by B C Bell
Like that will happen, she thought. No, Gordon. You left your mark on Everett; as a man, as a player and as a hero. It is yours to love and protect, just as we love you.
June took her daughter back inside, turning just a moment too soon to see the metal guardian three buildings over return to his job as sentinel over the city.
THE END
A Football Hero
by David Boop
Gridiron came about as a way for Airship 27 head honcho Ron Fortier to shut me up.
Let me explain. I’d wanted to work with A27 for almost a year, ever since Ron reviewed my novel and told me all about the group. I looked into writing for one of the many pulp heroes they “represent,” but couldn’t find the right fit. I also spent time whining to Ron that my novel, set in 1953, wasn’t eligible for the Pulp Factory Awards. Ron, ever the patient man, listened and then said, “Why not create your own pulp hero?”
Why not, indeed! As long as it was set in the 30’s and embodied all that we know and love about pulps, then Ron would take a look at it.
Now the question was what concept would I base my character on?
I spent some time researching the 30’s and stumbled across some interesting facts about football during that era. It was new and considered kind of a joke by many. Sure, they played it in college, but football wasn’t anything anyone would pay to see, right? But that all changed with Red Grange, the Galloping Ghost. He was so popular that he single handedly saved a franchise team via ticket sales alone. It’s he who gave the fledgling National Football League its legitimacy. Red once ran for 252 yards and scored four touchdowns in the first 12 minutes of a game. There’s a hero! I knew my guy would have to have that same level of dedication.
I created Gordon “Gory” Burrell to be a defensive player instead of offensive because eventually he would be a defender of not only an end zone, but of a whole city. I also wanted his girlfriend to have a child for future story potential. Knowing what was going to happen to his body, children would be, er, difficult.
The villains would be the mob, as they were most likely to be involved in sports. However, to make them less two-dimensional, I layered the story with levels of intrigue. The funny thing is, making Gridiron more cajones than cabeza, he all but ignores the subtext. Point him at a target and let him go! The twists are for us the readers, not him.
Pick and Axe were fun to write as enforcers. I wanted the classic odd hit men and flavored them to be just strange enough to be a threat while providing a touch of comic relief. Additionally, the character of Pointer was going to be more comical, but my writers group pushed me to make him a serious reporter. They were right.
Finally, I broke two rules of short story writing; multiple POVs and flashbacks. I did the first because it was important for us, as the readers, to see the effect Gridiron was having on the different players in the story without having to be dialog intensive. By doing an ascending flashback, I allowed myself a level of interaction between timelines I’d never experienced before. Plus, it gets us into the action quicker. By the story’s acceptance into this volume, I believe that it worked, but I’ll let you be the judge. Enjoy!
DAVID BOOP - a Denver-based author is a single dad, returning college student and full-time mailroom supervisor. He’s done jobs as diverse as DJ, film critic and Beetlejuice impersonator. As a journalist, he covered the Columbine Massacre. His first novel was the sci-fi noir She Murdered Me with Science. He’s had over a dozen short stories appear in magazines and anthologies. Born in CT, he keeps moving farther west as he gets older. Stops have included WI, TN, CO, and AZ. General interests include noir and sci-fi films, theater, stand-up comedy and The Blues. Find out more on FaceBook or at www.davidboop.com.
Dusk
The Sacred and the Profane
by Barry Reese
Chapter I.
The Dead Man’s Skull
February 1933 – Atlanta, Georgia
Benny Lancaster felt like his heart was about to explode. It was hammering painfully hard in his chest and as he rounded the corner and found himself facing the dead end of an alleyway, he muttered a string of curses that would have made a sailor wince in surprise. He leaned against the wall and steadied himself, reaching into the pockets of his coat so he could reassure himself that his treasures were still there. One of them, his pistol, he pulled out into the open. There were still one bullet in the chamber and he’d have to make it count – or else he’d end up just like Big Al and Kenny. They were lying in pools of their own blood a few blocks back.
The other prize that he carried was left in its pocket, the weight of it causing his coat to lean heavily to the left. Benny knew how valuable it was but he refused to think about it too much – it unnerved him. He heard footsteps coming towards the alleyway and he raised his gun, prepared to fire the moment she came into view. He’d heard stories that bullets didn’t faze her but he refused to believe that. She was as human as he was – she had to be.
The footsteps came to a halt and the seconds began to stretch into moments. Benny swallowed hard, wondering what the hell she was up to. His hand was beginning to shake under the strain and he began looking around quickly. There was a small grating nearby and he could hear the rush of water from below. It was a storm sewer and Benny suddenly gleaned the beginnings of a plan.
After checking once more to make sure that his pursuer hadn’t entered the alleyway, he hurried over to the grate. He knelt and peered inside. It was too dark to make out much but he thought he saw a small ledge overlooking the rushing water. The rain that had fallen the day before had evidently been heavier than he’d realized.
Benny set his gun down on the ground and pulled out the object that was resting so heavily in his pocket. He looked at it for a few brief seconds and that was enough to give him the shivers. It was a human skull with a horrific looking hole in the roof of it. A bronze nail was embedded in this hole and Benny felt an almost overpowering urge to touch the object. It was an absurd thought, of course, and Benny thought it was probably one that showed just how close to losing it he really was. His life was on the line and here he was, coveting a nail that had been hammered into someone’s skull.
Benny pried the grating away from the hole and set it aside. He then leaned over and tried to calculate the trajectory he’d need to ensure that the skull landed on the ledge and didn’t fall into the rushing water. He was in the process of letting go when the sound of footsteps directly behind startled him. He slipped ever so slightly, just enough to cause the skull to bounce off the ledge and splash into the water. It bobbed up and down there for a second before vanishing, carried along by the stream.
“What’s so important that your friends were willing to die for it, Benny?”
The feminine voice was anything but seductive. It was quite the opposite, in fact. The words were spoken with no trace of empathy at all. Benny might as well as have been a rock, for all this woman cared. Even though she’d said nothing threatening, Benny could tell that she placed absolutely no value on his life.
Benny replaced the covering as quietly as he could and stood up. He’d lost the skull but at least he’d keep it out of her hands. That was a small victory, at least. Turning, he came face-to-face with a sight that was usually the final one for criminals in Atlanta. He saw Dusk, the city’s one-woman judge, jury and executioner.
She stood five foot six in flat-heeled shoes. She wore form fitting black trousers, a black bustier covered by a small waist-length coat and a bandito-style mask that covered the lower half of her face. A low-brimmed hat covered the top of her head, allowing a few red-blonde curls of hair to curl around her shoulders. Her eyes were a glittering green and there was something about her entire form that seemed to radiate dangerous sex, a scorching kind of sensuality that left a man feeling both lust and terror in equal amounts. She held a pistol in each hand and Benny, s
omething of a gun nut, recognized the make of them: Smith & Wesson Hand Ejector II. The revolver was introduced a few years before World War I but could still be found in ready supply. Chambered for .45 caliber rounds, the Hand Ejector II normally had a five or six inch barrel but Dusk’s guns had modified barrels that had been cut down to four inches in length.
Benny held up both hands, trying to sound braver than he felt. “We were just doin’ a job, Dusk. We were paid for a grab and go… and then we was gonna take the loot to the guy who hired us. Nobody was gonna get hurt.”
“Tell that to Maxwell Smith. You boys left him with four bullets in his belly while you made off with something from his safe.”
Benny instinctively reached for his gun but his hand froze in midair. He glanced down and saw that he’d forgotten to pick it up off the ground after putting the grate back. His eye flicked back to Dusk, who was now advancing towards him.
“Last chance, Benny,” she said. “Tell me who hired you and what it was you stole. Or I can just kill you where you stand and find out on my own. Your choice.”
Benny didn’t take long to make his decision. He charged Dusk, lowering his shoulder in hopes that his greater weight would allow him to knock her aside and gain his freedom. Unfortunately for him, Dusk spun out of the way, extending one of her legs and tripping him up. He hit the ground hard, the impact causing him to bite the tip of his tongue. He struggled to rise, realizing how close he was to death, but Dusk’s feet came down on the center of his back. She was remarkably strong and he writhed like a bug that had been pinned to a board.
“How many lives have you ruined?” Dusk asked. Benny whined, especially when he heard the rustle of cloth behind him. He didn’t crane his head to see what she was doing. He had a good idea and he didn’t want to have his suspicions confirmed.
Benny’s friends had gotten off easy. Their lives had been ended by shots from Dusk’s pistols, their brains reduced to mush when bullets had ripped through their heads. But Benny knew the vigilante had picked him for a far worse fate.
Dusk took her weight off of him but Benny didn’t try to run. Hot tears were suddenly stinging his eyes and he felt moist warmth spread through the crotch of his pants.
“Look at me,” Dusk commanded and Benny felt helpless to resist.
“Look at me,” Dusk commanded and Benny felt helpless to resist.
Slowly his head came up, his eyes traveling the length of Dusk’s svelte body. The mask that had covered the bottom of her face was now loosened, hanging across her chest. Benny’s eyes widened as he saw what had been hidden there… his entire body shook as images began to flash before his mind’s eye: he saw his first crime, stealing money from his grandmother’s purse as a little boy no more than six years old; he witnessed the first time he’d ever raped a woman; his first experience with Opium. So many crimes, great and small… Benny had never realized just what an empty life he’d led.
It was enough to break his fragile hold on reality and, after one prolonged scream that would have chilled the blood of any who heard it, Benny fell into a deep silence. He still breathed and his eyes still blinked, but for all intents and purposes, he could no longer be counted amongst the living. He was lost in an unending contemplation of his sins.
Dusk put her mask back into place and walked over to Benny’s fallen gun. She picked it up and examined it briefly before tossing it next to its owner’s body. She then moved over to look down into the storm sewer. When she’d entered the alleyway, it had looked like Benny was dropping something down below. She saw nothing, however, meaning that whatever it was had been swept away by the rushing waters.
Beneath her mask, her lips turned downward into a frown. She couldn’t return to Smith’s home at present – the police would be there and they still considered her just as much a criminal as those she hunted. That meant she wouldn’t receive any answers tonight about what the three had stolen or who had hired them.
But tomorrow…
Tomorrow, she would take a new tack in the investigation.
Dusk walked past Benny, feeling no pity for him. He had chosen his path long ago and what she’d done to him did little to balance the scales of justice. Benny’s suffering would not undo all the terrible acts he’d committed over the course of his lifetime. Dusk couldn’t help but wish she were capable of condemning him to an even worse hell than he was now trapped in.
***
Police Detective Roland Moore stepped through Maxwell Smith’s home, unable to keep from staring at the furnishings. There were at least two paintings he’d recognized that would have cost more than two years’ salary for him. It was enough to make him think he’d gone into the wrong career.
Following along at Moore’s heels was his trusted aide, a slender girl with red-blonde hair named Sue Timlin. She had started out as a simple secretary but she’d soon proven her usefulness beyond typing and filing. She had a keen mind and could look at things from angles that most policemen never would have considered. As such, Moore had begun inviting her along to crime scenes, much to the chagrin of his fellow officers. To say they thought it inappropriate to bring a woman to the scene of a murder was putting it mildly. But Sue had never once lost her cool, not even when presented with the goriest of scenes.
Roland came to a stop next to a chalk outline that had been drawn on the wood floor. It was there that Max Smith had bled out. Someone had placed a call to the authorities, a woman according to the operator, but there had been no one present when the ambulance arrived. Smith was dead by the time they’d reached the house.
Roland caught the eye of a uniformed officer, who hurried over to his side. It was Jenkins, a pasty-skinned youth who was fresh from the academy. Being around kids like Jenkins made Roland feel older than the thirty-five years he’d lived. Roland pointed towards an open safe in the wall. “What was in there?”
“That’s the funny thing, detective.” Jenkins spoke with a high-pitched squeaky voice that drove Roland nuts. The police detective lit a cigarette while the young man talked. He noticed that Sue was clutching her handbag in front of her long legs and quietly looking about for clues. The fact she was a looker was not lost on Roland but he’d never made any moves on her. He was too afraid it’d ruin their partnership and he’d grown to really appreciate having her around. “They left nearly two thousand dollars in cash. Didn’t touch it. The only thing they took was a human skull.”
“Smith had a skull in his safe?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how do you know that? Did he leave an inventory of his safe?”
“It was in his will. We found that in the safe. It says that if anything ever happens to him, that the contents of his safe should be given to charity – except for the skull, which is to be burned. We looked… and there’s no skull in there now.”
Roland glanced at Sue. “Isn’t that the damndest thing?”
Sue offered him a pretty smile. She looked as slim and petite as a ballerina but Roland had seen her take down men three times her size with that funny jujitsu stuff she knew. Her green eyes sparkled. “It’s not all that strange, really. Max Smith was a member of the Explorer’s Club.” She gestured at a number of artifacts around the room: a set of spears and a shield from Africa; several pieces of pottery from Peru and a set of ivory elephant tusks. “He probably picked up the skull on one of his adventures.”
“Strange that he’d want it destroyed upon his death, though.”
Sue shrugged her shoulders. “No stranger than the fact that those thieves would break in here and kill him for it.”
“True.” Roland moved over to the safe and noted that there were two more chalk outlines here. “So we have any leads on who killed them? Or who placed the call?”
Jenkins grinned so broadly that Roland felt like punching him. “Some of the boys think it was Dusk. Maybe she came up on
‘em in the act and plugged ‘em, then called for the ambulance.”
“And you think she took the skull?”
Jenkins blinked. “I don’t know about that.”
Roland sighed. He’d already come to the conclusion that Dusk was involved – especially since a crook had been found not far from here, in the sort of catatonic state that was becoming all too familiar. Many cops on the force were beginning to forget that Dusk was as much a criminal as the men she was fighting. There was a reason for rules and laws – they were part of what separated mankind from the animals. Without respect for the rule of law, there was only one thing awaiting everyone: anarchy. “Clear everybody out of here,” Roland said.
Jenkins nodded, hurriedly moving all of the other investigators and the guys from the coroner’s office into another room. He didn’t bother trying to remove Sue – everybody on the force knew that Roland would want her to stick with him.
Roland puffed away on his cigarette while staring at the open safe. “What do you think, Sue?”
Sue clasped her hands behind her back, purse still held tightly in her fingers. She approached Roland with pursed lips, a habit he recognized. She always pursed her lips when she was working something out in that pretty head of hers. “We need to go through his papers. You remember last year when the Atlanta Journal ran that bio piece on Smith? They said he was working on a book detailing all of his exploits. It stands to reason that he might have mentioned that skull in his journals.”
“Let’s get to it, then. Hopefully those goons from the station haven’t trampled all over any evidence we might need.”
Sue moved away, picking up papers and flipping through them. Smith had evidently been an avid reader for there were magazines and books on a wide of variety of subjects lying about. She was a voracious reader herself and so she recognized many of the authors and titles.
