Tangled Lights and Silent Nights
Page 5
So that’s it, I suppose. Sweet goddess, I can see the sun coming up, splashing off the snow, melting the ice off the bars. If I’m lucky, I have a little time left—an hour, maybe two. Time to sit here by myself and imagine what it might have been like: no more hunger, no lice, no backstabbing. Facing the world in silk and steel instead of rags. Maybe even a crowd chanting my name as I lead some foolhardy charge. My name, even though it’s as common as weeds and bones. Chanting it like it was really part of this world, like it meant something.
Books By Michael
Fantasy (Red Adept Publishing)
The Dragonkin Trilogy
Wytchfire
Knightswrath
Kingsteel
The Godsfall Trilogy
The Dragonward
The Wintersea
The Undergod
Poetry
Leaving Iowa (Briery Creek Press)
Blue Collar Eulogies (Steel Toe Books)
Damnatio Memoriae (Brick Road Press)
What To Do If You’re Buried Alive (Split Lip Press)
Ragged Eden (Glass Lyre Press)
About Michael
Michael Meyerhofer is a fantasy author and poet living in Fresno, California. He is the author of two fantasy series, the Dragonkin Trilogy and the Godsfall Trilogy. He has also published five books of poetry. His work has appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, Orson Scott Card’s InterGalactic Medicine Show, Rattle, Necessary Fiction, DIAGRAM, and other journals. He has been the recipient of a number of awards, including the Whirling Prize, the James Wright Poetry Award, and the Laureate Prize. For more information and an embarrassing childhood photo, please visit wytchfire.com (fantasy) or troublewithhammers.com (poetry).
Get In Touch
www.facebook.com/MeyerhoferTheAuthor
twitter.com/mrmeyerhofer
www.wytchfire.com
www.troublewithhammers.com
www.instagram.com/mrmeyerhofer
A Merry Mugging
A Christmas Short Story
(featuring Chris Barry of the Vigilante Series)
by Claude Bouchard
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
Montreal, 10:17 p.m.
Anxiety, fear and frustration summed up Mario Dupont’s current state of mind – anxiety because of what he was planning to do, fear of what would actually happen when he tried and frustration stemming from the lack of opportunity to try so far.
There had been more people out and about earlier, not crowds but enough to be considered too many which increased the risk of potential problems. Then, as if someone had flicked a switch somewhere, the area had become deserted with only the occasional car on Notre-Dame and Charlevoix streets and no pedestrian traffic close by. These were, he reasoned, almost the ideal conditions, except he needed one person to walk by – just one.
His heart skipped a beat as a couple turned the corner and headed in his direction. He would have preferred dealing with only one person but these two, likely man and wife in their fifties, should be easy enough to handle once their fear set in. In addition, they just looked like folks with money so this might turn out to be more profitable than expected.
He pretended to be on his phone as they got closer, intent on not attracting their attention. For their part, they were having their own conversation and seemed oblivious of his presence. This would work out just fine.
“Well, all I can say is you certainly know how to impress a lady, Mr. Barry,” said Sandy, hugging her husband’s arm. “I’ve never been treated to a private concert before.”
“We both have Martin to thank for that,” Chris replied. “When he invited us over, I was expecting a few songs for sound checks, certainly not a full rehearsal of their show.”
Sandy laughed. “As if they needed the practice. They’re flawless.”
“They’re perfectionists – What the hell?” Chis exclaimed as they were suddenly shoved into the narrow alley they were passing.
“Just give me your wallets and I won’t hurt you.”
They turned toward their assailant, the young man they had just walked by on the street, who now blocked the way out, a knife in hand.
“You don’t want to do this, buddy,” said Chris. “Just leave us alone and we’ll pretend it never happened.”
“I-I’m serious,” the young man insisted, not having expected any resistance.
Chris sighed then said, “Fine, but I don’t like this,” before reaching into his coat.
“Wait, what are you doing?” the man demanded, clearly nervous.
Chris stopped with his hand inside his coat and replied, “I’m getting my wallet. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Well, yeah,” said the man. “Just don’t try anything stupid.”
“Got it,” said Chris before pulling out his Glock 26 – a favoured weapon for the millionaire turned clandestine government agent – and pointing it at their assailant’s face. “Is this stupid?”
“Holy crap,” the man exclaimed, instinctively dropping his blade and raising his hands above his head.
“Lean against the wall,” Chris ordered.
“Look, can I just go?” the man pleaded, near tears.
“Against the wall,” Chris repeated.
“I’m sorry,” the man whimpered as he leaned against the wall. “I never should have tried doing this.”
“Stop whining,” said Chris while holstering his pistol. “I’m going to pat you down. If you move, I’ll hurt you.”
He frisked the young man and found no other weapons but relieved him of his wallet and mobile which he pocketed along with the switchblade Sandy had picked up in the interim.
“Okay, you’re coming with us,” said Chris.
“Am I under arrest?” asked the man, assuming Chris was a cop, not an agent with an elite secret agency.
“Not so far,” Chris replied, “But that can change at any time. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” asked the man.
“The Italian place on the corner to sit down and chat,” Chris replied. “It’s freezing out here. If you decide to run, just remember I have your wallet and phone.”
“Here we go,” said the waiter. “Three Espressos and three Tiramisu.”
“Thanks,” said Chris before raising his cup to the young man boxed in the booth next to him. “To new acquaintances.”
Embarrassed and surprised, the man glanced at Chris then at Sandy across from him before picking up his cup.
“Uh, cheers,” he mumbled, staring at the table.
“What’s your name?” Sandy asked.
“He has my wallet,” the man sullenly replied. “He can check it out.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” said Sandy.
The man blushed. “Mario, Mario Dupont.”
“Thank you,” said Sandy.
“This is weird,” Mario muttered.
“What’s weird?” asked Chris.
“Well, uh, I tried to mug you,” Mario replied, “And now we’re having coffee and cake. I don’t have any money, by the way.”
“Our treat,” said Chris. “As for the weird part, isn’t this better than if I’d shot you in the alley?”
“Well, yeah,” Mario agreed, “But still.”
Chris shrugged. “I felt like a snack while we chatted. So, how long have you been doing this mugging gig?”
Mario stared at the table again. “You probably won’t believe me but this was my first time.”
“I do believe you,” said Chris. “You looked like you were crapping yourself. Why’d you do it?”
Mario blew out a breath and said, “I needed the money.”
“What for?” asked Sandy, her tone soft. “Drugs? Debts?”
Mario squeezed his eyes shut tig
ht as he shook his head. “I’m just broke. I lost my job a few months ago and I can’t find another one, mostly because I haven’t finished high school yet. I’m almost done now but so far, that’s not good enough.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Chris, “But you can’t revert to robbing people on the street. You’ll end up hurting someone, getting hurt or going to jail.”
“I know,” cried Mario as the tears began. “It was stupid but I’m desperate. If it was just me, I’d be okay but there’s Katy and it’s Christmas next week. I’m sorry.”
“Who’s Katy?” asked Sandy.
Mario wiped his eyes with a napkin, taking a moment to regain his composure before turning to Chris. “Can I have my phone for a minute? I want to show you something.”
Chris fished the phone out of his coat pocket and handed it over. Mario tapped and scrolled then held it out to Sandy.
“That’s my Katy,” he said, his voice filled with pride.
“Aw, she’s adorable,” Sandy exclaimed, gazing at the photo of a curly blonde girl. “How old is she?”
“She just turned three,” Mario replied and sighed. “She’s such a good kid and deserves a better life than what she’s getting.”
“She should be reason enough for you to stay out of trouble,” said Chris after Sandy passed him the phone.
“You’re right,” Mario admitted. “And I really mean it.”
“Where is she now?” asked Sandy.
“My mom minds her when I’m not there,” Mario replied. He hesitated then added, “With all the help she’s given me, especially since Katy’s mother disappeared, she’s another reason why I shouldn’t act stupid.”
“Katy’s mother disappeared?” Chris repeated.
“She left us,” said Mario. “Turns out having a child wasn’t as fun as she thought it would be and it cut into her party time too much.”
“That’s so sad,” said Sandy.
“I’m glad she left,” said Mario. “We’re better off without her.”
“How long ago did she leave?” asked Chris.
“Two years now,” Mario replied. “Just before Katy’s first birthday. I haven’t heard from her since, which is how I want it. I’m proud to be bringing up my daughter by myself. She’s a smart, funny, happy kid and we’re doing fine together. I just wish I could find a job and get back to normal.”
“What kind of work are you looking for?” asked Chris.
“Anything that would give me a regular paycheque,” said Mario. “I was working in a warehouse for almost two years and liked it. I like physical work, it helps keep me in shape. Also, I can drive different kinds of forklifts and had no problem learning the inventory systems on the computer. My boss was sorry to let me go but cuts were made by seniority.”
“You seem like a smart guy,” said Chris.
Mario nodded and said, “I am, most of the time.”
Chris gazed and him for a moment then said, “This little episode tonight, last time you’ll ever pull something like that?”
“I swear,” Mario vowed. “I’m sorry I even tried.” He paused then added, “At least I was lucky to land on you two.”
“Indeed,” Chris agreed as he retrieved Mario’s wallet from his coat and set it on the table. “Show me your driver’s permit.”
Mario pulled out his permit and slid it before Chris.
“Mind if I take a pic of that?” asked Chris.
“Uh, I guess not,” Mario replied. “Why?”
“Because I want to check you out,” said Chris, snapping a photo. “I’m pretty well connected so, as long as you don’t turn out to be a lousy little shit, you should have a job to go to after the holidays.”
“Are you serious?” Mario exclaimed.
“I wouldn’t joke about something this important,” Chris replied, pulling out a card on which all was printed was his name and a phone number. “Here’s where you can reach me. What’s your number?”
Dazed, Mario recited his mobile number which Chris recorded on his own phone.
“We’re all set,” said Chris once done. “Do you want anything else to eat?”
“No, thank you,” Mario replied. “You’ve done more than enough as it is.”
“Suit yourself,” said Chris, pulling out his wallet. He put two twenties on the table to cover their order and tip then counted out another two hundred dollars which he held out to Mario.
“Oh, no,” said Mario, shaking his head. “I can’t take that.”
Chris dropped the cash on the table and said, “Sure you can. It’s for Katy.”
“I don’t believe this,” Mario murmured as his eyes once again filled with tears. “What happened tonight?”
Chris smiled as he and Sandy slid out of the booth and replied, “A Merry Mugging.”
Books by Claude
The Vigilante Series
Vigilante
The Consultant
Mind Games
The Homeless Killer
6 Hours 42 Minutes
Discreet Activities
Femme Fatale
Thirteen to None
The First Sixteen – The Prequel
See You in Saigon
Sins in the Sun
Getting Even
Make it Happen
The Nephew
Nasty in Nice
Other
ASYLUM
Something’s Cooking
About Claude Bouchard
Claude Bouchard was born in Montreal, Canada, at a very young age, where he still resides with his spouse, Joanne, under the watchful eye of Krystalle and Midnight, two black females of the feline persuasion. In a former life, he completed his studies at McGill University and worked in various management capacities for a handful of firms over countless years. From there, considering his extensive background in human resources and finance, it was a logical leap in his career path to stay home and write crime thrillers.
His first stab at writing fiction was actually in 1995, the result being his first novel, Vigilante. Two others of the same series followed by 1997 but all three remained dormant until publication in 2009. Since, besides writing ASYLUM, a standalone, the Vigilante Series has grown to fifteen thrilling installments including a revised version of Nasty in Nice, previously published on the now defunct Kindle Worlds platform.
Two of his novels were included in the pair of blockbuster 9 Killer Thriller anthologies, the second of which made the USA Today Bestsellers list in March 2014. Claude has also penned Something’s Cooking, a faux-erotica parody and cookbook under the pseudonyms Réal E. Hotte and Dasha Sugah. His books have topped the chart in the Vigilante Justice category on Amazon and over 600,000 copies have been distributed to date.
Claude’s other interests include reading, playing guitar, painting, cooking, traveling and trying to stay in reasonable shape.
Get In Touch:
Website: http://www.claudebouchardbooks.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ceebee308
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/claude.bouchard2
Facebook (author page): https://www.facebook.com/ClaudeVigilanteBouchard
A Vanderbilt Christmas
by Nicole Evelina
Victoria Woodhull was the first American woman to run for president of the United States in 1872. She was also a suffragist, spiritualist, and one of the first women to run a stock brokerage on Wall Street, along with her sister, Tennie. This is a fictionalized account of how Victoria may have become involved in the suffrage movement. The characters, their personalities, and the historical references are all accurate.
December 1868
If anyone had told me a year ago that I would be spending Christmas Eve at the home of Cornelius Vanderbilt, one of the richest
men in the country, I would have booked them a room at Blackwell’s Island with the other lunatics. Me? The guttersnipe daughter of a confidence man and a religious zealot whose favorite hobby was blackmailing people? Even with my gift of clairvoyance, it would have been too much to believe.
But then again, much had changed over the last year. When my sister Tennie and I moved to New York at the direction of my spirit guide, Demosthenes, we had no idea the good fortune that awaited us. Our Pa, no doubt sensing a way to make a quick buck, had arranged an introduction to Commodore Vanderbilt in the hopes he would employ us as mediums and magnetic healers. But the tycoon did him one better. After I successfully channeled the spirit of his long-dead mother and gave an accurate prediction of the stock market, he took us in as his assistants. Although, this may have had more to do with my sister’s beauty than our skill.
No matter. We were here now. An invitation to Christmas Eve dinner was a rare honor, one much coveted by New York society. Ma and Pa would be fit-to-be-tied when they found out we were invited but they were not; but I thanked God their troublesome selves were back in the slums of Five Points where they belonged.
My husband, James, Tennie, and I, on the other hand, were seated along one side of a massive dining table that could easily seat twenty and was laden with china, crystal, and silver. The other chairs were occupied by a handful of the Commodore’s close friends and business associates – including his rival Mr. Fisk – plus several generations of his family. Around us, wreaths of evergreen and holly decorated the damask covered walls and pine boughs dripped from an elegant gold chandelier, while wreaths of orange, bay, and cinnamon perfumed the air.