Tài liệu Bluewood Author Showcase Anthology 2011 pdf

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Coupe De Merci
An assassin falls for his intended mark. Can a killer find redemption in the arms of a
woman or is it all smoke and mirrors?
Deborah McNemar
Deborah McNemar’s lifelong love of romance, fantasy and science fiction have finally
comingled beyond redemption. Living in a small town in North Dakota, she divides her time
between writing, her family and her small herd of Dachshunds. Now a Grandmother, life is
only getting better.
You can find Deborah’s books at:
http://www.bluewoodpublishing.com/Authors/DeborahMcNemar.php
Nick took another swig of his beer, his gray eyes roving the bar. She would be here, he
told himself. Sweet little Felicity would never break a promise to a friend even if it was
something as simple as meeting for a drink after work. She was so cheerfully honest. It shone
from her like an inner light. So innocent. So gullible.
His beer was getting warm. On the jukebox, Godsmack rasped about needing serenity.
The gravel-rough voice edged into his calm.
When the original e-mail to the feds had been intercepted, his boss had thought it a fluke,
a curiosity that would soon be forgotten. So, the numbers didn’t add up. Numbers seldom did
what you wanted unless you were a bookkeeper. So what if this junior secretary for an
antiques distributor could do simple math? It meant nothing.
And this assignment smelled all wrong.
Antiquities were a dicey business at best. These particular pieces had been sold for far
less than they were worth, but that meant nothing. The woman didn’t have access to the real
accounts where the full payment for the shipment had been logged. She had no way of
knowing the Mayan figurines were actually fakes used to transport cocaine into the country.
She was as ignorant as she was innocent.
She was late. Nick swore under his breath and took another swig of beer. Felicity was
dependable to a fault, something he had discovered over the last two weeks. If she were going
to be late, she would have called. Something had happened.
Nick’s stomach clenched. He hadn’t meant to get this close to her. It was taboo for
someone in his profession to allow his emotions to get tangled in his business. But this had
been out of his control from the first time he had laid eyes on her.
“Nick!”
Felicity waved at him as she came through the door. It must be raining again. Tiny
droplets littered on her cheeks and lashes as she slid into the booth beside him. She smelled of
rain and vanilla. He wanted to lean over and lick the water from her skin. He stifled the urge
with another long pull on his beer.
He had a thing for petite brunettes. Felicity stood barely four inches over five feet in her
stocking feet. She wore her dark hair long and straight. Her body was slim with full breasts
and delicate bones, a dichotomy of lush and fragile that tempted him as no woman had in
years. She liked plain clothes that didn’t draw attention and high-heeled shoes. Every time he
saw her, he had to fight the urge to bundle her up and stick her in his pocket where he could
keep her safe. His very own pocket Venus.
“You aren’t going to believe what I found today,” she told him as she settled her purse
beside her and shook back her hair. Her dark eyes sparkled up at him. She was wearing silk
today. The deep burgundy color was rich against her peaches and cream skin. Nick’s eyes
followed the curve of her blouse where it dipped modestly over her breasts, her words barely
registering. He toyed with the long neck of the beer bottle.
“That CD you wanted,” she continued, her smile as bright as a spring morning. “I went to
lunch with Jeannie and there it was.” She produced the old Queen CD with a flourish and laid
it in front of him.
“Since when do you have lunch in a music store?”
Damn. It was going to be hard enough to do what he had to do without her being nice to
him. It was just his luck that nice was Felicity’s permanent setting. She didn't even seem to
PMS.
“Since it’s right next door to the coffee shop where we always eat,” she returned with a
puckish grin. “Jeannie was looking for some Barry Manilow.”
Nick shuddered at the thought and was rewarded by Felicity’s laugh. There was a lull in
the music as the jukebox flipped to the next song and some country singer began admonishing
them to save a horse, ride a cowboy.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he reprimanded, keeping his tone mild.
“It’s what friends do,” she argued as the waitress brought her a soda and a glass of ice.
“You offered to help me out with my computer and won’t take money for it. Just call this
making things even. Okay?”
Making things even. He took another long pull of his beer to cover his discomfort. He
had made the offer as a way to get into her house and check out what she had on her PC
without her being any the wiser. She thought he was a computer tech. She had no idea what
his real occupation was. He eyed the curve of her hip under the sleek fitting skirt as she
reached for a napkin. He wished he were a tech. He would love to interface with her software.
“You still having that lag in your server?” he asked to fill the moment.
“Yeah.” She poured her soda into the glass, watching it foam over the ice. “It takes
forever to load anything. I cleared my cache thingy and did that defragmenter thing, too, just
like you said. It helped but it’s still lagging badly.”
“Do you still want me to look at it?” he asked on cue.
“If you have time tonight, I would really appreciate it.” She smiled up at him, beautifully,
stupidly grateful.
Nick swallowed the bitterness that rose in his throat. He was a professional. He wasn’t
going to be sidetracked by a pair of doe eyes and soft breasts. If she knew anything real about
the operation, he would eliminate her. That was the reality of his life and he was paid too well
to get distracted now.
“Dance with me,” she said. The jukebox had fallen quiet but there was an older man
dropping quarters and searching the song list.
“You don’t even know what the song is going to be,” he protested, laughing.
“I don’t care.” Felicity slid from the booth and grabbed his hand, tugging him after her.
He went, as obedient as a puppy. “I’ve wanted to dance with you since the first day I met
you.”
He could dance with her without getting too close, Nick told himself as they wove
through the tables toward the dance floor. Dancing didn’t involve touching, which in turn
would keep him from wanting things he couldn’t have. As they reached the parquet floor, the
first strains of piano floated to them and Nick swore under his breath. A slow dance.
Felicity moved into his arms as if she had been made to fit there. Even in heels, her head
didn’t quite come to his shoulder. It didn’t seem to bother her. She only snuggled closer,
laying her head over his heart and wrapping her arms around his waist. Nick forced himself to
breathe as he rested his hands on her hips and they began to sway to the music.
Desperado, why don’t you come to your senses? You’ve been out riding fences for so
long now. Oh, you’re a hard one, but I know that you’ve got your reasons. These things that
are pleasing you can hurt you somehow.
Felicity was singing. Her voice, slightly husky, caressed his ears like an angel’s whisper.
It felt as if fate were somehow talking to him, tempting him. Tonight, with this woman, the
words of the song held a painful truth.
Don’t you draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy. She’ll beat you if she’s able. The Queen of
Hearts is always your best bet. Now, it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon
your table, but you only want the ones that you can’t get.
He could have her, Nick realized. He could take her to bed and indulge his every fantasy.
After she fell asleep, he could rifle her PC. He didn’t have to deny himself. She was hardly
computer literate enough to know if he had touched anything. On the jukebox, the Eagles
continued their lament.
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses? Come down from your fences, open the
gate. It may be raining, but there's a rainbow above you. You better let somebody love you…
You better let somebody love you before it's too late.
As the last strains of the song hung in the air, Felicity sighed, her breasts pressing against
him in a caress that set his blood pulsing hot and thick in his veins. Her eyes were soft and
luminous with something that tempted him beyond reason. As Gretchen Wilson began
informing the bar that she was here for the party, Nick followed Felicity without a word. She
gathered her purse, dropped some bills on the table for their drinks and led him outside into
the softly falling rain.
* * * *
The numbers on the clock beside the bed read 2 AM. Nick lay still, staring at the ceiling.
Felicity was curled next to him, her tiny hand resting on his chest. For a relative innocent, she
had been the most incredible experience of his life. For a moment, he indulged in the fantasy
of waking up this way every morning with this woman beside him, of a dog and a house and a
regular job. Felicity sighed, shifting in her sleep, and the pleasant little bubble burst. His boss
would never let him go. He had seen others turn state’s evidence and vanish into witness
protection only to turn up dead on the six o’clock news months later.
With care, Nick slipped from the bed and tugged on his jeans, leaving them unfastened.
Padding on bare feet, he crept from the room, pulling the door almost shut behind him. The
click of the latch might wake her up and he didn’t need her walking in on him while he
worked.
Her computer sat on her desk in the corner, a standard PC with a flat screen monitor. She
didn’t have a web cam, he noted absently. She didn’t care to surf the web for companionship,
it seemed. Ignoring the pleased buzz that information gave him, Nick turned on the computer
and waited for it to boot up. There was probably nothing here to find. Felicity wasn’t
computer literate enough to hack her way through the encrypted files to the only information
that would link his boss to the cocaine shipments. But the e-mail had been sent from this
computer, not her terminal at work.
Giovanni Bartonelli ran one of the largest syndicates in the Chicago area. Drugs were
only a small part of his operation, but they were lucrative. He had several drop points like this
antiquities dealer here in Seattle spread across the country. Purchases of artifacts and artwork
were made through corporate fronts and never the same one twice in a year. Names were
guarded by top of the line security and were changed often to throw off any snoopers. The
majority of the people who worked for him never knew what they shipped.
Nick had been a bouncer in a bar in New York when Bartonelli had found him. After
Nick had stiff-armed one of the big man’s bodyguards into the street during an altercation,
Bartonelli had offered him a job. The pay had been too good to pass up. He had gone from
protection to elimination in less than five years and the pay was even better. He had never had
a problem killing his marks. Most were dealers who got greedy or leeches who refused to pay
up. Hardly something to lose sleep over.
The screen flashed to her desktop and the icons appeared. Her wallpaper turned out to be
the Phantom of the Opera reflected in an old, pockmarked mirror. Nick grinned. So, she liked
dangerous, psychotic men, did she? Cute. With a glance at the darkened hallway, he got to
work.
Accessing her computer’s memory was no problem. She had no safeguards to speak of.
She had cleared her cache but not the history. Nick scrolled through the information, looking
for any sign that she did more than a bit of Internet shopping. She liked shoes and books. She
had paid her power bill online this afternoon. Still, he couldn’t afford to be careless.
He found it by accident, a link to a website he had never heard of. Out of curiosity, he
connected to the Internet and entered the link into the browser.
As the page loaded, Nick sat back in the chair, a chill running over him. It was all there.
Off shore bank account numbers, names of suppliers in South America and even a shockingly
complete list of corporate fronts and the names of the men who ran them. Felicity had
somehow managed to find Bartonelli’s personal accounts.
What the hell was Bartonelli thinking putting all this stuff on the web? Nick’s fingers
flew over the keys. He had to alter the files, he thought feverishly. No one could know what
she had found. He couldn’t kill her. He had known that the moment he had walked into her
house tonight. He could kill scum without blinking an eyelash but not Felicity. She didn’t
deserve that.
Hands grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms and body to the chair. Nick swore,
kicking off from the desk to break their hold. The chair flipped over backwards and he landed
hard. He heard the men grunt but they retained their hold. There were five of them. There was
a prick in his arm, a sharp pain and then lethargy took hold.
Felicity stood over him, a syringe in her hand. She wore only a silk robe. He could see
the puckered outline of her nipples through the thin material. The men used duct tape to
secure him to the chair but it was unnecessary. Nick couldn’t move. He couldn’t find the
strength to lift a finger.
“Oh, Nick,” she whispered as she knelt beside him. “I hoped they were wrong about you.
But you had to go and try to cover that bastard Bartonelli’s ass and prove them right. It
doesn't matter what you've done to those files. The feds already have the information.”
“Why?” It was hard to force the word from between his lips. That strange lethargy was
spreading through him fast and he wondered how long he had before he passed out.
“Andre Lemarou.”
The name hit Nick hard. Andre Lemarou had been a computer security whiz kid who had
tried to opt out of his position with Bartonelli last year. Nick had been sent to eliminate the
threat before he turned over any information to the feds. He had done the job with his normal
clean efficiency. The kid had never known what hit him.
“Brother?”
Felicity shook her head. “He was my husband and I loved him very much.”
Nick closed his eyes in defeat. He had made the kill quick and clean, but that would
hardly matter to the widow. The first bitter trickle of admiration rose in him. She, a relative
novice, had played him like a pro.
“The Feds have enough information to bury Bartonelli. But you…” She gave a lithe twist
of her shoulders. “You were mine, not theirs. From the moment you pulled that trigger, you
belonged to me.”
She stroked a finger over his cheek, her beautiful eyes dark and serene. “Andre died
painlessly compared with the others who’ve crossed Bartonelli in the past. Thank you for
that.”
She knew it had been him. It didn't matter how she had found out. She had known and
she had still crawled into that bed with him and spread her legs. It was the oldest trick in the
book and he had fallen for it. Fury sparked through him, but he was helpless. He tried to fight
the tape, but he couldn’t budge. He could only glare up at her, panting.
“You’re going to die of a heroin overdose,” she told him. “I will grant you the same
mercy you showed Andre. Your kindness has won you a painless death. Coup de merci,
Nicco.”
Leaning over him, Felicity pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. Touching his face with gentle
fingers, she rose and vanished out of his sight. The scent of vanilla lingered in his nose as the
world went dark.
Bogeyman
Jason and his Pa like to tease Mary about the Bogeyman. Has she got a surprise for them.
Tony Butler
Tony Butler was born in 1942 and lives with his wife, Sue and their daughter Katherine.
Even as a child he was an avid reader and his Saturday mornings would be spent in
Wolverhampton Public Library.
Tony, a professional magician since 1970, began writing routines and patter for other
magicians and one-line gags for comedians.
Today, he is better known as Clown Zozo and is the four times winner of Nottingham
Guild of Magicians’ Best children’s Magic Act competition.
His love of reading led to him to volunteer as a ‘Buddy Reader’ at his local school,
helping slow readers to develop their reading skills. As a direct result of his mentoring, his
protégé’s advanced their reading age by an average of two-years. He was chosen as
Derbyshire’s Buddy Reader of the year and also received a presentation from The Times
Education Supplement, for ‘Hero of the Week’.
He has also written and broadcast a series of ‘Morning Thoughts’ for BBC Radio Derby
and his short stories regularly win writing competitions.
He has attended the residential Writers’ Summer School, held annually at Swanwick,
Derbyshire, for five consecutive years. During this period, after being encouraged to write a
novel for young readers, The Awakening, which became Merlin’s Granddaughter, was
published as an e-book, by an American publisher, The same company also published Tony’s
eighteen part series, Lord of the Woods (Robin Hood of Nottingham)
Tony has been a member of Eastwood Writers’ Group for twelve years and served as
Secretary, Treasurer, and Chairman. He is also a member of Nottingham Writers’ Club, where
he served as Secretary and Prose Competition Secretary.
As an anthropogenic global warming cynic, Tony researches, writes and publishes
articles debunking what he describes as the biggest load of pseudo, scientific bunkum ever
inflicted upon mankind.
Tony’s books can be found at:
http://www.bluewoodpublishing.com/Authors/TonyButler.php
“The Bogeyman’s coming to get you!” thirteen-year-old Jason, Mary’s stepbrother
mocked. Six-year-old Mary felt tears of anger spring into her eyes. She hated him. He‘d
gotten most of the kids at school teasing her too. She hated Jason and his Pa, Mac; her
mother’s new husband. Now, here she was, stuck with the pair of them. It just wasn’t fair.
It was not her Ma’s fault though, Mary realised that. When her mother was around, Mac
was as nice as good old apple pie, and then some. As for Jason, he would never dare to tease
Mary about her fear of the dark when her Ma was here. No, they were both too darn clever for
that. They waited until Ma was out shopping or getting her hair done, or something, like now,
before starting on her.
“Hey! Now, leave Mary, be,” Mac said, winking at Jason. “She can’t help being a
scaredy-cat who’s afeared of the dark.” His grin was replaced with a sly smile when he turned
towards her. “You take no notice of him, honey, and get yourself on up to bed. I’ll be up to
turn off your light later.”
Mary swallowed hard. Ma wouldn’t be back until the morning. Two days ago she’d gone
to visit Grandma who was sick, and Ma was staying over for another night.
“Please can I have my night-light?” she asked. Her Ma had bought her this cute night-
light shaped like Bugs Bunny, despite Mac saying she treating her like a baby. That’s why
Jason was winding her up. Bugs Bunny had been removed from its socket in the wall of her
bedroom and was now lying on top of the television.
Mac’s face took on a look of regret. “I’m sorry, Mary, but you’re six now and not a baby
anymore. There are no monsters in your bedroom and the night-light stays where it is. Now
get yourself up to bed like I’ve told you, before I whip your butt.”
Mary turned towards the stairs. Mac wasn’t joking; he’d whipped her ass just a few days
ago and had warned her afterwards that he’d take the skin off it next time, if she ever
complained to her Mum. The whipping hadn’t been the worse part though, that had come
later, when he woke her in the middle of the night to rub some cream into her butt.
“It will take the soreness away,” he whispered hoarsely, making her recoil from his
breath, which stank of beer. It had taken him an awful long time to massage the liniment into
her butt and he was breathing funny, like someone with asthma. That had been really scary.
She paused outside her bedroom. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and eased
the door open a fraction. “One,” she whispered to herself. “Two…Three!”
On the count of three, she shot her arm through the crack in the door and flicked on the
light. Something darted under the wardrobe and she heard Jason’s voice in her mind.
“The Bogeyman’s gonna get you,” he’d whispered in her ear. “He’s going to squeeze
your throat shut until your tongue’s poking right the way out and bite it off, so you can’t
scream or anything. Then he’ll eat you, an arm and a leg at a time, before slicing open your
tummy with his fingernails and sucking up your guts like spaghetti. You’ll drown in your own
blood. Boy, am I glad that it’s not me the Bogeyman’s after.”
She stepped backwards away from the door and bumped into something big and solid.
Turning, she found herself looking up into Mac’s angry face.
“What in tarnation are you doing, girl?” he snapped. “Get in there and haul your butt into
bed, or I’m gonna take my belt to you, and that’s a promise.”
“Go on, Dad,” Jason appeared at the top of the stairs. “Whip her butt for her. I’ll hold her
arms again, if you like.”
“That never happened, boy! You got that? It never happened. Right?”
“Sure, Pa. Whatever you say but it didn’t look like no big deal or anything to me.”
“That’s as mebbee, but I don’t think Mary’s gonna need another whipping. Ain’t that
right, Mary?”
Mary nodded quickly and slipped into her room. It was better to be killed and eaten by
the Bogeyman, than being whipped again.
She couldn’t see him anywhere of course but then he was very good at hiding, she knew
that. She undressed, pulled on her pyjamas and slipped quickly into bed, before Mac or Jason
barged their way into her room.
The door opened and Mac smiled nastily at her, his hand already reaching for the light
switch. Behind him and peering over his Pa’s shoulder, Jason grinned at her and slid his
forefinger across his throat.
“I’m going to the tavern for a few beers and a game of cards,” Mac said. “Jason will be
right here so there ain’t nothing for you to worry yourself about. I don’t want to hear anymore
talk about no damned Bogeyman. You got that?”
Mary nodded. He switched off the light and she could only watch as the door closed
behind him, shutting out the last of the light.
Her hand snaked under her mattress and she pulled out her mini flashlight as something
by the foot of her bed made a shuffling sound. Her heart racing, she pointed the flashlight
towards the sound and switched it on.
“Hi, Mary!” The thing standing on the end of her mattress was a gnome with a head that
looked larger than his body. His teeth were small triangles and looked terribly sharp. In it’s
hand was a big knife with a wavy blade. Without warning, he plunged it down into the
mattress and Mary barely managed to move her foot out of the way.
The creature laughed as though it was the best joke in the world. It pulled the knife free
and, using the mattress like a trampoline, it bounced up and down, screeching with laughter.
“Time to die,” he cackled, waving the knife and bouncing towards her. “The Bogeyman’s
coming to get you now.”
He leapt on top of her, straddling her while one of his hands clamped firmly over her
mouth. He raised the knife and brought it sweeping down.
Mary silently screamed for help.
From the side of her bed another hand shot out – a huge green hand. It caught the gnome-
thing’s wrist, and hurled it from Mary, into a corner of the room.
“I’m the Bogeyman, here, Troll,” the newcomer said. “Get out of this house before I get
really angry.”
In the beam of her flashlight the new monster loomed huge with green skin and a mouth
full of wicked looking teeth. Mary whimpered. She was making small sobbing sounds and
shaking and wondering how much longer she could…
“Hey, you’re okay now,” The monster said. “I never meant for you to see me, but you
asked for help and I…Anyway, hiding that flashlight was a pretty sneaky thing to do.” He sat
himself on the edge of her bed, picked up her glass of orange juice from the bedside table and
handed it to her. His other arm slid underneath her back and helped her to sit up.
“Have a drink of that and you’ll soon feel better,” he said.
Mary took the glass from him and took a swift drink. Je nodded at her and smiled.
“Aren’t you going to…?” she asked.
“What? Bite off your tongue and eat you?”
Mary nodded.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “That would be a really dumb thing to do, because then you’d
be dead and I’d be dead as well,” he said.
“What do you mean, you’d be dead as well?” The Bogeyman didn’t look half so scary
now. In fact he was quite cute, she thought.
“Well, I’m only what you made me,” he said. Picking up the flashlight, he shone it across
the room and onto a picture of the Incredible Hulk. “Recognise that skin, or perhaps those
teeth?” He played the flashlight onto her Taz doll. Mary looked at the Bogeyman’s skin and
teeth and frowned.
“But how…?”
“You made me, Mary. You created me in your mind. You took bits of all your favourite
characters and put them together to make your own Bogeyman. That’s how all us Bogeymen
are made—by someone’s imagination. That’s all I am—all I ever was. I’m whatever you want
me to be.”
“What about that troll—gnome—or whatever it is?”
“He won’t be back, but whoever dreamed him up must have sent him after you.”
“That would be Jason. He hates me.”
The Bogeyman climbed to his feet. “I gotta go now. You’re not scared of me anymore
and tomorrow you won’t even believe in me.”
“I will always believe in you,” Mary said. “I might not be scared of you but you’ll
always be my Bogeyman, no matter what. Trouble is, Jason’s going to get me someday and
when he does…”
Mary crept out of bed and onto the landing just in time to see Jason’s bedroom door
close. “The Bogeyman’s coming to get you, Jason,” she giggled quietly. There was a muffled
cry and when she pressed her ear against the door she heard the wet sound of tearing flesh,
followed by the sound of crunching bones.
She returned to her room and once in bed closed her eyes and concentrated. When she
opened her eyes again, the Troll was back and standing on her mattress.
“Hi, Trolly,” she said. “I’ll be getting rid of that stupid Bogeyman soon. Then you can go
and visit Mac, Jason’s Pa. I told you about him and he’ll be back from the Tavern, later.”
It grinned and bounced up and down on the bed. “You must be the best actress in the
world,” it said. “You almost had me fooled too, as well as that dumb Bogeyman.”
“I almost wrecked it though. I thought I was going burst into giggles.”
“The Bogeyman thought you were shaking in fear, not laughing. I still don’t figure why
you got me to tell you how to magic him up, and wouldn’t let me take care of Jason myself?”
“Because you’re real, Trolly. I didn’t dream you up, did I? Besides, I wanted Jason to
feel his arms being pulled right off. I know you could have made him scream, but you’re not
big enough to tear anyone’s arms off.”
“But you promised. I really do get to kill his Pa, and eat him?”
“Oh, yes, indeedy,” Mary said. “You get to suck up his beer-flavoured guts all right, and
you want to know the good part, Trolly? I know where almost all of the kids from school live.
Boy, are they in for a surprise when you go to visit.”