~ Spotlight ~
THE POWER OF LUCK. Your luck can change in an instant. A flip of a coin can ruin a life, or change it for the better. But is luck real? A random blip in the space time continuum? The wrath or favor of a higher power? Is it magic? Is it just a matter of numbers and probability? Can it be controlled? Luck is elusive, a mystery wrapped in an enigma. Luck is Relative. Good luck. Bad luck. Hard luck. Your luck can run out, or you can luck out. Is luck truly a lady? TAKE A CHANCE... With these thirteen tales of horror, fantasy, science fiction, and everything in between as talented writers from every conceivable genre weave tales of luck. What it means to them, and more importantly, the world at large. Tales by Trent Zelazny, Jessica McHugh, Matt Schiariti, Sarah A. Hoyt, Brady Allen, Danielle Ackley-McPhail, Patrick Thomas, Robert E. Waters, g. Elmer Munson, Diane Raetz, Georgina Morales, John L. French, and Michael Laimo. The odds of reading a great story are in your favor. But the age old question remains... do you feel lucky? |
~ Excerpt ~
A Dollar and a Scream by Matt Schiariti
Mike replayed the conversation over in his head as he waited outside for his cab. A fine sheen of sweat clung to his skin, amplifying the chilliness in the dusk air.
After the trial, he’d met Fortunato at the criminal’s Italian bistro in the heart of the city, a known mob front and money laundering operation. Mike spent more than his fair share of hours working defenses for Fortunato’s various employees, each of whom was guiltier than the last.
“So you see,” Fortunato said after he took a sip of Midori, “I’m in a bit torn, Mikey. While I’m glad you have once again shown that Lady Justice favors the righteous and have restored my good name to its gleaming luster, it still doesn’t get you off the hook.”
The room was small, smelled of rich coffee and garlic, and was kept in perpetual semi-darkness. Soft light thrown from the candle at the center of the table flickered in the mobster’s eyes, giving him a demonic appearance. Mike shifted in his seat and swallowed the lump in his throat.
“By my recollection,” Fortunato continued, “you’re still into us for about eighty grand. I like the ponies as much as the next guy, but, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey!” He shook his head. “You really need to get that gambling problem under control. Your wife didn’t exactly leave you with an overabundance of expendable income, know what I mean?”
“Tony… I mean, Anthony. Time. I need more time. Just a few more weeks. That’s all I ask. How many of your hoods have I gotten off over the years? You owe—”
Fortunato’s glare made Mike shrink farther into his seat. “Owe? I don’t owe you shit, Mikey. You’ve been paid top dollar for your services. Is it my fault you couldn’t’ keep it in your pants? Is it my fault you piss money away on horses?” He finished off his drink, placed the glass down with a slight clink. “I like you. I really do. But even I got a boss. Eight grand is alotta cake. I can only cover you for so long. You have two weeks. That’s the best I can do. If my boss had his way? You’d be in a landfill in Staten Island right now, but I stuck up for ya. ‘No, no, no, Monty,’ I says. ‘Mikey’s a good guy.’” Fortunato sat back and burped. “Friendship and services rendered will only to so far, know what I’m sayin’? Hey, it’s nothing personal.”
Naw, nothing personal, Mike thought. It’s just my goddamn life. “Right. Yeah. I understand, Anthony. Nothing personal.” Anthony led Mike to the front door, a large arm wrapped around his shoulders. “Business is business. Not a thing I can do about it. My words to God’s ears,” he said, making the sight of the cross. “Hey, there’s always the lottery, right?”
Now, as the cab pulled up, the reality of the situation hit Mike in the chest. Where the hell was he going to come up with that much money in two weeks?
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