The Mysterious Press Anniversary Anthology
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
To commemorate this silver milestone, Mysterious Press presents 18 specially commissioned stories by the finest mystery and suspense writers working today.
cars, Kennedy! No witnesses. Think about it.” “Shut up, you. See you there, Chief.” Kennedy got back in and put up his rifle. Shrike walked back around the corner. The blue fender swung away from the curb and was gone. • • • No charges were filed against me because the arresting officer never appeared. After twenty-four hours they got around to letting me go and I got my gun back finally at the end of a long strip of red tape. Neither Adelaide the Axe nor Alvin Shrike made it to the
had closed and the deal was over. The losses at that moment looked to me like the combined national debt of four major European countries, but he made a very reasonable offer of a payout that could easily have taken the rest of my life but seemed fair to both of us. Reasonable or not, my major emotional and intellectual response to this new situation was, of course, panic. First, I was in more debt than I could ever have imagined. Second, the Mysterious Press had already become a very good
mesh gate into a wall of lava. “Paper! It’s full of paper!” “Ah-ha!” “— all piled up on top of each other in stacks and lines and —” O’Yee said in a gasp, “Oh my God —!” “Tunnels!” Where the hell was Uniformed? What the hell was Uniformed doing while a giant baby ant was charging about the place whistling and formaling, and —? And if that was a baby ant, where the hell were Mommy and Daddy and Uncle Giant Ant, and —? O’Yee, freezing with terror as the Government Bug Man kicked the mesh door
reason for his visit. “I don’t think we’ll ever have run such a cheap event,” grumbled the manager. “No dinner, just canapés, and punch which is more fruit juice than liquor. Most of the entertainment is a long speech from Sneddy. No band, no dancing, no nothing.” “My, they’ll be fit to be tied. Do you know he’s docking their wages to pay for the party?” “Can he do that?” “I shouldn’t think so. Unless the canny miser got them to sign something agreeing to it.” “I think you’ll find out he
to Sixth Avenue and took the F train downtown. I kept on her. She got on at one end of the car and I scooted down to the other. She got out of the train at the Twenty-third Street station. Yep. Somebody was blowing the U.S. in a hurry. But I didn’t think it was little Asia. My money was on Hattie Randall. Tatty, Euro-style hotels and B&Bs are springing up around the Flatiron Building faster than you can say Ian Schrager. The one I trailed Asia to is called the Gershwin. Having been a skanky