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Mockingbird Rail Yard Blues by Jim Downer

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“For the sins of your fathers you, though guiltless, must suffer.” — Horace

I dug the book I was reading out from under a stack of college paperwork that sat on my desk. After a week of celebrating my high school graduation I just didn’t have the drive to dig in to all of that yet.

Just before lunch, I heard the doorbell ring. I walked to the top of the stairs to see who it was. My mother opened the door to see a man in a very nice suit, his black hair cropped close, almost military. He raised a pistol and shot her.… Read the rest

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A Piece Of String by Ahmed A. Khan

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The greatest detectives have always had their particular methods and tools.

Perhaps you, too, have heard of the legendary Arabian trackers and detectives of the past. It was in 1952 that I happened to observe one such detective in action with all the tools of his trade which, by the way, were comprised of instinct, common sense, acute observation, knowledge of people and places, and, oh yes, a piece of string.

It was my second year in Kuwait, working as a journalist. I lived alone in a big house near an old market place, or ‘souk’ as it is known, with roofed alleys, where you could buy almost anything you wanted, from spices to the highest quality Persian rugs.… Read the rest

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Man On The Run by Laird Long

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We all dream of escaping sometimes — but there’s more than one way to get away.

The big cab was pushing forty when he slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to an icy stop in front of her, its mammoth bumper nodding gently against her knees. He pulled his foot out of the floorboards and cursed. She walked alongside the car, tugged open the rear door, and slid in.

“Lady, I’m off-duty. You gotta … get out.” He wasn’t steeped in subtleties.

“Light’s on, bub.”

“What?” He checked the dashboard and saw that she was right. His heavy face wrinkled in anger.… Read the rest

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Grave Designs by Mike O’Reilly

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They say blood is thicker than water, but some friendships are made of thicker stuff still.

There is no surer sign of damnation than the need to pay a priest for a eulogy.

He whispered the prayers.

His hand was trembling and his eyes were black hollows burrowed into his skull. A three-day growth filled the hollows of his cheeks.

Johnny’s corpse had looked healthier before they closed the lid.

The priest finished and folded a once-purple stole into the pocket of his coat and turned away without saying a word.

There wasn’t much more to say. Johnny wasn’t a good man, but he was my mate.… Read the rest

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Embers by Michael Haynes

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It doesn’t take much to fan the flames.

Sunday afternoon, the end of Dad’s and my weekend together, was fading fast. If he didn’t have me to Mom’s by six there’d be hell to pay. Dad was sitting in a chair, eyes closed. I started gathering up things, throwing them in the trunk of the car.

I tossed some water on the center of our fire and turned away. A moment later, I was yanked back by the collar of my shirt.

“What did you just do, Jackson?” My father had leaned over and his face was close to mine. The alcohol on his breath that meant I’d be the one in charge of getting us back on time was sharp in my nostrils.… Read the rest

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