BACK PAYMENTS • by J.R. Gaskin
The shadow of the man standing over me disturbs my sleep. A small weight dropping on my chest wakes me. I look at a plastic shopping bag and then at Frank, scratching his hedge of a brown beard at me… Continue Reading
The shadow of the man standing over me disturbs my sleep. A small weight dropping on my chest wakes me. I look at a plastic shopping bag and then at Frank, scratching his hedge of a brown beard at me… Continue Reading
Jay had seen some wild shit working for Dulles Pest Control. But he hadn’t been expecting a light-distorting anomaly that reportedly absorbed a housecat. “I heard you were good at handling the weirder stuff,” the client — Mr. Michaelson, Jay’s… Continue Reading
The painting in the living room gave me a funny feeling. It followed me around the room like those pictures with eyes that never look away. Only this painting had no eyes. It was a swirl of reds and pinks… Continue Reading
What she liked most about Ken Krieg? He didn’t mind she was taller or a volleyball star. Eating Buddhist cuisine in Buffalo, he told her flat as their food, “I want to marry you, work on Wall Street, and live… Continue Reading
Melvin Fernsby buried his hands in his overcoat as he approached the one-room unit at the end of the cramped hallway. The thin carpet tried in vain to swallow noise from neighboring apartments: televisions squawking baseball games, infants crying, people… Continue Reading
I never understood crimes of opportunity until I was on that bus. It curved through the cheaper part of the city, a rundown place where even the roaches quivered at the footsteps of pedestrians. We passed in and out of… Continue Reading
I used to wash dishes at an upscale restaurant. The type of place where the help was supposed to stay hidden from the customers in case our existence would offend them. The restaurant resided next to a river that was… Continue Reading
“I hate funerals,” I whisper. “Who don’t, boss?” Ah, Lomax. In his 5’2”, motheaten glory, he’s doughy as flapjacks and almost as aware. “Assassins, morticians, beneficiaries of juicy wills, and we other lowly disciples of greed and grift. At least,… Continue Reading
10 MINUTES Walk in the front door. It hurts more than usual today. Apparently, when they leave the bullet in your leg, the pain comes and goes. Doctor said something about my femoral artery when he told me why they… Continue Reading
Detective Wendy Murtaugh walked through the door of the West Side Coin Shop. “Thank goodness you’re here!” exclaimed shop owner Carlton Clark. “My most valuable coin, a 1943 copper penny, is missing. I found a ransom note in its place.”… Continue Reading