by Bluestem “Shelter me from the powder and the finger. Cover me with the thought that pulled the trigger.” —Powderfinger, Neil Young “911, what’s your emergency?” “There’s been a shooting at RR 9 Box 42.” “Wh—“ I hung up, cutting off the operator’s question. There was nothing else to add. They’d know the details soon…
Category: Crime
Bridge Mending
by Michael Kingswood I’m not a super sentimental guy, but there are times when even I look back on past events through the lens of nostalgia and pine for those long-gone, supposedly simpler times. Never thought an elf would do the same. When they gave the Big Guy the finger over working conditions and left…
Drops In The Storm
by Michael Kingswood The lighting in the overhead seemed to swirl, making little multicolored kaleidoscope patterns in the air over Grant’s head. Twist and swirl, swirl and twist. He felt like his entire body was swirling along with the lights, like he was moving in time with them, and more. Like he was about to…
Drilling For Gold
by Michael Kingswood Autonomous Drilling Unit Seven detected an overspeed condition on one of its drill motor drivetrains. Motor number six was approaching the upper limit of its allowed operational speed band, and the monitoring speed sensor flashed an alert. This prompted a series of diagnostic algorithms, which ADU-7 performed in the background while it…
Hunting For Game
by Michael Kingswood George opened up the trunk of his blue Ford Focus and hefted a brown canvas duffle bag out. He shifted his torso, slinging the duffle over his left shoulder, and grunted softly at the weight of the bag’s contents. He’d thrown that shoulder out once about five years earlier while weight lifting,…
Abe’s Liquors
by Michael Kingswood Betty sniffed back tears and wiped the back of her right hand across the bottom of her nose. It had gone runny from crying so hard. She squinted into the early evening darkness, her left hand flexing on the scarred and fading brown leather that wrapped the steering wheel of her Camry,…
Kicking The Anthill
by Michael Kingswood Kevlar and ballistic plating doesn’t help worth a damn against magic. Sergeant John Singleton really wished he’d known the suspect was going to turn out to be a wizard. He would have called for Special Magics. Instead, SWAT showed up, and they never had a chance. John’s police cruiser sat cross-ways across…
Give A Dog A Bone – A Doggy Mystery
by Michael Kingswood Harry loped along beside his best buddy John, the grass of the park where John liked to go running soft beneath Harry’s feet and the air rife with scents: clipped grass, John’s sweat, pollen, and despite the bright sun overhead, humidity like just before a good rain. Breathing easily through his mouth…
Popper’s
by Michael Kingswood It was nearing the end of David’s shift at Popper’s Books And Things. Even for a Tuesday, it had been a slow day. Maybe half a dozen people had actually bought something all day; not for the first time, he pondered whether working the counter at a small bookstore was the best…