THUGLIT Issue One - [7]
Then he turned his back on her to answer his cell phone.
His name was Mark, according to his nametag-another punk kid: no surprise there. Whether his thin beard growing in patches was the result of a recent choice to grow one, or because he was still too young, she wasn’t sure.
No, she decided, it was because he was still too young.
Frustrated, the poor lady walked away. Brandy followed her out of the maze, into the warehouse. Waiting at one of the bins was the woman’s fat mother.
Why were there so many fat people in America, Brandy wondered?
Together, they tried unsuccessfully removing one of the giant boxes from the bin.
As they did, a man passed by with a cart, said, “Need some help? Here, let me help you with that.”
He was late thirties, Brandy guessed. Not much older than her, and handsome. The ladies thanked him-bless his heart, they said. They cautioned him against straining his back.
“No problem,” he smiled.
Bless his heart, they said.
The kid’s phone call was more important than doing his job.
Thank you for doing Ikea’s job, because that is the level of professionalism you can expect from Ikea.
So go fuck yourself Ikea! Fuck you in the ass!
Brandy stopped the rant playing in her mind.
Stroking her gold chain, she felt better.
Twenty minutes late, the #65 bus still had not arrived. Brandy stroked her gold chain. She hated waiting on the bus almost as much as she hated dealing with punk kids. She wondered what more could go wrong today? When would the day end?
She looked to all the Marks, the Ericas, crowded at the bus stop. Badly, she wanted to whack them with her shopping bag.
They gossiped about Justin Bieber’s love child; the latest Twilight film. How Lady Gaga’s keen fashion sense, latest fashion statements, were all the rave:
I’m team Jacob!
I’m team Edward!
How a meat dress was so nouveau- risqué.
Jesus Christ! When was the fucking bus coming?
Then-salvation! The bus appeared around the corner. It rumbled up the street and, with whining airbrakes and long hiss of air, slowed at the bus stop.
Brandy sighed, grateful the noise had severed the grape vine, put a stop to the buzzing rumor mill. She was amazed how animated, fast-talking, these kids could be in the unbearable heat.
Obnoxiously, one of the Erica’s said, “Hello? Do you mind?”
The bus doors had opened, Brandy realized. She was blocking the way.
All the Marks, the Ericas, shoved past. Brandy quietly boarded onto the bus, with the rest of the adults.
With disgusted but resigned looks, they quietly boarded. Obediently they fed their money to the money feeder while the kids continued their inane gossiping.
They filed onto the bus, one after the other until all were on board.
As they did, two young men horseplaying in the aisle nearly knocked over an old lady trying to make her way to the back. None of the unruly youngsters offered up their seats so the older folk could sit, rest. Nothing was said.
That would be them some day, Brandy relished: forced to ride the bus to their retail jobs-or their jobs waiting tables-because their cars had been repossessed. Or rather because they could not afford a car to begin with.
Jesus, she realized she just described her own pathetic life. How long had she been working at Macy’s, anyway?
It occurred to her the only jobs around anymore were those working behind a counter, or behind a bar, or waiting on tables in a restaurant; the Walmart-type jobs. Or, if you were lucky, cleaning bedpans in a hospital.
“Hey, watch it! You almost knocked her down,” one of the kids spoke up.
“Fuck you!”
“Mind your own business, fucker!”
When the metro light rail doors opened, Angel Rodriguez crammed into the train. Into the thick crowd of passengers.
Squeezing next to Brandy, she sighed loud.
It had taken her forever riding the #65 bus to reach the light rail, putting up with all those rude, obnoxious punk kids the entire time.
Now she would have to spend god knew how long on the light rail next to another punk kid.
He said nothing back.
Maybe he hadn’t heard her sigh, she guessed.
Thank god, she thought to herself when she caught a glimpse of him. Spying on him from the corner of her eye, she tried not to look obvious doing it.
Her first impression was: evil gang-banger. The fact alone that he wore baggy clothes spelled trouble and meant he was likely no good. But then again, she realized, all the boys wore baggy clothes nowadays. The girls: unbelievably tight clothes, the little whores.
Etched in the window glass, she eyed a piece of graffiti. All the money spent on the light rail, to help people get around easier, improve their lives and the environment, some asshole writes graffiti on the train.
Some asshole like him, Brandy figured.
She wished Honda hadn’t recalled their airbags. Then she wouldn’t be in this mess, standing next to this devil. How much longer would it take Honda to fix her car, she wondered? Was that fire in his eyes? Did she actually see flames? And tiny horns?
How much longer must she put up with public transportation?
If it wasn’t her car getting recalled, it was always something.
From the creator of the groundbreaking crime-fiction magazine THUGLIT comes…DIRTY WORDS.The first collection from award-winning short story writer, Todd Robinson.Featuring:SO LONG JOHNNIE SCUMBAG – selected for The Year's Best Writing 2003 by Writer's Digest.The Derringer Award nominated short, ROSES AT HIS FEET.THE LONG COUNT – selected as a Notable Story of the Year in Best American Mystery Stories 2005.PLUS eight more tales of in-your-face crime fiction.
Boo Malone lost everything when he was sent to St. Gabriel's Home for Boys. There, he picked up a few key survival skills; a wee bit of an anger management problem; and his best friend for life, Junior. Now adults, Boo and Junior have a combined weight of 470 pounds (mostly Boo's), about ten grand in tattoos (mostly Junior's), and a talent for wisecracking banter. Together, they provide security for The Cellar, a Boston nightclub where the bartender Audrey doles out hugs and scoldings for her favorite misfits, and the night porter, Luke, expects them to watch their language.
В новом томе собрания сочинений классика бельгийской литературы Реймона Жана Мари де Кремера, более известного под литературными именами Жан Рэй, Джон Фландерс и Гарри Диксон, вошли девять повестей из его почти неизвестного за пределами Бельгии цикла. Цикл посвящен приключениям потомка одного из эпизодических героев Артура Конан Дойля, упомянутого в рассказах о Шерлоке Холмсе — профессора Джо Белла. Перед нами новый герой, шестнадцатилетний Эдмонд Белл, столь же юный, как Рультабий из «Тайны желтой комнаты» Гастона Леру, столь же проницательный и столь же блистательный.
В причудливый узор сплетаются судьбы героев романа: адвоката-красавицы Тамары, безнадежно влюбленного в нее аналитика Боба, оперативника Вохи и бизнесмена Виктора Новака. Любовь, ненависть, соперничество, случайные встречи и взаимные обиды связывают этих людей, а объединяет единая цель: поиск серийного убийцы. «Несчастный случай» — так называется новый роман, раскрывающий обстоятельства пятого дела из серии «Тройная защита». Прошло несколько лет после смерти мужа Тамары Макса, друга и коллеги Боба и Вохи.
Летними вечерами в дачном поселке собиралась дружная компания хороших знакомых – пока к ним не присоединились новые соседи. Это неприятные, грубые люди – сильно пьющий художник Денис, его вульгарная супруга Иричка и ее тихая, незаметная сестра Зина. Как-то вечером, когда компания сидела во дворе, нарядная Иричка прошла мимо, небрежно помахав присутствующим, а вскоре ее труп нашли в ближайшем овраге…Полиция начала расследование, но соседи решили не оставаться в стороне и попросили Олега Монахова, называющего себя ясновидящим и волхвом, присоединиться к поискам убийцы в частном порядке…
Литературный клуб библиотеки имени Александра Грина славится активной литературно-светской жизнью: яркие презентации, встречи с незаурядными творческими личностями, бурные дискуссии, милейшие дружеские посиделки. На одном из таких вечеров происходит убийство. Личность погибшего, склочника и скандалиста, не вызывает особых симпатий тесного клубного кружка, однако какое несмываемое пятно на безупречной репутации библиотеки! Таня Нестерова, соратница, подруга и заместитель директора Бэллы Мироновой, понимает, что полиции с разгадкой не справиться: убийца не случайный гость «со стороны», а кто-то из ближнего круга, а причина убийства кроется в глубине запутанного клубка тайных любовных связей, ненависти, предательства и уязвленного самолюбия.
Политическая ситуация на Корейском полуострове близка к коллапсу. В высших эшелонах власти в Южной Корее, Японии и США плетется заговор… Бывших разведчиков не бывает — несмотря на миролюбивый характер поездки в Пхеньян, Артем Королев, в прошлом полковник Генштаба, а ныне тренер детской спортивной команды, попадает в самый эпицентр конфликта. Оказывается, что для него в этой игре поставлены на карту не только офицерская честь и судьба Родины, но и весь смысл его жизни.