Many Wrong Turns, and One Right

Michael Reynolds of Europa Editions reports on International Crime Month!

“Living Fossil” by Ben Nadler

Shy and his cousin Adam stood thigh-deep in Jamaica Bay, grabbing horseshoe crabs by their long tails and throwing them into the boat. Shy tossed them gently; Adam swung them down hard. The moon was round and bright like a police searchlight, which scared Shy, but Adam had explained that horseshoe crabs came up on the shore to spawn during summer full moons, and this was the time to make their score . . .

Dylan Coleman Illustrates Reed Farrel Coleman’s “Jump”

Reed Farrel Coleman showed us a darker side of Coney Island with “Jump” for Mondays Are Murder. Now see Dylan Coleman’s original storyboard illustrations of the story.

Eric Boyd: Swimming Lessons

To celebrate the release of Prison Noir — the latest release in Akashic’s Noir Series and edited by National Book Award winner Joyce Carol Oates — we’re pleased to feature a guest post from contributor Eric Boyd, who gives insight into what it’s like to write while incarcerated.

“You Must Really Want It” by Marie S.

I woke up feeling cold this morning and the clouds were fighting their way in between the bedroom blinds that were left open in the middle of the night. I found my body naked and bent and I thought about Nicole duFresne and her star quality blonde hair and blue eyes and perfect teeth and I wondered how her hair and face and body fell onto the concrete ground on Rivington Street after she was shot in the chest by that nineteen-year-old boy . . .

“Death at a Farmer’s Market” by Adam Rosen

“How much is this?” the middle-aged man asked, irritated. He pointed a finger at a bunch of lacinato kale—fresh in, a chalk-marked sign indicated, from a farm outside Hickory. He had been waiting at the stand for five minutes, and was not about to wait a minute longer.

“Four-fifty,” said the man behind the table. He looked too old to still be farming, and he spoke softly. It was hard to hear him over the banjo playing nearby. The upright bass didn’t make it any easier. “That’s fresh in from Hick’ry.”

“That’s what the sign says!” replied the man as he stuffed two bunches into his tote. The WNCW logo covered the canvas bag in big blue letters that nobody could miss. “I usually do rainbow chard, but it’s disgusting this week. It looks like it’s from the SuperSaver.”

“Well, we’re the freshest,” said the farmer, smiling sweetly . . .

“Hell’s Spell” by Jeff Brewer

The last time we moved was because she said an ex of hers had shown up and zigzagged a razor through her wrists. The time before that she said a pair of meth heads broke in during the day and left her barely living after wrapping a shower curtain around her neck . . .

“Mother Seeks Connection” by Kevin Holohan

Deirdre stares around her at shelf after shelf of cell phones, earpieces, cell phone covers, holsters, and some strange metallic screen things she cannot explain. She rarely comes into town anymore and it took her twenty minutes to find the mall and fifteen more to find a parking space. She is still wearing her apron and only now notices it. She tears it off and unsuccessfully tries to cram it into her coat pocket on top of her car keys. She stuffs it under the display of luminous cell phone cases . . .