Knuckledragger
Page 14
By Keith Gilman
Bad Habits
By Richard Godwin
Wrong Crowd
Buffalo and Sour Mash
Crystal on Electric Acetate
By William Hastings, editor
Stray Dogs: Writing from the Other America
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Blood on the Bayou: Bouchercon Anthology 2016
By J.J. Hensley
Bolt Action Remedy
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Beachhead
Cold War Canoe Club
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No Going Back
Rules of Honor
The Lawless Kind
The Devil’s Anvil
No Safe Place
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LAdies’ Night
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An Ice Cold Paradise
Chicago Shiver
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Last Exit to Murder
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A Better Kind of Hate
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Murder and Mayhem in Muskego
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The Last Collar
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Screen Test
Polo’s Long Shot
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Worst Enemies
Grind Joint
Resurrection Mall
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Nothing You Can Do
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Triple Shot
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Over Their Heads
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Crossed Bones
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Killing Malmon
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Coast to Coast
Coast to Coast 2
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The Devil Dogs of Belleau Wood
The Bank Heist, editor (*)
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Passport to Murder: Bouchercon Anthology 2017
By Daniel M. Mendoza, editor
Stray Dogs: Interviews with Working-Class Writers
By Bill Moody
Czechmate: The Spy Who Played Jazz
The Man in Red Square
Solo Hand
The Death of a Tenor Man
The Sound of the Trumpet
Bird Lives!
Mood Swings (TP only)
By Warren Moore
Broken Glass Waltzes
By Gerald M. O’Connor
The Origins of Benjamin Hackett
By Gary Phillips
The Perpetrators
Scoundrels: Tales of Greed, Murder and Financial Crimes (editor)
Treacherous: Grifters, Ruffians and Killers
3 the Hard Way
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Beat L.A. (Graphic Novel)
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Hustle
American Static
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Bad Boy Boogie
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Upon My Soul
Souls of the Dead
Envy the Dead
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Thin Blue Line
By Charles Salzberg
Devil in the Hole
Swann’s Last Song
Swann Dives In
Swann’s Lake of Despair
Swann’s Way Out
By Scott Loring Sanders
Shooting Creek and Other Stories
By Linda Sands
3 Women Walk Into a Bar (TP only)
Grand Theft Cargo
By Ryan Sayles
The Subtle Art of Brutality
Warpath
Let Me Put My Stories In You
By John Shepphird
The Shill
Kill the Shill
Beware the Shill
By Anthony Neil Smith
Yellow Medicine
Hogdoggin’
The Baddest Ass
Holy Death
All the Young Warriors
Once a Warrior
Worm
Psychosomatic
The Drummer
Choke on Your Lies
XXX Shamus
By Liam Sweeny
Welcome Back, Jack
By Art Taylor, editor
Murder Under the Oaks: Bouchercon Anthology 2015
By Ian Truman
Grand Trunk and Shearer
By James Ray Tuck, editor
Mama Tried 1
Mama Tried 2 (*)
By Nathan Walpow
The Logan Triad
By Lono Waiwaiole
Wiley’s Lament
Wiley’s Shuffle
Wiley’s Refrain
Dark Paradise
Leon’s Legacy
By George Williams
Inferno and Other Stories
Zoë
By Frank Zafiro and Eric Beetner
The Backlist
The Short List
Down & Out: The Magazine
Volume 1 Issue 1: Reed Farrel Coleman (featured author)
Published by ABC Group Documentation, an imprint of Down & Out Books
By Alec Cizak
Down on the Street
By Grant Jerkins
Abnormal Man
A Scholar of Pain
By Robert Leland Taylor
Through the Ant Farm
Published by All Due Respect, an imprint of Down & Out Books
By Greg Barth
Selena: Book One
Diesel Therapy: Selena Book Two
Suicide Lounge: Selena Book Three
Road Carnage: Selena Book Four
Everglade: Selena Book Five
Selena: The Complete Series
By Eric Beetner
Nine Toes in the Grave
By Phil Beloin Jr.
Revenge is a Redhead
By Math Bird
Histories of the Dead and Other Stories
By Paul D Brazill
The Last Laugh: Crime Stories
By Sarah M. Chen
Cleaning Up Finn
By Alec Cizak
Crooked Roads: Crime Stories
Manifesto Destination
By Pablo D’Stair and Chris Rhatigan
You Don’t Exist
By C.S. DeWildt
Kill ’Em with Kindness
Love You to a Pulp
By Paul Heatley
FatBoy
By Jake Hinkson
The Deepening Shade
By Preston Lang
The Sin Tax
By Marietta Miles
Route 12
By Mike Miner
Prodigal Sons
By Mike Monson
A Killer’s Love
Criminal Love and Other Stories
Tussinland
What Happens in Reno
By Matt Phillips
Three Kinds of Fool
Accidental Outlaws (*)
By Rob Pierce
The Things I Love Will Kill Me Yet: Stories
Uncle Dust
Vern in the Heat
With the Right Enemies
By Michael Pool
Debt Crusher
By Chris Rhatigan
Race to the Bottom
Squeeze
The Kind of Friends Who Murder Each Other
By Ryan Sayles
I’m Not Happy
’til You’re Not Happy: Crime Stories
By Ryan Sayles and Chris Rhatigan
Two Bullets Solve Everything
By Daniel Vlasaty
A New and Different Kind of Pain
Only Bones
By William E. Wallace
Dead Heat with the Reaper
Hangman’s Dozen
Published by Shotgun Honey, an imprint of Down & Out Books
By Hector Acosta
Hardway
By Rusty Barnes
Ridgerunner
Knuckledragger
By Angel Luis Colón
The Fury of Blacky Jaguar
Blacky Jaguar Against the Cool Clux Cult
By Marie S. Crosswell
Texas, Hold Your Queens
By DeLeon DeMicoli
Les Cannibales
By Christopher Irvin
Federales
By Nick Kolakowski
A Brutal Bunch of Heartbroken Saps
By R. Daniel Lester
Dead Clown Blues
By Mike Miner
Hurt Hawks
By Tom Pitts
Knuckleball
By Ryan Sayles
Goldfinches
By Max Sheridan
Dillo (*)
By Albert Tucher
The Place of Refuge
(*) Coming soon
Back to TOC
Here is a preview from Les Cannibales, a crime novella by DeLeon DeMicoli, published by Shotgun Honey, an imprint of Down & Out Books…
Chapter 1
The maroon Cadillac ATS slowly pulled into the empty space on the street, leaving its back end to stick out and block traffic. Commuters voiced their displeasure by laying into their horns.
Phil remained calm and took his time to parallel park the car. He knew if he returned home with any sorta mark on his wife’s caddy, he’d never hear the end of it. How he saw it: he’d rather listen to car horns for as long as it took for him to park the car just right than feel rushed and end up on his wife’s shit list.
Phil carefully adjusted the car’s back end. Traffic began to flow. Once he felt comfortable with the amount of distance between the cars parked in front and behind him, he turned off the engine and raised the steering wheel. He popped up the faux fur collar on his coat and lowered his skull cap over his eyes.
“Mind if I smoke?” Syd asked while seated in the passenger seat. He dug in his pockets and pulled out a pack of American Spirit cigarettes. He looked like a man who knew what it felt like to get punched in the face.
“Don’t even think about it. Rose will chop my balls off—swear ta God.” Phil raised his right hand like he was sworn into office.
Syd pocketed the smokes while fidgeting in his seat, looking to get comfortable. The seat may have been made of leather, but it didn’t provide the same lumbar support like his La-Z-Boy recliner back at his ma’s.
Seated in the backseat was Phil and Syd’s partner from out of town, Carlo. He grabbed Syd’s attention by pushing on the back of the passenger seat headrest.
He said, “Hey, plant it already. You’re driving me nuts with all the moving, and I ain’t got a lot of leg room back here.”
Syd leaned forward and looked under his seat.
“Phil, where’s the seat mover doohickey?”
Phil’s eyes were shut, arms rested on top of his big stomach. He pointed to the passenger door.
“Side there at the bottom. Be careful with the controls—they’re delicate.”
Syd located the lever and pushed it. The seat slowly moved forward.
“Say when,” he said over his shoulder.
“When,” Carlo said while yanking on his junk like he was delivering the punch line to a joke. “Now the boys can breathe.”
“How long we stuck here for?” Syd asked. “You know being seated for long periods of time causes blood clots, my ma tells me.”
Carlo scooted to the middle of the back seat to look at himself in the rearview mirror. He had the chiseled mug of a Spanish soap opera star and began patting his hair like some old lady on Forty-Second Street returning from the salon.
“You listen to everything your ma tells you?” Carlo asked.
“For sure,” Syd said. “Who else you gonna trust to come get you when you gotta make bail?”
Phil pushed the rim of his hat off his eyes and pulled back on the cuff on his coat. The gold Rolex watch attached to his wrist read late morning.
He said, “Dance already started. Once we see the van pull out, we can make like aircrafts and jet.”
“I need ta take a piss and have a smoke,” Syd said.
“Smoke outside, why don’t cha?” an annoyed Phil responded before adjusting the driver’s seat to an incline position.
“You kidding me? I ain’t about to have some Joe Blow ID me on the street for the five o’clock news. I got mouths ta feed and two strikes against me,” Syd said. He turned the key in the ignition and pushed seek on the car radio. Electronic sounds and heavy bass pumped through the stock speakers.
“You’re making my ears bleed,” Phil said while using the back of his hand to itch his Jewish nose.
“What’s your problem, baby? You don’t like this?” Syd asked. “She’s an all right singer, don’t cha think?”
“This ain’t music. Sounds to me like a broken kitchen appliance,” Phil said.
“I think it’s pretty swell.”
“That’s because you’re a fricking retard. I’ll take Dion and the Belmonts over this clown any day of the week.”
Syd turned around in his seat and gripped the leather headrest.
“You dig this music, Carlo?”
Carlo was busy watching the traffic. He despised being lookout. He liked the action, the adrenaline rush that came with stealing shit and pointing a gun in someone’s face.
“Sounds like two alley cats screwing in a garbage can, you ask me.”
Frustrated, Syd said, “Both of you sound like a couple of old farts.” His bulldog snarl softened once the rhythm set in. He snapped his fingers and bopped his head. He hummed along. “We listened to pop music when we was young and our parents hated it too. Just trying to keep an open mind so I can connect with lil’ Mickey.”
“Your son, Mickey, is just a kid. I’m an old man. Old men like quiet, and since you’re in my car, I make the rules. And when I say turn down that goddamn radio, you better turn down that goddamn radio or else I’m gonna pop one of these off into that simple head of yours.” Phil pulled out a .38 Remington snub-nosed revolver from his coat pocket and rested it up against the steering wheel.
“Take it easy, Phil,” Syd said nervously while doing as Phil instructed.
“Don’t tell me to take it easy. Stop being a wiseass,” Phil responded with the hard steel in his hand.
“Put that thing away before some schmuck sees you and puts your face on the Internet,” Carlo said while reaching over Phil’s headrest and grabbing the shooter.
“Hey, Phil, I don’t mean any disrespect—just bored is all. What else am I supposed ta do ta pass the time?” Syd asked.
“Why don’t you go have a smoke on the corner with the brothas over there and start an a cappella group?” Carlo opened the cylinder to the shooter and dumped the ammo into his hand.
Phil turned to Carlo and said, “Can I have my gun back?”
Carlo placed the ammo into the pocket of his leather jacket and handed the gun back to Phil. Phil placed it in his coat pocket.
“Man, wish I was able to get off in there. I live for that shit,” Carlo said. He pulled out a slim, black toothcomb and ran his thumb down the plastic teeth.
“Maybe next time. Let the cowboys take the heat on this one if things go sour,” Phil said.
“Whaddya plan on doing with your cut?” Syd asked.
“Buy shit for the grandkid. Maybe take a vacation with the wife. This is my last run. Getting too old for this. Men my age play shuffleboard and stare up young waitresses’ skirts, not
pull jobs.”