Mystery Tribune / Issue Nº20

By Jason Starr, Andrew Welsh-Huggins, Gillian French and 6 more

Issue Nº20 features:

A curated collection of short fiction including stories by Jason Starr, Andrew Welsh-Huggins, Greg Levin, Gillian French, , Cher Finver, Kevin Z. Garvey, John Joseph Ryan, David A. Summers, Robb T. White, and Jeff Soloway.

Essays, Interviews and Reviews by J.B. Stevens, Scott Adlerberg, J.P. Hill, and Zakariah Johnson.

Art and Photography by Hossein Goshtasbi.

This issue also features a preview of the new graphic novel Blade Runner 2039 (Vol. 1) written by Mike Johnson and illustrated by Andres Guinaldo

NY Times Bestselling author Reed Farrel Coleman has called Mystery Tribune “a cut above” and mystery grand masters Lawrence Block and Max Allan Collins have praised it for its “solid fiction” and “the most elegant design”.

An elegantly crafted quarterly issue, printed on uncoated paper and with a beautiful layout designed for optimal reading experience, our Issue Nº20 issue will make a perfect companion or gift for avid mystery readers and fans of literary crime fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystery Tribune
• Release date: Jul 1, 2023

Book preview

Inside Cover

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ISSUE NO. 20

MysteryTribune

JULY-AUGUST 2023

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Page 4-5

MysteryTribune

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Publisher and Managing Editor

Ehsan Ehsani

Associate Editor

Elena Manatina

Contributing Editor(s)

J. B. Stevens, Allen J. Sheinman

Cover Illustration

Katya Kamenskaya

Design and Art Direction

Leo Lipsnis

Subscriptions and Advertising

Rachel Kester

IT Manager

Jack Rodriguez

Contributors

Jason Starr, Andrew Welsh-Huggins, Greg Levin, Gillian French, Hossein Goshtasbi, Cher Finver, Kevin Z. Garvey, John Joseph Ryan, David A. Summers, Robb T. White, Jeff Soloway, Mike Johnson, Andres Guinaldo, Scott Adlerberg

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Page 7

Contents

ISSUE NO. 20

JULY-AUGUST 2023

Editor’s Note

Ehsan Ehsani

Ehsan Ehsani

Publisher and Managing Editor

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One of the pleasures of being the publisher of Mystery Tribune is to get the chance to read so many amazing pieces of fiction from talented authors and masters of the genre from all around the world. It equally feels good when we publish and share our picks with the rest of the crime and mystery fiction community.

For this issue, I felt especially honored to bring you another collection but this time with a short story by Jason Starr. Jason is one of the sharpest and most entertaining writers of crime fiction working today and if you haven’t read his novels, you should. You’ll enjoy his captivating style in our cover short story Lonely City.

FOur Art and Photography section is equally great: This issue features the work of Iranian fine art photographer Hossein Goshtasbi. He sees his art as his main form of self-expression and his surreal work, set in nature, is a showcase of his philosophical thinking.

FAre you a fan of Blade Runner? If yes, don’t miss our comics section, towards the end of this issue, and while you’re there, make sure you check out our review section and our crime fiction picks.

As always, thanks for being our supporter: make sure you give the gift of #goodmystery to friends and family and tell them about subscribing to Mystery Tribune. /MT

Page 11Illustration - Lonely City

Fiction

Lonely City

by Jason Starr

Outside the quaint wine bar on Greenwich Avenue, Caroline and I were making out like teenagers. My hands were in her hair and she was holding my hips, pulling me closer. I’m not sure how much time passed, but it was at least a few minutes, then I shifted away a little, with my hands still in her hair, and said, Well, this is unexpected.

With her eyes aimed downward, toward my lips, she said, Why? Didn’t think you’d like me?

I hoped I would, but let’s just say online dates usually don’t go this well.

I wouldn’t know. You’re the first one I’ve ever been on.

Earlier, she’d mentioned that her husband had passed away six months ago, when she was still living in L.A., and that she was just starting to get back out there.

Well, take it from me, this is the exception, not the rule.

You mean I got lucky?

Maybe we both did.

That’s a nice thought. I could use some luck.

It had been a long time since I’d even kissed anyone. I went on a date every now and then, but I was busy with work and hadn’t connected with anyone in a long time.

Occasionally, people passed us on the sidewalk, but I was barely aware of them. It was like all the people and the city chaos vanished. I was amazed how comfortable I felt, like I’d known her for a couple of months, not a couple of hours. She was my age, forty-nine, and like me, she didn’t have kids. She was very attractive with short straight blond hair, a pretty smile, and wide hips. She was a graphic designer and wasn’t working currently but was set to start at a new job next month. It was easy to imagine us together, going on beach vacations and to Europe, doing stuff around the city. With online dating, first dates rarely led to second dates, and second dates rarely led to relationships, but this one seemed like it could actually work out.

I liked how Caroline kissed—gently, without swirling her tongue around too much—and how she smelled. I didn’t know the name of her perfume, but it was familiar, one that an ex had used, maybe Calvin Klein. We kissed for a while longer, then she pulled back a little and said, Walk me home.

Liking this idea a lot, I said, Sure.

Occasionally, people passed us on the sidewalk, but I was barely aware of them.

With our arms around each other’s waists, we headed toward Seventh Avenue South. It was perfect fall evening—a slight chill in the air, a clear sky with a crescent moon looming over the West Village. We crossed the avenue, then headed downtown. She was telling me about the house she used to live in, in Laurel Canyon in L.A., but how she preferred the energy and culture of Manhattan. She liked theater, and I suggested going to see a Broadway show together sometime, and she seemed as excited about the idea as I was.

At West Tenth, we veered right, passing Smalls Live Jazz Club.

We should go sometime, I said.

I’d love to, she said.

We stopped walking and kissed again. Then I opened my eyes and saw that the mood had changed drastically. Her light, smiley persona was gone, and she was glaring seriously and seemed terrified.

What is it? What’s wrong?

She didn’t answer. As she gazed ahead, her expression darkened even more, like she was looking at an accident, or something horrific, except that nothing unusual seemed to be happening. Across the street, a couple of waiters were busy bringing tables and chairs from an outdoor dining setup into a restaurant, and on the opposite corner there were a few guys in their early twenties, maybe NYU students, talking and laughing. A woman with pink hair and tattoos was crossing the street. It looked like a typical Thursday night in the West Village.

Is it somebody you know? One of those guys?

Now her eyes were wide and her lips were trembling. I… I think… I think that man is following us.

Gazing ahead, I had no idea who she was talking about.

What man? A waiter?

No, over there.

Where?

Oh my God. She pulled on my hand. Come on, let’s go.

Leading me diagonally along West Fourth toward Christopher Street, she kept looking back over her shoulder.

Faster, she said.

We made a left on to Bleecker, then turned right on Grove. I didn’t know if she was in danger or had severe paranoia, but I should have expected that something like this would happen. It’s almost impossible to meet a normal, stable person online. Everyone is pretending to be someone they’re not and everyone was single for a reason, including me. I knew I was avoidant, irritable at times, set in my ways. My pictures online were a few years old and filtered. Like everyone else, I looked and sounded way better in my profile than in reality.

Still, I didn’t want to rush to any judgment about Caroline. I at least wanted to find out what was going on and make sure she was safe.

We turned onto Bedford, then halfway down the block she stopped and said, There he is again.

Where?

Across the street, over there.

At the corner of Bedford and Barrow there was a tall guy with longish straight hair in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt under a black leather jacket. He seemed to be minding his own business, looking at his phone.

That guy?

Caroline yanked on my arm and led me back to Grove Street. We took Grove to Hudson, then back to Christopher. At Washington Street, she looked back a couple of times, and finally slowed a little.

Okay, she said, I think we lost him.

Lost who? What’s going on?

Didn’t you see him?

The guy on his phone?

I saw him before I met you at the bar. He was lurking across the street and then he was there again—two times.

She was talking fast and sounded paranoid, like a person obsessed with UFOs.

Maybe it was a coincidence.

That he was following us?

He might not have been following us.

So, what, you think I’m making it all up? You saw him.

I knew she would get more defensive if I kept challenging her, so I said, Why would he follow us? Is it somebody you know?

No.

Then how do you—

I’m sorry. I know how weird this all must seem. I understand if you don’t believe me.

I’m just concerned, that’s all. I’m not trying to upset you.

She was looking back again. I looked back too and again saw nothing unusual.

Come on, she said, I only live a few blocks from here.

As we continued walking, I tried to normalize the situation with some small talk about how I was looking forward to the holidays, and when we passed an empty storefront I told her about the great Italian restaurant that used to be there before Covid. Although she seemed much calmer now, the conversation seemed forced and awkward, the total opposite of how relaxed and natural everything had seemed at the bar.

We veered onto Leroy Street. When we got to her building, a brick walk-up of about five or six stories, we stopped in front. She kissed me and we started making out, but it didn’t feel nearly as romantic as it had earlier. I was distracted and confused, not knowing what was going on. This seemed like the opposite of the light, easy dating situation I was looking for. She didn’t seem to think anything was unusual, though. She was kissing me the same as she had before, with just as much passion.

Then she pulled back a little and asked, Do you want to come up?

Despite the evening’s strange turn, I still liked her and thought she was very sexy, even when she was steering me away from an apparent stalker, and I considered taking on a what the hell? attitude and just going with the flow and seeing what happened. I wanted a girlfriend again, but it had been a long time—too long—and a night of no-strings-attached fun seemed like a pretty good idea too. It would be nice to be close with someone again, even if it was only for a few hours.

But, alas, I reminded myself that I wasn’t in my twenties or even my thirties anymore. I didn’t need any craziness in my life, even temporary craziness.

I’d like to, I said, but I have an early morning tomorrow.

Oh, okay. I could tell she didn’t believe the bad date getaway line that everyone used.

But this was great, I said. I mean it was great meeting you and I hope everything’s okay with—

Fine, I’ll tell you. Her voice was cracking and her eyes were moist. I really didn’t want to get into this. I mean, it isn’t exactly something I wanted to talk about on a first date, but I like you a lot and I can tell I’m probably never going to see you again.

You don’t know that.

Come on, I know how this must seem—a crazy L.A. widow, you’re gonna run as soon as you possibly can.

She was intuitive, I’d give her that.

Okay, you want honesty? I said. Yes, I do hear alarm bells ringing. I mean, I like you so I’m trying to be supportive here. I asked you who you thought was following us, but you wouldn’t—

A hit man, she said.

Her eyes were darting around again, checking every direction.

A hit man, I said.

That’s right. I know you think I’m crazy that I’m making it all up, but it’s true.

Why do you think that a hit man would be after you?

It’s not that I think he is. I know he is.

I still wasn’t sure if I believed her or not, but at this point I at least wanted a good story to tell my friends, and I was curious what she was going to say next.

Page 19

Okay, I said. And why would a hit man be following you?

Not would, is. Because my husband hired him.

But I thought you’re a widow?

I am a widow. You think that matters?

Well, he couldn’t have hired a hit man from the grave.

I thought I was joking, but she remained serious.

You don’t know my husband. He was a toxic narcissist, a truly horrible human being. Of course I didn’t realize this at first or I wouldn’t have married him. He had a charming side, but it was just a mask, and when he took the mask off, he was vicious. Pure evil.

What does this have to do with the hit man?

He threatened to hire somebody to kill me many times, and he said that even if he died he’d have me killed. I was hoping if I came to New York I’d somehow be safer, but it turns out I’m not.

But how do you know that the guy in the leather jacket—

Because he was following us.

I was going to remind her that she didn’t know for sure that he was following us, that it could’ve been coincidental, some random weirdo, or that she’d made a mistake, but I knew I wasn’t going to change her mind.

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