by Frank Zafiro
We lay there for a moment, my chin resting on her shoulder and my eyes closed. After what could have been a few minutes or even a few hours, she spoke.
“Will you stay the night with me?” Her voice was pitiful, yet still confident in my answer.
I knew it wasn’t going to end there. Staying the night would become staying two which would find its way to taking a trip together. I didn’t know where it would end, so I grunted out a neutral sound.
She took my noise for acquiescence and after-glow and smiled. Then she spoke again. This time, I was glad my face was hidden from her and that my eyes were closed. And even as she said the words, I wondered how long it would take before she became bored with me or until we were caught. I wondered how long it would be before I spent some of my weekends scouting the woods near Deer Park or Mt. Joseph for a dump site.
“I love you, Alan,” she breathed. “I’ll love you forever.”
NOTES
All of the stories in this anthology are River City stories. I have other shorts that I thought about including, but ultimately I decided it should remain River City. What follows are some notes about previous publication (if any), award (nominations, really – always the bridesmaid on these) and other bits of interest (to some readers – some of you can stop right here and be perfectly satisfied).
Helping Out first appeared in the anthology The Ex Factor, in 2006. I was intrigued with two things here. One, giving Aaron Norris a little face time, as he has only peripherally appeared in other stories and novels. He’s kind of a hound dog, and a bit of a smart ass, but at the core, I think he has a fair capacity to love…particularly his son. In fact, I think that understanding how a father can love a son is how he ends up in the jam.
Two, and more importantly, I wanted to explore the idea of how things can go from pretty normal to pretty fucked up and crazy in a very short period of time…and the choices one might make in the rapidly evolving, unsure moments of those events.
The Cleaner first appeared in the August 2006 issue of Writers Post Journal. Someone asked me once who cleaned up after suicides and homicides. I didn’t know, so I asked a homicide detective who’s a friend of mine. He told me that there are specialty folks who do that. And then the wheels started grinding in my head…what if that guy was a wannabe cop? What if he found some evidence? What if he decided to solve the case? Or not? Grind, grind, grind, and “The Cleaner” is one answer to those questions.
Baker-124 first appeared in the Gender-iZine of Massachusetts in November 2005. This is pretty much the only story I’ve ever written that is closely based on real events. My partner at the time, Steve McHugill, and I went on a call very similar to this, with the same non-results. It’s heart-breaking, but something like this happens every day in River City…the real one.
Burning My Masterpiece first appeared in the March/April 2005 issue of A Cruel World. I saw this story’s climactic scene in my mind’s eye first. Then I thought about how it might begin. The rest filled itself in as I explored the character…one messed up dude. But sometimes it’s fun to write a villain or a whack job. There aren’t as many boundaries. It’s like I imagine being a grandparent to be. You get to play with the kids, enjoy the fun stuff, hand them back to the parents when you’re done and trundle off to your pleasant existence again.
Not that grandchildren are villains or whack jobs, but you see what I’m saying here, right?
Harry and the Bird is previously unpublished. Maybe there’s a reason for that. I don’t know. I just know that I saw this little gray-brown bird hopping around on a patch of grass on my way to or from lunch one day while I was a detective. I wasn’t in the best place in my life at the time and although suicidal ideations weren’t part of the mix for me, the lingering touch of despair was. For some reason, that gorgeous, oblivious little bird was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long while. The image stuck with me, even long after I was happy in my life again. As with most stories, I asked myself, “What if someone facing the end of their world came across that little bird?” And that’s how you get “Harry and the Bird.”
Saving Grace first appeared in the September/October 2005 issue of Crime Scene Scotland. I wrote a draft of this story, believe it or not, back in 1986. Then it was called, “Watching Her. And She Waits.” It was maudlin and even a little creepy, so it’s no wonder to me that it didn’t get published. Still, I liked the idea of the main character who is in a fantasy world of his own and projects onto Grace. So I re-wrote the story. I ended up using about a quarter of the original story, which was more than I expected, but that quarter comes in snatches of different phrases and the overall storyline.
Short Till first appeared in the Fall 2006 debut issue of Mouthfull of Bullets. It later appeared in the 2008 anthology, Mouthfull of Bullets: Best of Year One. Here I wanted to write a story from the perspective of a crook who thinks he’s smarter than he is. Mouthfull of Bullets is unfortunately defunct now.
The Sign of the Burning Moon first appeared in the Winter 2006 issue of Mouthfull of Bullets. I wrote this piece of flash fiction in response to a writing blog contest, then adapted it a little for publication at MFoB. The theme, if something this short can have one, is obviously two-fold: guilt, and being a follower.
Trails of Red first appeared in the January 2006 issue of Crime and Suspense. This story came to me in a flash when I was sitting in my own hot tub and felt little icicles form in my hair. After it was published, there were a number of comments in the Crime and Suspense Yahoo! Group that made it clear to me that some of the people thought I was pretty much a freak for having conceived of and written such a tale. Now, this was early in my online relationships with most of these people, so you could say this was pretty close to a first impression of me for them. Thus, it’s maybe not an unreasonable reaction.
The funny part is that the next month I won second place in a fictional love letter contest for Valentine’s Day. When I posted the link in the same group and people checked out that letter, some were astounded at how romantic it was. Moreover, how could such a spooky, creepy guy write such a sweet, loving, romantic letter?
I believe it is Mick Jagger who said to trust the song not the songwriter.
In other words, there’s a piece of me in every story and every character, but you never know how big a piece or which piece it is. In the case of “Trails of Red,” that piece is that I have a hot tub, just like the killer. And I got icicles in my hair, just like the killer. That’s it.
It’s fiction, folks.
What Comes Around first appeared in the September/October issue of A Cruel World. This story revolves around the idea of karma, and destiny. What if you spent your life being wonderful 99% of the time, but were a total shit 1% of the time? And what if that 1% was the axel upon which your destiny would turn? That’s the premise of “What Comes Around.”
I also wanted to touch on the concept of bullying. It gets a lot of press these days, with things that maybe aren’t really bullying being allowed to fall into the category. What happens in this story, I hope, represents real bullying and the very real repercussions on people’s lives. The only thing that might be a little over the top on the dramatic side is the actual knifing that is the centerpiece event of the story.
Wish first appeared in the 2006 anthology, Seven by Seven.
Lead Time first appeared in the 2006 anthology, Seven by Seven.
Oprah’s Smile first appeared in the 2006 anthology, Seven by Seven.
Where He Shouldn’t Be first appeared in the 2006 anthology Seven By Seven.
Strength of a Dancer first appeared in the 2006 anthology, Seven by Seven.
All five of these stories were part of Seven by Seven. The concept was simple: seven authors, seven deadly sins. Each of us wrote one story for each deadly sins. What you ended up with is forty-nine short stories, all six hundred words or less, all crime-related and all with a twist.
This was the first time any of my work appeared between the covers of a book.
I was pretty excited for its release, as that corresponded with my first bookstore appearances.
“Lead Time” was the first one I wrote. It was actually the audition piece that got me in the anthology. “Wish” was the last story and the only one I struggled to find my way to. I guess envy isn’t a sin I identify with as much as the others.
Regarding “Where He Shouldn’t Be,” the reader has no idea how much grief this short little vignette caused me in the locker room at my weekly hockey games. Seriously. Every week for about a year. Oh well. The interesting part of this story is that the councilman in question will pop up again in a forthcoming novel called Lovely, Dark and Deep (sequel to Waist Deep) and the events in this short story will play a key role in the plot of that book. Also, though there’s no way the reader could know it, the officer in this story is Glen Bates. At least, that’s who I see. You can substitute your favorite, if you like.
My favorite of the seven (the other two, “Beaten By Anger,” and “Pride Goeth” will appear in other River City anthologies) is “Strength of a Dancer.” I always felt it told the most story.
My Christmas Fate is previously unpublished. It was a finalist for a couple of Christmas anthologies, but didn’t make the cut. That’s the life of a writer. Sometimes you get on base, sometimes you strike out.
Being a monumental, life-time Springsteen fan myself, I saw this story in my head pretty much completed before I wrote the first draft. I happen to like Bon Jovi, too, but I do know that there’s an intra-Jersey rivalry between some fans of the Boss and JBJ. I thought I’d play on that with a little irony here.
Maybe at some future point, the events in this story will pop up in another one. Perhaps Finch and Elias will have to investigate the scene. Who knows?
When I do, you will.
Good Shepherd first appeared in the November 2005 issue of Ascent Aspirations Magazine. This story was a 2005 Derringer Award Finalist. It also represents the only story I’ve written from the perspective of Lieutenant Alan Hart, who is universally reviled…except by himself, of course. I wanted to explore the idea of a holier than thou type of person who ends up in a jackpot himself.
Even though this story was a finalist for the 2005 Derringer in the longest category, it garnered some complaints from a few Short Mystery Fiction Society members for the overt sexuality. I don’t disagree—the story contains strong sexuality. But it has to. Hart is such a prim and self-righteous character that without that overwhelming and intoxicating sexual madness, he’d never have strayed from what he sees as the true path. And since the reader must believe he would stray, the reader must be there for the seduction.
How does Hart solve the dilemma he’s in by story’s end? I don’t know yet, but when I do, I’ll let you in on it.
BONUS STORIES
Frank Zafiro and Frank Scalise
Copyright 2011 by Frank Scalise
FOREWORD
Fair warning here. Not all of these are River City stories. In fact, most aren’t. Some aren’t even crime fiction. But I wrote them, they were published here and there, so I have included them in here as bonus material.
Give them a try. You’ll be glad you did.
Walter’s Night
“A triple espresso?” the fat barista asked me. He was new, and unpleasant.
“No,” I said, trying to stay patient. “A double on the espresso. Triple-shot on the flavor.”
He squinted at me while I wondered what was so hard about that order. I hoped he didn’t screw it up, because I knew I would end up just drinking it anyway.
“You know I gotta charge you extra for all that?” he said.
I nodded.
“It’ll be damn near a seven dollar coffee,” he said, looking me up and down.
“Six-seventy-five,” I corrected him, without thinking. He glowered at me and I shrunk backward.
“Whatever,” he finally grunted.
I wondered how he’d grunt if my favorite detective Mike Hammer were here to whack him upside his head with a revolver. I imagined it would be him pulling away in fear. Hammer wouldn’t need to use the gun, though. His look would be enough.
The barista kept staring at me, so I pulled out my wallet, ripped open the Velcro strip and laid a five and two ones on the counter. He eyed them suspiciously, then set about making my coffee. The espresso machine gurgled and hissed under his quick hands. I had to admit that even though he was a fat, rude, suspicious bully, he was pretty skilled at schlepping espressos.
He finished the brew and crimped the lid down, then slid it across the counter toward me. “Double-Mocha with triple caramel flavor. Six-seventy-five.”
He took the seven dollars and made change. I waved off the quarter.
Instead of saying thanks, he glared at me and slipped the coin into his pocket.
I ignored him and made my way to the corner of the little coffee shop. I’d been coming in regularly for the last couple of months. I worked the midnight shift as a system operator for a mainframe system that serviced a local bank. Most of the work on the system was done by the daytime techs, the ones with Master’s Degrees. I was more of a baby sitter, hired to watch over the system during the night while more important people slept. The fact that my computer degree was from a two year community college meant that I came cheap but knew enough about computers to know when to call in the big guns.
I’d been working for the bank for three years now. It was a crappy job, but it paid my rent, put mac and cheese on the table and made sure my Internet connection was up. And it kept me in my coffee.
For a while, I got my Internet fix at work. While the computers as big as closets hummed and the air-conditioner blew air, I sat at a desk and surfed the ‘net. I started out just reading news articles and checking out gaming sites, but after a while I accidentally came across a porn site. Okay, maybe it wasn’t an accident but either way, it filled the time.
Then, after about a year, I heard that they were going to do a computer use audit and I spent a whole shift frantically erasing my Web history and all traces of where I’d been. Afterward, I got a couple of strange glances from the daytime techs, but no one ever said anything to me directly so I figured that I got rid of all the evidence. They may have been suspicious, but they didn’t have any proof. Or they didn’t want to invest the time and effort into ferreting it out.
After that, I only used the computer at work to monitor the mainframe. I didn’t even check my email there.
Instead, in my backpack with my lunch, I brought paperbacks and spent the night reading. That was okay for a long time, but I eventually ran out of books. I mean, how much Raymond Chandler, John D. MacDonald and Mickey Spillane books can a guy read? It got to the point where I was bringing my computer game manuals to work with me. That’s when I knew I had to get out of the office.
Sitting in the corner of the coffee shop, I patted the PDA on my hip. It was connected right into the mainframe and I could monitor the system from anywhere, as long as I was within 300 yards of a Wi-Fi site. Lucky for me, the coffee shop was wired in.
I sipped the coffee. It was deliciously warm, but not scalding. The new barista was good.
Across the shop sat three women. I thought they were probably hookers, wearing too much makeup and easy access clothing. One had a head shaped like a horse’s and she was the loudest of the three. The other two were subdued. One with short dark hair stared down into her coffee. The red-head next to her was listening to loud woman, her lips parted and forming a seductive little oh.
“So he says, ‘Paula, you gotta do that again,’” said the loud woman. “And I told him, ‘I will, baby, but you gotta pay again first!”
The red-head gave her a hint of a smile. Then her lips returned to that oh-shape. I stared at those lips. They were full, and red. The oh-shape had an endearing quality to it, as if an unexpected orgasm had rushed up and washed over her. I stared at them, stared at them, stared…stared…stared…
She sees me looking at her, and her expre
ssion shifts to a half-smile. Her tongue slides out between her lips and wets them. I am instantly hard.
“Hey, Lover,” she says, her voice husky.
“Hey back,” I say. My voice brims with confidence.
“You look lonely,” she says.
I don’t answer. She stands up and sashays toward my table. Her hips swivel with each step and she oozes sexuality.
“This seat taken?” she asks me, pointing to the bench right next to me.
“No,” I answer. Then I give her a rakish grin and say, “Well, it is now.”
She smiles and settles in next to me. Her perfume drifts past me and I bask in her smell. It’s something classy, I can tell. There’s perfume there and a hint of woman, too. Just raw woman. I draw it in like smoke.
Her hands are on me, quick but graceful. One is behind my neck, caressing me with her nails. The other one strokes my thigh.
“You do look lonely,” she breathes in my ear. I can smell the coffee and chocolate on her breath. I think about tasting it on her lips.
“I was,” I say, “a little.”
She shakes her head and clucks her tongue. “How can a big man like you ever get lonely?”
“I’m not big,” I say. “I’m five-foot-two.”
“Oh, I know,” she coos lightly and drops her hand between my legs to feel my hardness there. “But that’s not what I meant.”
I smile involuntarily. She had a point.
“In fact,” she says, her voice a hot whisper, “what I’d like to do is slide under this table to my knees and undo your—”
“Oh, shit!” Paula yelled. “Look at that! He’s jerking off!”
She pointed at me. The red head followed her finger. The perfect oh was gone and her mouth drew downward in disgust. The dark-haired girl didn’t bother to look up from her coffee.