The Best American Mystery Stories 2011

The Best American Mystery Stories 2011

Otto Penzler

Language: English

Pages: 432

ISBN: 054755396X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The Best American Mystery Stories 2011

Otto Penzler

Language: English

Pages: 432

ISBN: 054755396X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


The Best American Series®
First, Best, and Best-Selling

The Best American series is the premier annual showcase for the country’s finest short fiction and nonfiction. Each volume’s series editor selects notable works from hundreds of magazines, journals, and websites. A special guest editor, a leading writer in the field, then chooses the best twenty or so pieces to publish. This unique system has made the Best American series the most respected—and most popular—of its kind.

The Best American Mystery Stories 2011 includes

Lawrence Block, Brendan DuBois, Loren D. Estleman,
Beth Ann Fennelly and Tom Franklin, Ed Gorman, Richard Lange, S. J. Rozan,
Mickey Spillane and Max Allan Collins, and others

In the Jaws of Life and Other Stories (Writings from an Unbound Europe)

The Plummeting Old Women

The Sword & Sorcery Anthology

Year's Best SF 16

The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 13

The Best Time Travel Stories of the 20th Century

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

climbed in themselves. The soldiers lowered the back curtain and got into a smaller truck of their own. All this happened in eerie silence, not an order given or a protest voiced, in a country in which the smallest human encounter sent tsunamis of shouting and laughter through crowds of hundreds. We drove on. We witnessed the same scene over and over again. All over the city, beggars were being rounded up by troops. Our last stop was the Independence Hotel, my hotel, where I saw the beggars I

quite remember, a dream of the hidden faces in groups, in backyards, roaming. Bad things had happened. We'd started here and ended up here, on this floor, in the quiet of this small, forgotten, almost unidentifiable home. "What happened?" I'd ask Will Wilson then, my mouth hurting just to speak. And he'd sip beer. "Fuck you," he'd say, swallowing. "You know. You know what happened." "Hung over," I'd say, and close my eyes, touch them lightly with one hand, then another, pain shooting through

drove. He was the band's gadfly mystic, always wandering off on some oddball spirit craze, and he'd recently read somewhere that you ought to chant "Om" to get right with the cosmos. Apparently, though, he'd snagged some cross-signals, for the effort came out sounding like some rural Baptist dirge, hobbling along in waltz time. Chester almost asked for the radio, then reconsidered. Who knew what sort of ass-backward mojo you'd conjure, stopping a man midchant? They pulled over for food at an

back to life. "By the way," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the schoolgirls, 'just to settle my curiosity, what exactly is the difference between actual and sanctifying grace?" The priest studied him a moment, something in his eye reminding Chester of the brawler he'd known before, glazed with sweat and blood, a smoky light hazing the ring, smell of cigars and sawdust, all those redneck cheers. "You know about all the women being killed across the border, right? Worst of it's right here,

was the phase of the fucking moon. Whatever it was, after I killed the kid, I withdrew into myself. I stopped writing Evie. Stopped calling. I didn't figure I was worthy of her love on account of what I'd done. I'm pretty sure I was right on that count. I wanted to die. To disappear. And when a roadside bomb in Kandahar made chop suey of my unit, I saw my chance to do just that. Turned out it was easier than I expected. There was no formal inquiry into the bombing, no attempt to recover the

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