This novella is a new age gangster story. It appeared in two parts in the online magazine The Fortean Bureau, in the September and October 2004 issues.
The beach along that stretch is shallow for a long ways out, and at low tide you can walk on the wet, packed sand like you’re walking on a mirror. So we’d stand on our reflections and we’d tell Johnny N. how the day’s errands had gone, and he’d tell us our assignments for the next day– all petty stuff, mostly he was just running a protection racket, nothing heavy, and it’d been years since anybody challenged anybody else’s turf. Hell, most of the local bosses were married to each other’s sisters and would trade off who had whom over to dinner on Sunday afternoons. It was real quiet, a sleepy scene. Course all that would change when the next generation stepped in– and it’d get pretty bloody ’til one of the cousins finally came out on top. Bodies washing up under the arcade piers, that kind of thing. Bad scene, and very bad for business, once the papers got a hold of it and the tourists started staying away. But that was years away– the summer I’m talking about, those cousins were still tearing up and down the boardwalk on their banana-seat bikes. Meanwhile, me and Dean and Neptune Slim and Johnny Nemo, we were taking our evening constitutional up the beach in our snap-brims and wide ties and baggy suits, looking like old-time forties gangsters even though it was 1977.
Friday, December 28th, 2007 at 12:58 pmand is filed under Fiction Excerpt. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.