A Way With Murder

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A WAY WITH MURDER “A Side Order of Justice,” by Michael M. Alvarez. Andy extracted a large manila envelope from inside his jacket. He laid it on the table between them. “Did you hear about the little girl who was found in the arroyo last weekend? Her name was Vicky Bonillas.” Nick stared at the envelope but didn´t touch it. “I heard something about it on the news.” Andy nodded sadly. “She was only eight, Nick. A child, a baby. Some subhuman decided to do things to her, terrible things and then kill her so she would never tell anyone.”“An Eye for an Eye,” by Michael M. Alvarez. Let´s begin.” The Chief Executioner wore a black hood that entirely covered his face. His voice was as hard and cold as a gravestone. “A jury of your peers has found you guilty as charged and sentenced you to the exact same fate as that of your victim—you will be physically beaten until you are dead. This state execution will be carried out tomorrow morning at dawn, as required by law. Do you have anything to say?” “I am innocent. I did not kill my son.” The Chief Executioner nodded. “Your words have been noted.” He turned to the guards. “Take the prisoner back to his cell.”“Martha’s Fancy,” by Pearl Gladwyn Burk. The light of dawn was just entering through the bent slats of the venetian blinds when they were awakened by loud knocking on the door. Pushing her arms into the sleeves of her faded blue chenille bathrobe, Martha ran to the door in her bare feet. “Coming. I´m coming,” she called. “Just give me a minute.” Peeking through the peephole, she saw several black uniforms standing in the open door of Sally´s apartment. “Police officers. We´d like to talk to you.” “I told you, Spud. I told you somethin´ happened. I just knew it.” “Another Perfect Day in Paradise,” by Bill Capron Is there anything more useless than a live weatherman? Is it murder when the weatherman is killed? Christy Davos pointed at the door with its No Admittance sign. It had one of those coded keypads. She turned on a monitor behind her desk. “You ever work with weathermen?” she asked. “No, never met one either.” “Yes, well, they´re not real people. We pay them to do nothing but read and pose.” Then the the slow talking, verbal mangling top weather guy, was found dead that afternoon. And Christy Davos was in jail. “Bang Bang, You’re Dead,” by Stella Clancy A shot rang out, then another, and I dropped. I slumped against a large rock and watched a thin stream of blood open a wedge in the dirt. The shot had grazed my arm, and were it not for the helicopter, I was sure my assailant would have given it another try. Whoever he or she was, had by now, taken off into the desert. I had lost a lot of blood and was weak and a little crazy. “The Last Time I Saw Marissa,” by Claudia Cole The time came when we couldn’t see each other at work. Marissa said people were talking, it might get back to Larry. “He’s real mean,” she warned me. She told me about the time he took the gun from under the driver’s seat and held it to her head and clicked on an empty chamber. “I swear I thought I was dead,” she said. “I didn’t know he’d removed the bullets. He always keeps it loaded.” She asked me if I knew anything about guns. I could see the terror in her eyes. I told her I’d never held a gun. “The Web in the Woods,” by Carol Delattre Don Allen, looking pale and frightened, walked into the Wagon Wheel out on the highway. “Hey, Joe, give me beer and a whiskey,” he said in a trembling voice. “Make it a double.” “What in hell happened to you?” Joe said. Don was silent as he drank his beer and downed his double. “Hit me again,” he said sliding the shot glass over to the bartender. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “Worse,” Don said “Argentine and the Man in Black,” by Carla Jean Eardley Argentine takes another biscuit. “It´s all so romantic,” she sighs. “Here´s you, dashin´ all ove

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