Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 41, No. 4, October 1977

He straightened the nylon rope between his hands. Applause. He rotated his right hand until the cord was wrapped once around it. Laughter. He did the same with his left hand. Johnny’s very funny tonight, he thought. He pulled at the rope. Yes. It’s strong enough.

Carefully, he took one step into the room. More laughter. He took another step. A new guest. Applause. Another step. Another.

“Hello, David.”

A sudden deadly silence pressed down on him. What happened to the applause? He looked at the television screen. It was a blank grey-green. The overhead light glared down on him like a spotlight. He swung around quickly to face the voice he had hoped was coming only from his imagination.

Marla stood in the doorway, smiling, her young body seemingly beckoning to him from beneath her thin lavendar gown. Her bare arms were smooth and tan, clear down to her hands, which gripped tightly onto a shiny black revolver. The dime-sized blackness pointing at him seemed the size of the barrel of a cannon, rather than a handgun.

“Marla,” he said. “Put down the gun.”

“You were going to kill me, weren’t you, David.”

“No. No,” he answered, quickly. “I was only going to scare you, that’s all.” He could feel beads of moisture forming on his forehead. “Put the gun away, Marla.”

“I’ve been expecting you, David,” she said, casually. “I knew you’d come tonight, after I threatened you today.”

“You’d be destroying my life, Marla. I’d be all washed up as a psychiatrist.” He looked down at the black menace in her hands. “But if you insist on turning me in, go ahead. I won’t stop you, Marla, I swear I won’t.”

Marla laughed “Don’t you understand yet, David? I had no intention of turning you in to anyone. I threatened to today so that you would come over and I could kill you.”

“You’ll never get away with it,” he said, feeling the perspiration trickle down his hairline. “Of course I will, David,” she said. “Who’s going to blame me for shooting a burglar. I mean, how was I to know it was just an ex-boyfriend sneeking into my apartment in the dark.” She smiled.

“As a matter of fact, David, you’ve made my story even more convincing. The gloves. The garrote. Even if I tell the police the lights were on and I knew it was you, they’ll understand why I shot you.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled again. “Self-defense.”

His hands were shaking. He swallowed hard and fought to push the words out past his thickened tongue. “But why, Marla? Why do you want to kill me?”

“Simple David. You are standing in our way.”

He turned around quickly to face the reeling chair, from which this voice had come. His last word, before the bullet hit him was “Helene!”

Cold Flight by Moss Tadrack

Life for Lynda was one sweet sleighride — those lovely trips to Mazatlan, with Jeff waiting for her when she got back and all that lovely money rolling in. Then Jeff told Lynda that the game was up and that from then on she would have to go it alone...

* * *

Lynda Penny felt chilled. Outside, 30,000 feet beneath the Aeronaves jet, Baja California baked. La Paz would be her first step, then the Transborador to Mazatlan would be her second.

“Like, Sweets, keep your cool!” Jeff’s warning had been specific. “We live in violence. You can’t escape violence. They’ll know you. They’ll follow you.”

“All the way?”

“Inch by inch.”

“Must I?”

His look expressed half disgust, half condescension. “You wanted it, didn’t you?”

Sipping her margarita she could almost, but not quite, forget what she had wanted. An apartment on Pacific Heights, with corresponding life-style, had sprung from dream to reality within the span of one year. Back then, the first few times, the cost had seemed so light, the danger so slight. Take a vacation in Mexico and get paid for it!

“A few ceramics. You could bring them back. It’s a gift for a friend.”

“I suppose so.” It had hardly seemed important.

A week after her return, Jeff Meadows had taken her out, first to Ernie’s, then to a show, then home to his pad.

“Sweets, I got something for you. Hold out your hand and close your eyes, and I’ll give you...”

She had never seen so much currency in her life. She held exactly two hundred one hundred dollar bills in the palm of her hand. It had taken her, as soon as she got back to her room, hours to count it. Never once in Wisconsin, never once in Appleton, had she imagined being so rich, having all to herself so much money.

“Jeff, what’s it for?”

“You’re better off not knowing.”

And she was better off not knowing. For a year, she didn’t ask, but then one night, angry with herself and angry with him, she insisted.

“Why... why twenty thousand each time?”