Black Cat Weekly #204 (eBook)

Godfrey Sweven (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
1055 Seiten
Black Cat Weekly (Verlag)
978-0-00-097586-7 (ISBN)

Infos

   This issue (which is the largest we have ever published) has quite a few great stories, including 2 novels, 3 novellas, and 6 shorts. From private investigators to utopian science fiction, from pulp adventure on Mars to criminal hijinks on the high seas, it's safe to say we have something for everyone this time!

   Here's the complete lineup-

Cover Art:Ron Miller

NOVELS

Doris Force at Locked Gates, by Julia K. Duncan [Doris Force #1, Classic Mystery]

   A curious invitation leads to adventure at a foreboding estate.

Limanora, by Godfrey Sweven [Classic utopian science fiction]

   An island hidden by fog holds secrets that could transform humanity.

NOVELLAS

'Velda on the High Seas,' by Ron Miller [PI Velda series]

   Velda wins a sea cruise-but ends up sleuthing instead of relaxing!

'The Ruby,' by Anna Katharine Green

   At a grand ball, a priceless jewel vanishes...

'Queen of the Martian Catacombs,' by Leigh Brackett [Eric John Stark series]

   In Martian ruins, immortal beings weave webs of betrayal and power.

SOLVE-IT-YOURSELF MYSTERY

'Death in the Park,' by Hal Charles

   Can you solve the mystery before the detective? All the clues are there!

SHORT STORIES

'Mill Mountain,' by Tom Milani [Michael Bracken Presents short story]

   Wrongly accused and on the run, Spencer's only weapon is his wit.

'Snitches Local 422,' by Alan Orloff

   When snitches unionize, can they stop a killer in their own ranks?

'Inundation,' by David McGillveray

   The last humans abandon Earth as new species claim the flooded world.

'Goldhounds,' by P. L. Sundeson

   In twilight country, the strangest prospectors aren't even human...

'The Life-Eater,' by Harold Ward

   A formless evil emerges from Beyond, leaving withered corpses in its wake...

Textauszug

SNITCHES LOCAL 422,
by Alan Orloff

They’d been working their jobs for years, exchanging info for money, facts for cash, living on the streets, dealing with whatever life threw at them—and it was a lot, any way you measured it—surviving, if not thriving. Independent contractors. Sole proprietors. Lone wolves. Until now. The snitches of the North Side had unionized.

Now they were One Big Happy.

Their blowhard leader, Big Skunk Scanlon, a guy with a barrel chest and hair with a white streak running through it, stood at the head of the alley, addressing the twenty or so proud new members of Snitches Local 422. “It is indeed a fine day,” he said, glancing upward at the gray clouds and pulling the collar of his tattered coat closer against the frigid wind. “Because though the weather may be harsh, today is the day that our futures become brighter!”

Big Skunk might have been the public face of their newly formed union, but everybody always looked to Red Crenshaw for true leadership. He leaned against the grimy brick wall, squeezed between two of his fellow snitches, Feezie and Wanda Woman. All three offered up polite applause.

“Henceforth, we will not toil alone, in obscurity. Henceforth, we shall work as a team, in solidarity, all for one and one for all, in essence, a family. And furthermore…” Big Skunk droned on, obviously in love with his own voice.

Red tuned him out, whispered to Feezie and Wanda. “Did you hear about the drive-by last night?”

“Sure did. Gang banger got capped, and Duckie Bennett saw the whole thing. Said the shooter was in a blue Charger,” Feezie said.

Red and Duckie had spent a few nights ’neath the underpass a month or so ago. Good dude. “I heard it was a black Nissan.”

“I heard it was a lime green Mustang. One of the classic ones,” Wanda said.

A stocky guy next to Wanda, went by Home Run, chimed in. “Naw. It was a white Escalade. For real. My guy told my boy told my cousin told my girl. Told me. White Es-Ka-Laid.”

“Whatever,” Red said. Home Run usually hit foul balls—or whiffed altogether. “Shooter coulda clipped Duckie. Hopefully being part of this union will make things a little safer for everyone.”

“Amen,” the others said in unison.

Red tuned back into Big Skunk’s stump speech. He didn’t get an audience like this very often and was making the most of his opportunity. “…And the police department has ratified our labor agreement. We’ll be getting better pay, better working conditions. Here’s a rundown of just some of the benefits: Increased per-tip payout. Bonus for overtime. If we get roughed up, they will provide us an escort and we’ll get to skip the line at the local Urgent Care. Contribution to retirement funds.” Big Skunk paused, evidently for some applause, but people’s attention had waned, and the only sound was the wind whipping wayward trash against the alley walls. Red knew that most of the snitches were eager to get back to their hidey holes and settle in for the night.

Luckily, Big Skunk started to wrap things up. “If you ever have any problems, I want you to know you can come to me, your union rep, and I’ll do what I can.” He seemingly made eye contact with each and every one of them. “Despite the gains we’ve recently made, please remember this. We still lead a dangerous life, so let’s be careful out there.”

* * * *

Two weeks later, Red was sitting on a park bench with Feezie, shooting the bull, when up walked Detective Tolbert, cup of coffee in hand.

“Hello, snitches.”

“We prefer the term confidential informant.” Feezie had authority issues and a lot of bruises to show for it.

“A rose is a rose is a rose,” Tolbert said.

“I think Rose is working the corner two blocks south.” Feezie snickered as he said it.

“Always the wise guy, Feezie. How’s that working for you?” Tolbert glared at him for a long moment. “I don’t know if you boys heard, but a cop got shot last night. Either of you know anything about that?”

“’Fore we answer, where’s ours?” Feezie asked.

“Your what?”

Feezie tipped his head at the coffee cup in Tolbert’s hand. “Our food and/or beverage.”

“What are you talking about?” The irritation rolled off Tolbert like marbles off a glass tabletop.

“According to Section Four of the labor agreement, whenever you have some food and/or beverage, we get some food and/or beverage.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said a cop got shot last night. I want some information, chuckleheads. Now.”

“Fine. I’ll let the issue of food and/or beverage slide,” Feezie said. “This one time.”

Tolbert narrowed his eyes. “Cop was killed in an alley behind Ninth. You know anything? Anything at all?”

Red had heard some rumblings, but not anything he’d put in the bank. “Sorry, Detective. I got nothing for you. I’ll ask around.”

“Please do.” Tolbert turned to Feezie. “How about you?”

Feezie rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “We’re working stiffs, Detective. Time is money. So is information.”

“Christ.” Tolbert pulled out his wallet, extracted a twenty. Held it up. “Okay, whatta you got?”

Feezie looked at the twenty in Tolbert’s hand as if it had Mickey Mouse’s picture on it. “According to the new contract, that ain’t nearly enough.” He folded his arms and gazed off into the distance.

“I’m going to roll up that new contract and stuff it up your—”

“That’s not really in the spirit of our agreement, is it, Detective?” Feezie said.

Tolbert clenched his jaw so tightly, Red thought he might break some teeth. Finally, he took another twenty out of his wallet and handed the forty bucks over to Feezie.

“Thank you very much, Detective.” He folded the money, then tucked it down the front of his pants. “Unfortunately, I don’t have anything solid for you.”

“I just paid you for information.”

“Consider that a down payment. I’ll ask around,” Feezie said.

“Me, too,” Red added, as Tolbert stormed away.

* * * *

Red joined a bunch of his fellow union members behind Bobbi’s Bakery, waiting for Bobbi to bring out the two-day-old baked goods. Every day at four o’clock sharp, she’d come out behind her shop with trays and trays of doughnuts, muffins, and cupcakes that hadn’t sold.

It had become their afternoon meeting place. Conversation and a snack.

“How’s things now that we’re in the union?” Red asked Duckie. He liked the dude, even though he usually smelled as bad as the dumpsters he dove in.

“Great. I got a hot dog for lunch. And a Coke. Never would have gotten that before. Cop actually asked how I was doing before he grilled me.” Duckie adjusted his watch cap. “Nice feeling, ya know?”

Red wondered how long the good gestures would continue, but they might as well enjoy them while they could. He knew the police would be even more generous if they came up with some information about the cop’s shooting. “Anybody hear anything about the incident last night?”

“I heard it was a revenge killing. A punk the cop arrested got out of jail and hunted him down,” Home Run said.

“Come on, man, that’s not what happened. It was a shakedown gone bad—cop was dirty, and the crew he was trying to rob turned the tables on him.” Feezie gnawed on a toothpick, then took it out of his mouth and pointed it at Red. “Least that was what I heard. Who really knows, though, right?”

A woman in an enormous peacoat wearing a black witch’s hat said, “Pretty sure it was just a random killing. Wrong place, wrong time.”

Red had never seen her before but that didn’t really mean anything. Half the people he met on the streets he never saw again.

“Well…” Duckie glanced around conspiratorially. “I talked to a few people. They said it was a domestic matter—he beat his wife and one of her brothers took offense.”

“Yeah?” Feezie said.

“Would I spout some crap if I didn’t think it was true?” Duckie said. “Or at least possibly true? Or maybe true? Or potentially true? Or had some element of truth? Even just a minuscule speck of one tiny iota of a whisper of truth?”

Red held up his hand. “Come on, now. Killing a cop is serious. We’re partners with the police now, right? Seems like we should treat this as serious, and not just blow smoke. This is our livelihoods we’re talking about. We give them bad information, they’ll stop paying us.” He paused, made sure everyone was paying attention to him and not on the back door waiting for Bobbi. “So, does anybody have some reliable info?”

Half of the gathered snitches shook their heads, the other half stared at their feet. Then Wanda stepped forward. “I heard something that’s solid. I heard Pilgrim had some valuable information to share.”

“Who told you that?”

“Grapevine. Seemed legit though.”

“Did Pilgrim tell the grapevine who the killer was?”

Wanda shook her head. “Nope. Said Pilgrim was afraid someone might scoop him, get the reward money. Said Pilgrim had to check one more thing out, just to make sure.”

Red glanced around. “Where’s Pilgrim now?”

“Ain’t seen him since this morning,” Wanda said.

“Anybody seen him in the past few hours?” Red asked.

Nobody said a word.

* * * *

The next day, Red was hanging out on a bus stop bench watching the world go by when Detective Tolbert and another guy in a...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 27.7.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Fantasy / Science Fiction ► Science Fiction
• ISBN-10: 0-00-097586-9 / 0000975869
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-097586-7 / 9780000975867