INTRIGUE
Stories of Suspense
StoneGate Ink
Authors:
Dave Zeltserman
Aaron Patterson
Allan Leverone
Bri Clark
Estevan Vega
J.R. Chartrand
Rebecca Carey Lyles
Paul Levine
Peter Leavell
K.C. Neal
Ray Ellis
Mark Maciejewski
Robin Parrish
Deborah Provenzale
Vincent Zandri
Chris White
FOREWORD
by award-winning author
Alan Heathcock
Alan Heathcock’s fiction has been published in many of America’s top magazines and journals, including Zoetrope: All-Story, Kenyon Review, VQR, Five Chapters, Storyville, and The Harvard Review. His stories have won the National Magazine Award in fiction, and have been selected for inclusion by Scott Turow in The Best American Mystery Stories anthology. VOLT, a collection of stories published by Graywolf Press, received starred reviews from Library Journal and Publishers Weekly, and was named a New York Times Editors’ Choice. A Native of Chicago, he teaches fiction writing at Boise State University.
Why did I chase the police car? It was summer in Hazel Crest, where I grew up in the southland area of south Chicago. The heat was a damp weight and the sky was white as my friends and I ran, trying to keep the flashing lights of the squad cars in view, and then following the siren-wails across a vacant lot and into the village of townhomes across the highway.
Police cars lined the road, an ambulance there, too. I stood, out of breath, beside my friends as we watched officers enter a home. We stood there a long time, studying the flurry of activity, others congregating around us, asking us what we knew. Even then, just a kid, I was a storyteller. I told them someone had been shot, told them I’d heard gunshots. My friends all agreed. They’d heard them, too. No one doubted us. No one wanted to doubt us.
They wanted more details, wanted to know who’d been shot and why. So I gave them what they wanted and told them a story, that thrill of being shaken from their complacency, of being struck awake by the harsh truths of the world. There is mystery. There is danger. They exist at the edges of our lives, so close as to be ever-possible, so far as to allow us to shop and love and raise our kids and play tennis on weekends and go to church and eat burgers in our yards and watch ballgames on the television, all without a hint of fear.
Yet after chasing the police cars I wanted more. That single day wasn’t enough for me. So several days later my friends and I walked to the village of townhomes, circled around to a weedy stretch of land behind. We found the home where it had happened. A high wooden fence blocked our view. I grabbed the top of the fence and started to climb, but the wood was old and a slat came loose and I fell backwards, the board in my hands. Then we could see in. A ragged spat of high grass. A cement patio. A rusted grill and a sliding glass door.
I had to see more. I pried loose another fence slat, until the gap was wide enough for me to slide through. Then I stepped into the yard. My pulse surged as I kicked through the grass, eyeing the glass door. I stepped onto the cement patio. A low pile of bricks sat humped beneath a picnic table bench, shadowed, vaguely resembling a man laid prone. I saw my reflection in the sliding door’s glass, my face so serious, my friends still back at the fence, too scared to follow.
I cupped my hands to the glass and peered inside. My lunged bucked. My mouth had gone dry. In the room I saw a mess of clothes and pots and records strewn about. Beer cans, soda cans, trash everywhere. Yet not one piece of furniture, not a sofa, not a chair, no television set, or stereo, no books. The contrast of this room to everything I knew in my own home was profound. Then something flashed in my periphery, a bit of shadow like something already near, something approaching, and I bolted back through the yard and dove through the gap in the face, tearing my shirt, cutting my shoulder, and I ran, my friends in tow.
I told them I saw blood on the carpet, on the walls. I told them a man was wandering the house, that he was holding a gun. I told them he saw me. They believed me. They wanted to believe me.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt quite so alive since that day, and have been chasing the dragon of the feeling of transcending my own life and entering the world of another. As a teen, searching for that feeling, I ran through a corn field that folks said was haunted. I followed fire trucks to a warehouse engulfed in flames. I wandered a stand of woods where a girl was allegedly murdered. Always chasing that dragon. And…I read books. Thank goodness for books. From Capote’s In Cold Blood to Cook’s Coma to Harris’s Silence of the Lambs, and so many more, I found myself enrapt in the thrill, set back in the body of my eleven year old self, following the flashing lights and sirens and leaving the humdrum world behind. Isn’t this is one of the greatest gifts a story can offer a reader, to transcend their life and peek through the slats of the fence?
Intrigue is a fabulous collection of stories, delivering up a menagerie of thrills, written by some of the best authors in the genre, designed to capture the mystery and the danger that we all seem so willing to want, to have these authors pry away the slats and let us cross the ragged yard and cup our hands against the glass, to peer into the darkness. But take care, my friends, for the world’s mystery and danger are far too real to suffer. Heeding caution, I recommend you grab a nice beverage, a cozy spot, and settle in for a long night of Intrigue.
—Alan Heathcock
Award-winning author of VOLT
Dave Zeltserman
Dave Zeltserman won the 2010 Shamus Award for Julius Katz, Ellery Queen's Readers Choice Award for Archie's Been Framed, and is the acclaimed author of the ‘man out of prison’ crime trilogy: Small Crimes, Pariah and Killer, where Small Crimes (2008) and Pariah (2009) were both picked by the Washington Post as best books of the year. His recent The Caretaker of Lorne Field received a starred review from Publisher's Weekly, calling it a 'superb mix of humor and horror', and was shortlisted by ALA for best horror novel of 2010. His recent book Outsourced (2011) has already been called 'a small gem of crime fiction' by Booklist and has been optioned by Impact Pictures and Constantin Film and is currently under development.
Old Wives’ Tales
CRAIG GAVE ME A sly look before turning to his wife Susan and telling her that she ruined the salmon.
“How you were able to turn a fresh piece of wild Alaskan salmon into rawhide is beyond me,” he said. “Fourteen dollars a pound, and with what you did to it horsemeat would’ve sufficed. Quite a display of alchemy. I applaud you.”
Craig winked at me before applauding lightly. Susan stiffened, hard lines showing as her mouth shrunk to a tight oval.
“If dinner was so bad, why did Felix clean his plate?” she asked, an iciness in her voice.
I kept my mouth shut. I found it rather unseemly the way they bickered and fought in front of me. I guess with all the time I’d spent with them over the years they felt comfortable in my presence, as if I were part of the family. Hell, Craig and I did go back a ways. We were roommates when he first met Susan, but frankly I didn’t care how well we knew each other. I was sick of witnessing their petty squabbles and this time I was keeping out of it.
Craig made a show of winking at me again. “Felix was only being polite,” he said. “You know good old Felix, always the polite one. Me, I could barely force down one bite of this so-ca
lled food. And even that left me gagging.”
“If only,” she muttered under her breath.
“What was that, dear?”
“I said I’m sorry you didn’t like dinner,” she said, “but then again, you could stand to lose a few pounds, Mr. Pudgy!”
“Ha! Look who’s calling the kettle black! Me lose a few pounds? You should talk, Mrs. Soggybottom!”
She was livid. If looks could kill, he would’ve been a dead man. I wanted to leave, but I was afraid what would happen with those two if I did. Craig was grinning wickedly at me as if I were on his side. I wasn’t. Maybe at one time, but over the years I recognized his one-liners and put downs for what they really were, which was nothing less than sadism. Sure, Susan would strike back, but it was purely out of self-defense and usually only a feeble attempt at best. No, with her it was self-preservation, with Craig it was to cut to the bone. So over the years my allegiance shifted. I kept that piece of information from Craig—acting as if we were still “best buds”, as he liked to say, but my sympathies rested solely with Susan. God, I felt sorry for her.
Susan sat frozen, her mouth moving slowly as if she were chewing gum, all the while Craig grinning maliciously at her. I knew she was trying to think of a good comeback, but she was too hurt for that and there was too much truth in what Craig had said. Finally she pushed herself away from the table, her movements rigid and awkward as she tried to keep from showing Craig any flashes of her backside. It was so sad seeing her like that. Six years ago when they met, Susan was twenty-nine and quite beautiful. Petite, slender, with golden blond hair that framed a youthful face that could’ve been that of a teenager. Craig back then was thirty-two, and while bordering on the heavy side, wasn’t bad-looking either. Now they were both almost caricatures of their former selves with Susan taking the worst of it. I guess she just wasn’t up to all the abuse Craig laid on her. Besides, even if you’re not miserable, when you start approaching middle age you’re going to put on a few pounds. I’m no exception, I’ve added my share, but not like these two. Susan’s weight must have shot up from ninety-five pounds to one hundred and fifty, and she didn’t have the body frame to pull it off. Like most of her now shapeless form, her bottom was looking soggy these days. But it was her face that had undergone the greatest change. All her youthfulness had been replaced by a gray weariness. Seeing the hurt ruining her face right then was more than I could take. I couldn’t help feeling angry. At that moment I wanted to hurt Craig. I wanted to hurt him badly.
Susan gave up on her comeback and instead showed me a brittle smile. “Felix, why don’t you and I retire to the living room and leave this jerk to himself?”
I wanted to join her, but I had to keep up my pretense with Craig that the two of us were “best buds” so I reluctantly stayed where I was. That brought out a harsh laugh from Craig—a nasty sound, almost like a dog’s bark. Susan, fighting hard to keep the tears from showing, fled the room.
“Maybe if she moved like that more often she’d shed a few pounds,” Craig observed. He scratched his jaw thinking about it, then got up and retrieved himself a beer. He stopped in front of the open refrigerator to ask me if I wanted one, but he was just being cute. He knew I didn’t drink alcohol. “That’s right,” he said, chuckling lightly. “I forgot that I’ve got a teetotaler on my hands.” He ended up fetching me some milk to go with his beer. While we sat drinking our respective beverages his cell phone rang. It caught him off guard and he nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of it. His grin dropped away as he took out his phone and checked the Caller ID. I’d known him long enough to know when he was nervous, and he looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. He hesitated before answering the phone, his voice cracking as he did. At that moment he was so startled I think he forgot I was there.
“You’re using a disposable phone, right?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Perspiration beaded on his forehead and above his upper lip as he listened to the response, all the while his face growing as pale as the milk he gave me. “I know, I know,” he said in a hushed tone, “it was a stupid question but you caught me off guard. You weren’t supposed to be calling me for another two weeks.” He shut up to listen some more, wetting his lips as he did so. “What do you mean tomorrow?” he asked. “This wasn’t supposed to be for weeks.” At that moment Susan yelled out from the living room asking Craig who was calling. Craig’s eyes darted toward the kitchen door and what I saw in those eyes was fear. There was no mistaking it. I’d seen enough fear in my life to recognize it. Craig sat frozen with his hand covering the phone’s mouthpiece. Susan again yelled to him, asking who he was talking to. That brought him back to life. He yelled out to her that it was work calling. I knew he was lying. Now he had me more than curious. He sat holding his breath, waiting to see if Susan would yell anything else. She didn’t. He turned back to the cell phone and listened intently. “Five o’clock. Yeah, I know. I’ll make sure she’s there,” he said, his voice lower than before. Then he hung up and stared blankly for a long moment before his eyes drifted towards mine and for the first time since he’d taken that call realized I was sitting there with him.
“Hey, Felix,” he said, “damn you’re quiet tonight. I forgot you were there.”
He looked away then without saying anything else. What was there to say? We both knew he was lying. That wasn’t someone from his office calling him. Something shady was going on. I had a crazy thought of what it might be, but it was too farfetched, even for him. Words and insults were one thing, but for him to even consider what had popped into my mind… I knew he was struggling financially and I knew he had a large life insurance policy out on Susan…
I had to get that thought out of my head. We were “best buds” as Craig liked to say, at least we were at one time, and I had to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least until I proved otherwise. It was something shady, but not that. I refused to believe he could do something like that. Still, I couldn’t help noticing how guilty he looked, how shaken up, how much trouble he was having making eye contact with me. He quit trying. Instead he yelled out to Susan that he was going to make coffee, and then went about measuring out the coffee beans and grinding them. While he waited for the coffee to brew, he got some dessert together. When the coffee was ready he poured cups for himself and Susan. We’d been “best buds” long enough for him to know that caffeine wreaked havoc on my system. I noticed him pouring a quarter of Susan’s cup with half-and-half, which was just the way she liked it. That caught me by surprise. These days I wouldn’t have put it past him to spike her coffee with salt.
When Craig brought the coffee and dessert out to the living room on a tray, Susan looked equally surprised by the gesture. She had been sitting rigidly on the sofa, but when she tasted the coffee that Craig had handed her the hardness in her face melted away. Cautiously, she thanked him. “You made the coffee the way I like it,” she said, glancing at him warily. “It’s been a long time since you’ve done something like this.”
He had sat down next to her while I had taken the loveseat across from them. The last few years the idea of a loveseat in that apartment was the height of irony, and my jaw dropped when Craig apologized for his behavior and started to rub her back. From my vantage point I could see the artificialness of his act, and my mouth slowly closed. I thought again about my first thought of what was behind that phone call. Could it be…?
“I’ve been a major ass,” he said. He tried to look contrite, but it was forced and I could see through his act. My heart was racing. “You don’t deserve for me to be acting the way I’ve been.”
“No, I don’t!”
He nodded, but I could tell he was biting his tongue, fighting back an impulse to brutalize her once more. He offered her one of the cannoli that he brought in. Susan looked at it as if it were a booby-trap.
“I thought I was too fat,” she said.
Again he bit back what he wanted to say. I knew him well enough to know what he was dying to tell her. Not too
fat my dear, the real heart of the problem is that you’re shaped like a hundred and fifty pound sack of melted cheese.
“Again, I’m sorry for that,” he said with a forced contriteness. “We could both stand to get in better shape. Maybe soon we’ll start exercising together? For now, though, let’s just enjoy tonight.”
She picked up the cannoli and took a small bite of it, her body flinching as if she were expecting a verbal assault from him. My heart broke as I watched that. When none came, she took another bite. Craig picked up the other cannoli and joined her. They ate silently, the only noise coming from an occasional slurping of the coffee. I just sat staring hard at Craig, at the disingenuousness in his face. He noticed me and tried to smile weakly, but it crumbled fast. He knew I was on to him. Susan edged closer to him and dropped a hand on his knee.
“That was Hank calling before,” he said. “I have to go on a sales trip tomorrow night. I’m sorry to drop this on you without any notice, but it just came up out of the blue.”
She blinked as she smiled at him, still not quite believing this change in him. “That’s okay, darling,” she said. “It can’t be helped. These things happen.”
He nodded. “The problem is my lucky suit’s at the cleaners and it’s not going to be ready until five, and I have to be at the airport at six for my flight. Any chance…?”
She shrunk back from him. “Couldn’t you bring another suit?”
He smiled weakly, held his hands up in a helpless gesture. “That’s my lucky suit. I wear it for every sales call.”
She blanched at the thought of picking up the suit and driving it to the airport. I couldn’t blame her. Three months ago Craig switched to a dry cleaner on the edge of the seedy part of town. Crimes happen there. Carjackings, robberies, and worse. I wondered why Craig had done that. He claimed it was because they were convenient for work, but now I knew what was really behind it. That this had been in the works for three months. God knows how long he had actually been thinking of it. The idea of it turned my stomach.
Intrigue (Stories of Suspense) Page 1