Shred of Evidence

The usual collection of tale mongers had their tongues in hyper overdrive when Randall Weeks walked into Sid’s Diner. He weaved his way through the chatter, sitting down in his regular spot, just as Sid’s wife, Ruby, placed a cup of coffee on the counter in front of him.

“What’s got everyone in an uproar today?” asked Randall, shaking a cigarette out of his pack. Flicking his lighter, he watched the flame torch the end, then grinned as he saw Sid clutch his stomach and run to the men’s room.

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It is a little before dinnertime when they approach my rented cart, the woman and her baby boy, the woman winding her way through the crowded mall while the baby squirms in her arms. She looks like she needs a place to rest. Her little one throws himself to the side and I see shoes on his feet; clearly he wants to be allowed to walk, but his mother, she will not allow it. Maybe because there are too many shoppers, this evening a week before Christmas.

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“Liquidity.”

The voice came from the darkness near my feet. “What?”

“That’s your problem, Luke. Liquidity.” I felt Clay shift next to me. “A man sticks a gun in your face and asks for money it’s best to have some to give him.”

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Rick lives in Duluth, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta, with his wife and two sons. Numerous websites and magazines, including Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine and Futures Mysterious Anthology, have published his short stories. Writing since a teenager, his work includes dozens of mysteries, humorous pieces, and dark tales. Two novels, Family Ties and Shadows of the Past are currently seeking a home while work continues on a third.

Samples of Rick’s work-in-progress are available for enjoyment and critique at http://writing.com/authors/rnoetzel.

“There’s Hope in one mile,” he said.

“I’m not going to make it.” She leaned over and retched on the carpet. “Sorry about the car.”

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Linda Hanson enjoys reading flash and writing short. A Mike Holiday story can be found at MystericalE and she has an upcoming piece at Muzzle Flash.

I was driving my taxi down the street, eyes open for a fare, any fare, even short haul, because there was nothing coming over the radio from dispatch. The weather was unseasonably warm for that late in the fall; dry too, so there was no rain or cold wind pushing people into cabs. The moon was bright, there was a gentle breeze, and folks were more inclined to enjoy the evening by taking a leisurely stroll to wherever they were going.

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Todd Cameron lives in Vancouver, Canada. He has a story in the summer issue of Demolition, and another accepted for the winter issue of Spinetingler.

I’m sure you know the feeling…the chill in the neck when you glance over your shoulder and realize you’re being followed. When no matter how many side alleys you turn into and how much you speed up or slow down, the same shady silhouette remains forty feet or so behind.

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Kajsa Wiberg is a freelance writer, translator, and horse trainer. Her stories have appeared in The River Walk Journal, Long Story Short, Prose Toad, Chick Lit Review, Flash Shot, and Insolent Rudder. She is a script reader for Blue Cat Screenplay and a book reviewer for Eclectica. She lives in Cardiff-by-the-Sea, CA, where she’s at work on her second novel.