I’ve made up a variation on the old saw, “No good deed goes unpunished.” It reads like this: “No bad deed goes unpunished... or does it?” In John Lescroart’s whipsawing suspense offering, “Easy Peasey,” plots aplenty unfold, as we watch the shenanigans of school kids — both innocent and otherwise — spiraling out of control. As always, the author takes us deep inside the motives of each character as he shifts masterfully from one point of view to another.
In D. P. Lyle’s “Tonic” a couple of good old boys in rural America are cruising the back roads in an ancient pickup and simply pursuing the American dream of trying to make a living. Who could blame them? And, a more cogent question, what could go wrong? Oh, a thing or two, especially when they decide to explore a new business model and attract a little more attention than is wise. The cast includes a great small-town sheriff and a medicine man you won’t soon forget, try though you might.
It was a dark and snowy night... In “Tonight is the Night,” by Shannon Kirk, we meet George, an outsized ski resort trail groomer, known for his expertise on local-versus-tourist etiquette and his tall tales, which may not be as fantastical as his joshing fellow workers believe. With his mind on romance, and on the fierce blizzard, George learns that a dark past that has dogged him for years still has more on the agenda during the course of this one harrowing night. After reading this switchback-filled story, you may think twice about waxing up those skis and heading for the slopes.
Jon Land takes us to the mean streets of New York City in “ATM,” where we meet Venn, a young man who’s bottomed out and is desperately seeking to parley his last few bucks into something resembling a break. When reality and fantasy appear to blur, Venn’s life takes a dramatic turn and he sets out on a mission at the behest of... well, I’ll leave that for you to find out. Land evokes the after-midnight atmosphere of the boroughs of the city so well, you’ll feel you’re walking along the streets in person.
All right. Enough of the appetizers, now it’s time for the main course.
Just let me offer some advice before you dig in: For your own comfort, I’d make sure your doors are barred and windows locked, and maybe you might want to have a flashlight ready, Boy Scout or otherwise, in case the power mysteriously goes out at an inopportune moment.
That is, at least if you’re going to be reading our collection after midnight.
— Jeffery Deaver
12:01 AM
Alan Jacobson
Phelps Correctional Center
Culpeper County, Virginia
Stephen Raye Vaughn — no relation to the famed musician — sat on the edge of his death row cot. His “music” was a tune of a different sort, his cauldron of creativity emanating from death and mayhem — and finding new ways to wreak havoc on a city.
With his time remaining on this Earth melting away like a glacier in the throes of climate change, he was now reduced to digging out the dirt from under his fingernails. Why? He had no goddamn idea. He was due to die in 120 minutes and nothing really mattered anymore, did it?
Did it ever really matter?
Yeah, it did. Back when he was hunting for his prey, he had to present himself as an upstanding, clean cut individual. He had to play the part. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to sit undisturbed in his van in parking lots while selecting the 16 women he would eventually murder.
His van. He missed that thing. He didn’t know exactly where it was at this moment, but he knew who had it. Fortunately, he had disposed of it before the police caught him, so it could not be used as evidence against him. And man, was there a lot of evidence in it that could be used against him.
As it turned out, the one victim who got away went to the police and turned him in. It was very difficult to commit the perfect crime, although it did happen on occasion. People did get away with murder sometimes, but there was usually at least one major mistake a guy made that proved to be his undoing.
Stephen Raye Vaughn was no exception. For him it would be the mistake of a lifetime, one he could not take back.
But so be it. He was like a star in the nighttime sky, burning very brightly before going supernova. He had made peace with that. Not that he didn’t want to continue living, but sometimes you just had to accept your fortune. It took him a dozen years, but he had finally reached that point.
Time was short, and his lifespan was now shorter, but at least he had lived a helluva ride. And unlike 99 % of the individuals populating this planet, he had made plans to ensure his legacy continued on, at least for the near future. If all played out the way he figured it would, he would be forever immortalized in movies, television, books, Internet memes, and American history.
Stevie Ray Vaughn may be famous, but Stephen Raye Vaughn... he was infamous.
Vaughn glanced over at the sterile black and white clock across the way and wondered: Was that enough?
With so little time left to live, it would have to be.
Three Hours Earlier
Debra Mead gathered her reusable grocery sack against her chest and trudged toward her Subaru. Taylor, her twelve-year-old son, sat waiting in the car playing a game on his iPad, not wanting to be seen with his mother shopping for groceries.
As she walked through an aisle of vehicles in the parking lot, a van door slowly opened. She heard it, rather than saw it, the sliding scrape of metal rolling on its track. As she turned her head in the direction of her car, something grabbed her shoulders and yanked her backwards. She felt her body falling through space, but before she knew what was happening, her head struck something hard and everything went black.
Debra awoke slowly, at first only vaguely aware that something was wrong. She was lying on her side, rocking to and fro as the vehicle she was in moved down the bumpy road.
With her vision and foggy thoughts clearing, she realized that her arms were drawn back behind her and her wrists were bound tightly with tape.
She tried to speak but a dry wad of cloth was shoved into the back of her jaw and a muffler was wrapped around her lips.
Debra forced some words from the deeper reaches of her throat. She meant to say, “Why are you doing this to me?”
It probably came out sounding more like a groan or even a poor attempt to hum a tune.
But the man turned around and glanced over his right shoulder. His right eye sat at half-mast and the brow was missing its hair, replaced by a thick pink scar. It gave his face an evil, tortured look.
“Everything’s gonna be fine.”
“Fine?” she tried to say, the disbelief no doubt registering in her furrowed expression.
“I just need your help with a few things. Then I’ll drive you back home. You’ll be on your way and I’ll be on mine.”
Debra looked in his expressionless eyes and knew she was in trouble. She did not think she was going to make it out alive.
Her thoughts turned to Taylor. His father had passed two years ago from a freak brain aneurysm. Now the boy was on the verge of losing his mother, too.
No, she told herself. I can’t let that happen. Somehow, I have to find a way out of this.