Fiction River: Risk Takers

By Fiction River

Money, business, sports, love: All involve risk—and skill. The skilled authors in this volume masterfully exhibit both. Buckle in while a locomotive engineer uses magic in a race to avoid extinction, a game developer must outmaneuver an alien for Earth’s fate, and an exterminator risks everything to go after some really big rats. Crossing genre lines through science fiction, fantasy, mystery, historical, and mainstream, these adrenaline-pumping stories about taking risks offer nothing but reward.

“... fans of the unconventional will be well satisfied.”
—Publishers Weekly on Fiction River: Pulse Pounders

“Fiction River: Fantastic Detectives is a great choice for anyone who loves it when genres are swirled together. It’s nominally more heavily influenced by mystery conventions and tropes, but the science fiction and fantasy elements in it are almost as strong.”
—Long and Short Reviews on Fiction River: Fantastic Detectives

Table of Contents
“Play the Man” by Dan C. Duval
“The F Factor” by Chrissy Wissler
“No Free Lunch” by Anthea Sharp
“Winning the Ocean Pearl” by T. D. Edge
“China Moll” by Cindie Geddes
“A Tale of Good Whiskey, Bad Coffee, and One Devious Woman” by Annie Reed
“Bucking the Tiger” by John Helfers & Kerrie Hughes
“The Messiah Business” by Robert T. Jeschonek
“Muggins Rules” by Russ Crossley
“Cost and Conscience” by Christy Fifield
“Side Baiting” by Phaedra Weldon
“Gambler’s Fallacy” by Brigid Collins
“The Man Who Decided” by Dean Wesley Smith
“Rats” by Kristine Kathryn Rusch
“Driving the Line” by Dan C. Duval
“Side Bet” by Lee Allred

• Language: English
• Publisher: WMG Publishing
• Release date: Mar 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311003195

Fiction River

Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch return to editing with a new anthology series featuring volumes that appear every two months. Each volume will have a different theme or genre, and often will have a different editor. Smith and Rusch will be the overall series editors, approving content. Fiction River will showcase some of the best fiction around, and will keep that standards that made their previous editing projects—Pulphouse Publishing and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction—the award-winning and genre-bending works that fans still discuss twenty years later.

Book preview

Copyright Information

Fiction River: Risk Takers

Copyright © 2015 by WMG Publishing

Published by WMG Publishing

Cover and Layout copyright © 2015 by WMG Publishing

Editing and other written material copyright © 2015 by Dean Wesley Smith

Cover art copyright © Agsandrew/Dreamstime

Cover design by Allyson Longueira/WMG Publishing

Foreword: The Art of the Deal copyright © 2015 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Introduction: A Degree of Risk copyright © 2015 by Dean Wesley Smith

Play the Man copyright © 2015 by Dan C. Duval

The F Factor copyright © 2015 by Christen Wissler

No Free Lunch copyright © 2015 by Anthea Sharp

Winning the Ocean Pearl copyright © 2015 by T. D. Edge

China Moll copyright © 2015 by Cindie Geddes

A Tale of Good Whiskey, Bad Coffee, and One Devious Woman copyright © 2015 by Annie Reed

Bucking the Tiger copyright © 2015 by John Helfers & Kerrie Hughes

The Messiah Business copyright © 2015 by Robert T. Jeschonek

Muggins Rules copyright © 2015 by Russ Crossley

Cost and Conscience copyright © 2015 by Christy Fifield

Side Baiting copyright © 2015 by Phaedra Weldon

Gambler’s Fallacy copyright © 2015 by Brigid Collins

The Man Who Decided copyright © 2015 by Dean Wesley Smith

Rats copyright © 2015 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Driving the Line copyright © 2015 by Dan C. Duval

Side Bet copyright © 2015 by Lee Allred

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Contents

Foreword: The Art of the Deal

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Introduction: A Degree of Risk

Dean Wesley Smith

Play the Man

Dan C. Duval

The F Factor

Chrissy Wissler

No Free Lunch

Anthea Sharp

Winning the Ocean Pearl

T. D. Edge

China Moll

Cindie Geddes

A Tale of Good Whiskey, Bad Coffee, and One Devious Woman

Annie Reed

Bucking the Tiger

John Helfers & Kerrie Hughes

The Messiah Business

Robert T. Jeschonek

Muggins Rules

Russ Crossley

Cost and Conscience

Christy Fifield

Side Baiting

Phaedra Weldon

Gambler’s Fallacy

Brigid Collins

The Man Who Decided

Dean Wesley Smith

Rats

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Driving the Line

Dan C. Duval

Side Bet

Lee Allred

About the Editor

Copyright Information

Foreword

The Art of the Deal

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Dean stole half the stories in this volume.

Okay, that’s not really true. He poached them.

All right. I lied again.

He found diamonds left behind by less visionary editors and snatched those diamonds right up.

Let me explain.

In February of 2014, we held an anthology workshop, which we have done for a decade now. When we started the workshop years ago, some of the anthologies were presold (to places like DAW books), and some we hoped would sell (and ultimately never did). The professional writers who have come to our workshops for years use the anthology workshop as Old Home Week, so the attendees have pedigrees that include bestselling novels, award-winning stories, and more publication credits than some professional writers’ organizations.

We’ve used the anthology workshop for Fiction River submissions twice now. The first time we used it, the four professional editors involved had already secured a list of invited big name authors and had to turn down some spectacular stories. The second time, we editors knew better. We hadn’t invited anyone outside of the anthology workshop group because we knew we’d still have to turn down spectacular stories.

Dean assigned these marvelous writers the topic, Risk Takers. By that he meant exactly what the name says, People Who Take Risks. For some reason, lots of these wonderful writers decided to write stories about gamblers who failed—not really the kind of piece that goes over well when you’re writing for a former professional golfer who also happens to be a professional poker player as well as a professional writer and editor.

Dean doesn’t respect gamblers, but he loves sports. Sports, like gambling, involve a measure of luck. But sports, unlike gambling, are mostly about skill. There’s a reason, folks, that poker tournaments air on ESPN, but roulette tournaments do not. Roulette is a sucker’s game. Poker is a sport.

We had six editors at the 2014 anthology workshop. And those six editors represented six different takes on storytelling. You’ll get a chance to read all six anthologies in Fiction River. You can see two already, Pulse Pounders edited by Kevin J. Anderson, and Past Crimes, which I edited. This is the third. The remaining three will appear in the next year of Fiction River.

The editor of each anthology gets the final say in the anthology, but that editor would leave behind marvelous stories, which started a feeding frenzy among the editors remaining.

Dean’s Risk Takers was up first, and he passed on a lot of stories, because they were gambler stories. I stole some, and Kevin stole some, and John Helfers stole one for the upcoming Recycled Pulp that I really wanted for an as-yet-unnamed science fiction anthology.

So, Dean was short on his word count—kinda. He waited, like a good poker player, for the other editors to show their hands. And when those editors (me included) passed on something risky and truly excellent, he snatched up that story faster than a magician can palm a card.

I just finished going over the volume as a unit for the very first time, and I have to say, these stories fit together beautifully. The vision that Dean had shines through.

The best poker players wait, observe, and then act.

Like Dean did here.

You’ll see.

Just turn the page—and enjoy!

—Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Lincoln City, Oregon

August 1, 2014

Introduction

A Degree of Risk

Dean Welsey Smith

I have always been a risk taker. Not because I’m brave, or that I have some pathological need to brush against death, or anything silly like that. I’m just wired naturally as a person to take risks.

For example, I’ve started numbers of businesses, played professional sports, and been married three times. So I take risks with money, business, sports, and love.

I also played professional poker for a time, making my living for a number of years doing that. And I paid my way through college playing on blackjack teams. I know odds, I know risk analysis, and I know a bad risk when I see it, both in the real world and in card playing.

I am not a gambler, however. If the odds of winning are not in my favor, I do not play. You will never see me sitting at a slot machine or a roulette table. That is not taking a risk, that is simply entertainment.

In other words, I take calculated risks, and I control the risks I take as much as possible.

Many, many people, even some of my closest friends, are extremely risk-averse. Just the idea of not completely controlling an outcome makes then break into a sweat. And, of course, they often look at me with puzzlement as I try something new and risky.

When Kristine Kathryn Rusch (who also enjoys her share of risk) and I started the Fiction River anthology series, we were taking a huge risk. But it was a controlled risk.

We were both experienced editors, so we knew we could put together a quality anthology series. However, we didn’t want each anthology to only be our voices, our tastes, so we took an added risk by inviting in other professional editors for different volumes.

Because our history included another anthology series called Pulphouse, we knew the risks of the project itself and the costs involved, and we knew how to contain those risks as much as possible.

The risk paid off. Now Fiction River is working toward its third year. Every volume is still in a print or electronic edition and available for purchase from any major bookseller. And in the fall of 2014, we had a very successful subscription drive to increase the number of readers who took every volume as they came out.

So after the first year of Fiction River was successful, we talked about anthology ideas for the second year. An anthology focused on people who take risks seemed to be a very natural choice. I was the natural choice to edit it as well because of my poker background.

The idea for this anthology wasn’t even a risky one, because I knew I could find some high quality fiction in a number of genres on the topic of risk. Often writers who do not enjoy risk in the real world are brilliant at imagining characters who do.

In this wonderful volume I have gathered sixteen stories on various forms of risk. I did not want just a gambling anthology, and I did not want all stories to be in one genre. Fiction River is known for crossing genres in every issue, and this volume is no different. You’ll find science fiction, fantasy, mystery, historical, and mainstream stories here about all sorts of different risks.

As I said above, I take risks with money, business, sports, and love. That pretty well describes the stories in this volume.

I sure enjoyed finding the stories and reading them and putting them together in this volume. I am very proud of this anthology and how it turned out, just as I am very proud of the Fiction River anthology series.

A nice thing about taking any risk (such as starting Fiction River), when it pays off the feeling is wonderful. Maybe that’s why I like to take risks so often.

I hope you enjoy the read. Trust me, the stories are all wonderful, so there will be no risk involved.

—Dean Wesley Smith

Lincoln City, Oregon

August 1, 2014

Introduction to Play the Man

One of the best short story writers in the business, Dan C. Duval, calls himself a survivor of the corporate wars. Now, he lives quietly on the Oregon Coast, where he doesn’t write nearly enough for my tastes. When he does, he turns out wonderful stories, like Play the Man.

The first of two Duval stories in this volume, Play the Man is a straight thriller, no sf element at all. The lack of a fantastic element raises the stakes in this story, and makes it, perhaps, the most risky story of all.

Play the Man

Dan C. Duval

Brenda, being six months pregnant, thought she looked hideous, huge and bloated, though I never thought so. However, being tied to a dining room chair with a ball gag strapped to her face did not help any.

Not that I looked much better, tied to another chair, without the gag.

We faced each other, in our own dining room, with only a corner of the dining table between us. I wished I could say something that would make her feel better, to slow the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

The only comfort I could give her came through my eyes. I tried to project calmness and patience. I couldn’t think of anything else and there was nothing else I could do at the moment.

I didn’t look at the chubby man that stood behind Brenda. His t-shirt did not quite make the turn around his belly to meet the top of the shorts that stopped at his knees. His socks weren’t high enough to cover the tattoos on his legs: those were enough to identify him by themselves, so the ski mask over his head did little more than make him sweat.

The man behind me also wore a mask, but his dark pants, long-sleeved shirt and leather gloves did not leave any skin exposed at all. Brenda glanced at him once in a while.

The real problem in the room, though, sat on the other side of Brenda, opposite me at the table.

This third man did not wear a mask and I knew that he had no intention of leaving Brenda and I alive to testify against him. But then, a mask would not have disguised him from me, not with his high-pitched, whiny voice. I had heard it enough at one tournament table or another, while he used insults and just plain obnoxious chatter to try to tilt the other players.

Jason Blick was his name and poker was not his game. Oh, he often finished in the money but seldom at the final table. He barely knew how to play his cards and little more about playing the players.

Nice house you have here, Billy Goat, Jason said.

I don’t go by Billy or by Bill. My name is William Choat and I go by Will, having listened to that Billy Goat crap since grade school.

The dark bags under Jason’s eyes and basset hound-jowls made him look like a tired old dog, but his eyes were never still and gave me the impression of the sneakiest member of the pack, number three or four in the pecking order with pretentions of becoming number one. Without the ability to even hold his own position, though, much less move up.

He waved a hand. Pretty wife. Decent job, assistant manager at a bank. Nice life all the way around. He said it as if none of that was worth spit.

And a baby on the way. How wonderful for you.

Brenda tensed up as if she were about to struggle again and I gave her the slightest shake of my head. Nothing she could do right now. Save her strength for when she might need it and could do something with it.

The good news for us was also the bad news: Jason was nowhere near as smart as he thought he was. People like that do not attract smart people, so these two thugs he brought along were probably not Nobel Prize prospects, either. But Jason wasn’t stupid, either, so we would have to be careful to choose our moment.

You’ve done pretty well by yourself after failing at poker, Jason said.

Few knew why I walked away. Jason sure as hell didn’t.

"Terrible to feel old age creeping up on you, idn’t it?"

I finally turned my head and looked at him.

What do you want?

Oooh, stony. Same as the old days.

In my playing days I never had a real nickname, nothing beyond Billy Goat, and that only a few assholes used. The closest I came to having one stick was Iceman, because nothing ever seemed to bother me.

I’ve often wondered if I was some sort of sociopath, lacking the emotions that other people have, but Brenda showed me that I have the full set, love as well as anger, the most utter joy and loneliness like I never dreamed of even when I lived out of a suitcase in one hotel after another. Instead, I’ve found that I have feelings, I just don’t let them out. A problem for a married man but I’m learning slowly.

I waited. Jason never could. He had to be doing something. If I could figure out some way to use that.

Done very good for yourself, Billy Goat.

I waited.

Well, I don’t think you want to risk losing all of this just to protect that bank you work at, not when the government will make it all right.

You want me to help you rob my bank?

Got it in one, Billy Goat.

What’s in it for me?

For you? Jason acted surprised that I asked that. You get to keep all of this. He waved his hands vaguely around the room."

He leaned over to touch Brenda on the shoulder and she shrank away from his touch as far as she could within the ropes they’d tied her with.

You get to keep this.

Then he pointed at her bulge.

And that.

As if.

If he had any intention of letting Brenda and I live, he would have sent someone else, someone I would not recognize the first time he opened his mouth. But Jason was here to rub my nose in it, to get the jollies from me now that he was never able to get at the table.

And what could I do?

I got home a few minutes before six, same as usual for a Friday evening, to find Brenda already trussed up, with Fatty holding a knife at her neck.

Our usual Friday was a quick dinner, then I was off to the Chamber of Commerce meeting. Friday was a bad night for meetings, but in our small town it was Kiwanis on Monday, Lions on Tuesday, VFW on Wednesday, and the new releases at our one movie theater on Thursday. Most of the business people in town belonged to more than one of these groups, so the Chamber ended up on Fridays.

When I didn’t show at 7:30, my boss, Robert Lee (no relation) would wonder where I was and there was a good chance he would send our Chief of Police to check on me. After all, he had seen me at the bank just an hour before and I was perfectly fine and he would expect me to call if something had happened that would keep me from showing up.

All I had to do was wait Jason out.

What I want from you is the security code for the alarm system. And the safety word in case your security company calls.

You expect me to tell you.

Jason opened his arms wide. Oh, no, not at all. Not the Iceman. We could beat on you all night and get nothing out of you but blood.

He nodded at the fat man, who pulled out his knife and touched the point to the side of Brenda’s neck.

To her credit, she did not whimper when the knife pinked her, but I could see her trembling.

Now her …, Jason purred. I bet you’ll sing like an angel when we start carving pieces of her off. He leaned back in his chair. Especially if we start digging in near her belly button and see how far in we get before that baby starts popping out.

At that, Brenda did whimper for a moment, before she took control of herself again.

I gave her a small smile. Nothing else I could do for her at that moment.

But, of course, that means we have to go for blood right at the start and I think that will just make you more stubborn. So we’ll have to increase the suspense a little. Play a little game. But first, we have a little chore for you.

He waved toward the skinny man behind me, who stepped into my field of vision, holding the cordless phone from the living room.

We’ve been watching you for a while, Billy Goat. We know where you go and when, this tight little schedule you follow, week after week. Jason laughed.

Me, they had trussed up with duct tape. As the more dangerous captive, they gave me less room to wriggle than Brenda had. I would not be able to hold the phone myself.

So, you are going to call your boss on his cell and tell him that you aren’t coming tonight. Tell him that sweet Brenda is not feeling well and doesn’t want to be alone tonight. Jason leaned forward and frowned at me.

And you’ll tell him that you’ll be home all weekend, if he needs you. You see? We’ve been listening, too.

Smug bastard and wallowing in it.

If I had been hoping they would let one of my arms free to make the call, I would have been disappointed. As it was, I was not surprised when Skinny tapped in a number and held the phone near my ear—but not so near that he could not hear everything said.

Hello, the voice said on the phone.

I cleared my throat. Fine time to get choked up. Mr. Lee, this is Will Choat.

Oh, hey, Will. What’s up? You showing up tonight?

Probably not. Brenda isn’t feeling well and doesn’t want to be here alone.

Heh. Always a bit more needy when they’re pregnant, aren’t they?

I looked up. Brenda was looking at me and I stared directly in her eyes when I said, The only thing I want in this world is to make her as happy as she can possibly be.

Expressing emotion around a ball gag when you are tied to a chair is not the easiest thing, but I think she got the message. She seemed to relax a little. Maybe there was a bit more glisten in her eyes.

I think so.

I’d be guessing.

That’s as it should be, Will. If anyone asks, I’ll let them know.

Taking a breath is a tell, one of those little indicators of what you are thinking. But, if you don’t breathe, you can’t talk, so I took a breath and added, I probably won’t make the poker game at your house tomorrow night, either.

There was a pause at the other end, before Mr. Lee said slowly, Okay.

I might go in to the bank a little, but I think I’ll just spend the weekend at home with my wife.

Okay.

So, my regards and regrets to the Chamber members.

Mr. Lee paused.

Brenda is right there, isn’t she?

Yep. Listening in on every word.

Have to choose your words carefully when other people are listening in.

Yes, sir.

Another pause. Okay, Will. I’ll take care of things on this end. You take care of Brenda and we’ll see you on Monday, if not before.

Yes, sir.

And Will, stay safe, y’hear?

Yes, sir. Have a good night, Mr. Lee.

Skinny clicked the phone off and stepped back out of my vision.

Jason leaned forward over the table.

What’s this poker game crap?

I didn’t take a breath this time. Monthly game at my boss’ house.

They do that last month? Jason said, looking over my shoulder, apparently at Skinny.

His mother-in-law was in town, I said, so we didn’t get together last month.

But his suspicion bone was aching, I could see it on his face.

You gave up playing, Jason said. Why would you play in some podunk nickel-and-dime game?

The main reason I gave up professional poker was starting to throb in the back of my head. Too much strain, too much concentration, too much tension: headache, sometimes blinding. I had got to the point I was taking three extra strength aspirin before the session ever started, in anticipation of the headaches, more during the breaks. The longer I played, the worse it got. The older I got, the worse it got.

Brain scans and all sorts of tests didn’t turn up anything the doctors could point their fingers at.

In the end, the only way to make them go away was to stop playing.

Hard to do when the money is so good and every greedy bastard in the world wants to push you forward to earn them another few bucks. I had people working for me who looked like I was stealing the food out their children’s mouths when I talked about cutting back, much less quitting. Corporate reps begging to throw endorsement money at me if I would play just a few tournaments that they were sponsoring, maybe a few others, well, maybe a bunch of others.

If I hadn’t met Brenda, I might still be playing.