Nostalgia City Mysteries

Mark S. Bacon

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New flash fiction

Here’s another installment from Cops, Crooks & Other Stories in 100 Words.  Don’t forget that my other e-book, Mysteries and Murder, is available from Ether Books for convenient reading on your phone.

 

Never an Empty Seat at Maggie’s

“We don’t want to eat anywhere that’s empty,” said Jamie. “Let’s find a restaurant with lots of locals.”

“Here,” said Ty, parking their car. “This place is full.”

As they approached the hostess, they wondered if they’d have to wait.

“Just follow me,” she said.

As Jamie and Ty walked through the restaurant, they noticed that some of the customers were less than animated.

“Here’s a nice spot,” said the hostess. She dragged the two corpses that were seated at the table into a corner.

“No one comes into an empty restaurant,” she said. “So we keep the tables filled.”

New flash fiction

Here is another sample from Cops, Crooks and Other Stories in 100 Words.  Don’t forget that my other e-book, Mysteries and Murder, is available from Ether Books for convenient reading on your phone. Click on the book cover in the left-hand column.

Learning the Ropes

“It’s the job of law enforcement to spot con games,” said the old pro.  “And so you rookies gotta really know all the new cons and the old ones.  Me, I think you should focus on old ones like the KC shuffle and the bank examiner.”

“But doesn’t everyone know about those?” asked an eager student. “Don’t most crooks avoid those?”

“Hell no. These are the classics.  People fall all over themselves to give away their money.”

“Okay Blackie, we get it,” said one of the young men in the makeshift basement classroom.  “Anything else?”

“Yeah.  Don’t call us crooks.”

More flash fiction

This entry is a day late due–quoting an old-fashioned TV expression–to technical difficulties beyond my control.   I just returned from San Francisco where we visited three major museums picking up enough inspiration to last for months.

Inspiration for today’s sample comes in part from my first job in journalism.

 

Tank Towns

Blake steered his car down the country highway. On his forearm he wore a reminder of years past. He was taking his teenage son on a journey to explain who his father was. He owed him that, and more.

“Every little town we’ve been through has its own water tower,” said his son, Scott. “I see another one ahead. Is that where you used to live?”

Blake nodded.

As they approached the tower and the cluster of buildings around it, Scott read the lettering on the tank: “Centerville State Penitentiary.”

Blake involuntarily rubbed the prison tattoo on his arm.