an accident,” said Detective Griffin. “With
forensics having improved a lot over the last fifty years, they’ve asked for a review
of the evidence of the case. DNA testing of
the blood stains on Mr. Birdsong’s shirt has shown that it’s not just his
blood on the shirt. Quite a lot of the blood
belonged to someone else. We’d like
your help in determining who that other blood belonged to.”
grandfather was a friend of your older brother, Edward,”
said Detective Barnes. “He told me
that there may have been some hard feelings between your brother and Mr. Birdsong.”
“You’d have to talk to
my brother about that; he’s been living in New York City for the past forty years. I don’t see what more you could want from
“According to the interviews in the file, you and Mr. Birdsong
had been dating and were together the day that he died,” said Detective Barnes. “Is that true? Were you with him when he died?”
“Do I really have to go through all of this again? It’s painful to think about what happened
Ms. Masterson, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you do,” said Detective Barnes. “Why don’t you just start at the
beginning? What were you and Mr. Birdsong
doing at your brother’s house in Jerome that afternoon in the Summer of 1966?”
sighed Jill. “I’ll tell you what
happened, but I don’t think it’ll change anything. Jack and I were driving from Sedona to Jerome…”
“Jack?” said Detective
Griffin. “We saw that you referred
to Mr. Birdsong as “Jack” in the interviews you gave to the police back then.”
never liked the name Arthur. When John F.
Kennedy became president, Jack really thought he was a cool guy. He couldn’t legally change his name to Jack, he was just a kid,
but he told everybody to start calling him Jack and most people did. Now where was I? Oh yeah; Jack and I were driving from Sedona
to Jerome one Saturday for something to do.
It was summer, school was out, and neither one of us had to work that
day. Jack had fixed up an old 1950 Ford
coupe so that it ran, but it overheated going up that long steep road into
Jerome. It was probably a hundred
degrees that day. We weren’t planning on
going to my brother’s house that day because Eddie didn’t like Jack much, but
the car had given out near Eddie’s, so we started up the hill to see if we could
get some water. Eddie and his wife were
both at work, so we just filled up a pail from his garage with water and started
back to the car. We had walked up the road
on the way to Eddie’s, but Jack said it would be quicker if we cut down a grassy
slope back to the car.”
“So you’re absolutely sure Eddie wasn’t there
at any time while you were there getting the water for the Ford’s radiator?”
asked Detective Barnes.
no, he was at work. I already told all of
this to the police when it happened. Do you
want me to continue or is that enough? I
really don’t like talking about this.”
“Tell us what happened when you started
back,” said Detective Griffin.
“Well, we had just started down the
hill, Jack was in front singing some new Beatles song, when he tripped on a
tree root and fell. The slope was quite
steep and he rolled down the hill for quite a ways before coming to a stop against
a rock outcropping. I started to run down
the incline after him and I fell too, but I only rolled for a little bit. When I got to Jack, I saw that he had hit the back of his head on a
rock and…and he was dead.”
Jill started sobbing and Detective
Griffin went to look for some tissues for her.
Detective Barnes remained in her chair staring at Jill. She
decided to give her a few minutes to get herself composed
before continuing. She went into the kitchen
and found Detective Griffin going through the cupboards.
“Ya know, ya should have a
warrant before ya start going through things,” said Detective Barnes.
Louise, Carla, I’m just lookin’ for some Kleenex,” Bill responded with
was just jerkin’ your chain a little, but I do think we have to be careful here;
I don’t think she told the truth back then and I don’t think she’s telling
the truth now. Here, just take a clean dish
towel out to her and let’s get started again.”
“Ms. Masterson,” said Detective
Barnes. “We will be talking to your
brother when we go to New York City to see him later on in the week. We’ve already spent the last two weeks going
through all of the evidence and the interviews and have also reviewed medical
records from back then of the people who may have been involved. I
think that before we go any further, we should read
you your rights. You have the right to remain
a minute,” said Jill. “I haven’t
done anything wrong. Why are you reading me my rights like I’m
“We’re now to a point where we’re going
to be talking about some things that were not in your original interviews,”
said Detective Griffin. “Do you wish to
waive your right to counsel at this time?”
“I told you I didn’t do anything wrong;
I don’t need a lawyer.”
“So you want to stick to your original story?” asked
Detective Barnes. “That story being
that Jack fell down and cracked his head on the rocks and that you, Jill, came tumbling
mouth opened as if she was going to say something, but then it snapped closed again. Detective Griffin’s face registered
puzzlement at the phrasing of Detective Barnes’s statement but he carried on
with the questioning.
“How about this for a story?” said Detective
Griffin. “While you and Jack were filling
up the pail of water, your brother Edward came out of the house to the garage to see what
was going on. He said something to Jack about
how he didn’t want an Indian dating his little sister and Jack popped him in the
nose. Jack said that you both were leaving
and turned to walk back to the car with the water.
Your brother, blood running down his face from his nose, picked up a rock from the
rubble near the side of the garage and smashed it into the back of Jack’s head. When you two saw that Jack was not just
knocked out, but dead, Eddie, or you and Eddie, decided to throw him down that
incline and make it look like an accident.
We checked old medical records in Jerome and your brother came in for
treatment for a broken nose two days after Jack’s death. We think
that your brother’s blood got on Jack’s
shirt when he carried or dragged him to the top of the incline before throwing him down
had been listening in horror as Detective Griffin had been telling the story as if he’d
actually been there. “I’m not
going to say anymore; I want a lawyer.”
She asked to get her purse before going
“It’s in the bedroom; I’ll just be a
minute,” she said.
Barnes went with her to the bedroom and stopped to look out the patio door windows. “You have a really nice view of the mountains
A single gunshot brought Detective Griffin from the
living room. He saw Detective Barnes with
her back to the windows and a look of horror on her face.
Jill Masterson was lying dead on the floor.
making a call to the New York City Police in Queens and then completing a couple of hours
of paperwork, Carla and Bill were working on a pitcher of beer at Paul & Jerry’s
Saloon in Jerome.
really fucked up,” said Carla. “It
happened so fast; I stopped to look at the view, heard a drawer open, and when I
turned around she had the barrel in her mouth.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself;
nothing she had said made it seem like she was suicidal.”
“What a weird twist to a weird
case,” said Carla.
“Jack and Jill went up the hill…”
“What did you say?”
Carla, just thinkin’ me thoughts. Just
thinkin’ me thoughts. Sit tight; I’m
gonna get us another pitcher.”
|Art by Steve Cartwright © 2016
Wilson Anderson is fourth in line
to checkout at the little gas-and-go market.
He’s in a little berg in Vermont, travelling from Wisconsin on his Spring
Break. A high school English teacher
recently divorced and in his late fifties, he’s seeing the northern part of the
East Coast for the first time.
Just ahead of him is a Vermont State Trooper
holding a can of soda and two bags of chips. He’s broad shouldered
and seems to be in quite good physical condition. Wilson’s eyes stray from the trooper’s
back to his gun belt. The strap that should
be securing his pistol has come undone and the pistol’s grip is open to anyone.
The stranger reaches for the sheriff’s gun and
orders everyone to the floor. He steps behind
the counter and takes all of the cash from the register.
Warning the clerk, stocker boy, two customers,
and the sheriff to stay put or he will kill them, he then flees the scene in a late-model
line hasn’t moved, but Wilson has taken a step forward while daydreaming. He accidentally
nudges the trooper who then turns and gives Wilson a look that says he should back off
eyes are quite bloodshot and he has at least a three
day beard growth. His uniform is too tight
in some places and too loose in others…
The clerk, an older man who is probably
the owner, is bagging the items purchased by a talkative local. They both seem
oblivious to the other shoppers in line and go on and
on about somebody’s teenager who apparently has gone missing. The trooper clears his throat.
The clerk quickly thanks the customer and moves on to the next in line.
Wilson stands with his quart of
chocolate milk, both now sweating as the temperature in the store starts to
rise as noon comes on. Once again his
eyes are drawn to the trooper’s gun butt.
After a bit, he looks up and sees the stocker boy, not long out of his
teens, staring at him. The stocker
pointedly looks from Wilson’s eyes to the trooper’s exposed gun.
He then looks up again at Wilson and gives him
an almost imperceptible nod. Is it a signal? If so, what could it mean?
The cop is not a cop. If anyone is going to stop this afternoon from turning into a bloodbath
it’s going to have to be the handsome, not-from-around-here, schoolteacher…
the trooper finally reaches the register, Wilson grabs the gun from his holster and takes
a couple of steps back. He holds the gun
in front of him with both hands and has it pointed at the trooper’s chest.
down on the floor!” yells Wilson. “Do
it now or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
The trooper eases himself to the
floor. “You’re making a big mistake
here, mister. Just put the gun on the
floor next to me and put both hands on the counter,” he says with a
Wilson looks at each of the other three
still in the little grocery. He meets their
eyes one at a time and they tell him nothing. There is no surprise, fear,
or anger in any of the three; only a blankness as if they
are watching a rather boring episode of a law and order show on television.
He looks once again at the owner
and sees him cut his eyes to the trooper on the floor.
The trooper is up on one knee and looks to be
getting ready to jump at Wilson. Wilson
fires a shot that hits the floor about two inches from the trooper’s right hand.
Whoever this is on the floor, he’s
dangerous and would have no qualms about killing everybody…
Immediately after Wilson’s
shot into the floor, there is another shot. It
comes from the pistol the grocer keeps in a drawer under the cash register and it
catches Wilson Anderson in the left shoulder and spins him around. A second shot goes into his left eye.
St. Albans, Vermont. A Benson’s
Corners, Vermont, grocery clerk is being hailed as a
hero after he successfully stopped what could have resulted in the murder of possibly four
persons, including a Vermont State Trooper. Cletus
Farnum, age 67, owner of Farnum’s Grocery in Benson’s Corners, shot
and killed Omro, Wisconsin, school teacher Wilson Anderson after Anderson had managed to
take Trooper Jake Westfall’s pistol. Farnum,
Westfall, Anderson, stock boy Jesse Donaldson, and customer Alice Grimswald were at Farnum’s
Grocery yesterday at noon when the incident took place.
“I looked in his eyes and saw
the Eyes of Evil,” said Alice Grimswald. “They
were cold, dead eyes. If it hadn’t
been for Mr. Farnum we’d all have been killed.”
Omro Police said Anderson was travelling
during his break from teaching in Wisconsin and had never had any run-ins with the law
prior to yesterday’s events. Those friends, relatives,
and co-workers who could be reached had no comment to make other than
to say that Anderson was a wonderful teacher and was well respected in the town of Omro.
Two’s a Crowd
by Roy Dorman
Cabot was in the bedroom, looking out the window, when
the doorbell rang. She had been in the process of closing the drapes when she had noticed
the harvest moon hanging low in the eastern sky.
glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was
“Now who could
that be, this late? Maybe whoever it is will go away if nobody answers.”
She just stood where
she was, listening to the repeated ringing of the doorbell. Finally, whoever it was, stopped.
pulled the drapes and was coming out of the bedroom, when she heard
a sound that she recognized as the patio door slowly sliding open. She couldn’t remember
locking it and apparently she hadn’t.
back into the now-darkened bedroom, she watched and
Whoever it was
crept silently into the living room by way of the patio entryway. He was a big
guy; a lot bigger than Annie. He had on a suit and tie and was carrying an expensive-looking
he did next puzzled Annie, at first. He took off his suit coat, and folding
it neatly, set it on the floor. From the briefcase, he took out a black sweatshirt. He
put the sweatshirt on and put the suit coat into the briefcase.
This guy’s smart,
thought Annie. He comes to the door in a suit and tie carryin’ a briefcase.
If somebody answers, he tries to sell ‘em something
or pretends he’s lost. If nobody’s home, once inside, he puts on his work clothes.
Annie quietly took
a golf club from the bag propped up in the corner behind the bedroom door. She soundlessly
walked from the bedroom to the living room, where the intruder was checking out some of
the knickknacks on the fireplace. When she got close enough, she swung the golf club like
a baseball bat and connected with the back of the would-be burglar’s head.
went down in a heap, and Annie nudged him a few times with
her toe to make sure he wasn’t faking.
was here first, asshole,” Annie whispered. “I shoulda
locked that patio door, but I didn’t expect no company. Anyhow, it’s first
come, first serve. By the time you come to,
this place’ll be cleaned out.”
Roy Dorman is retired
from the University of Wisconsin-Madison Benefits Office and has been a voracious reader
for over 60 years. At the prompting of an
old high school friend, himself a retired English teacher, Roy is now a voracious writer. He has had flash fiction and poetry published
recently in Theme of Absence, Birds Piled Loosely, Black Petals,
Shotgun Honey, Near to the Knuckle, Yellow Mama,
and a number of other online journals.
In Association with Fossil Publications