Free Kwik Krimes by Otto Penzler

only the Jameson, two doubles, no Guinness, no bloated feeling required.
    Just sleekness and fire.
    How many places could two idiots hide? Found them close to one in the morning. A flat off the canal, top floor, the sound of Thin Lizzy bouncing off the water. The dead car parked sloppily outside. Dead from the moment he focused on the number plate.
    He stormed in, put a bullet in the sound system, killing Phil Lynott mid
Whiskey in the Jar
. Still moving, lashed Dolan acrosshis face with the butt of the Sig, whirled, put a hard kick to Brady’s knee. As the duo
    Moaned
    Groaned
    On the floor.
    He took a Miller, drained half, said,
    “Guys, here’s the deal.”
    They stared at him, stared at the gun. He said,
    “The old lady isn’t going to make it, so one of you isn’t going to make it.”
    He paused.
    Everybody loves a dramatic interval, then,
    “I’m going to…as you
dudes
say…
waste
…one of you.”
    Let them digest that, finished the brew, said,
    “So, you guys choose, or…I’ll kill you both.”
    Dolan looked at Brady, thought,
    “Never liked this eejit.”
    Brady thought,
    “Uh-oh.”

    Ken Bruen received a PhD in metaphysics, taught English in Africa, Japan, Southeast Asia, and South America, then became a crime novelist. His Jack Taylor series has had worldwide acclaim, and his novels have been nominated for numerous awards, including an Edgar Allan Poe Award for
The Guards.
His novels
Blitz
and
London Boulevard
have served as the basis for feature films. His most recent Jack Taylor novel is
Headstone.

WHAT YOU WISH FOR
----
----
    C.E. Lawrence
    “M ake a wish,” said the genie.
    Marie crossed her arms. “I don’t think so.”
    “Oh, come on.” He beamed genially. “You dragged me out of the bottle—you might as well use your wish.”
    He was big and blubbery, rotund and round-faced, just like the illustrations from her childhood copy of
Aladdin and the Lamp
. His skin was the color of polished brass. He wore loose-fitting yellow silk pants, a tiny vest barely covered his fleshy chest, and a wide, multicolored belt was wound around his enormous belly. His head was completely bald, the skin smooth as river stone.
    Marie frowned. “Don’t I get three wishes?”
    The genie shook his head, the enormous gold hoops hanging from his earlobes tinkling like tiny bells. “We’ve been hit by the recession, too. We’ve downsized to one wish.”
    Rain pelted the cabin’s roof, fast and furious, like the sound of popcorn popping. Marie shivered and buttoned her sweater. She wished she had never ventured into her grandmother’s attic. With her grandmother gone to her bridge club, there was little else to do on this dreary rainy afternoon. Like all teenagers, she was easily bored, and today she was feeling especially restless. SarahMcGinty had bullied her again at school, teasing Marie about her lumpy thighs and unfashionable clothing.
    Marie looked down at the shards of crimson glass at her feet. She hadn’t seen the ornate red bottle with its heavy glass stopper until it was too late. While digging through a pile of old clothes, she had knocked it off the dusty bookshelf, watching helplessly as it splintered to pieces on the wooden floor. She sat on a dusty old steamer trunk, brushing away the cobwebs at her feet.
    The genie sat down beside her. He smelled of sandalwood and sawdust. “So what’s your wish?”
    “How did you end up stuck in a bottle?”
    He looked down at his hands, which were immaculately manicured, the nails shiny with just a touch of clear polish. “I lost a bet.”
    “With who?”
    “Another genie. Look,” he said, “I haven’t got all day. I have to find a new master before sunrise, or I’ll lose my powers.”
    “Why can’t I be your new master?”
    “I need someone with experience. Otherwise terrible things could happen.”
    “Like what?”
    He glanced out the dusty window at the rain drumming down on the roof. “Have you heard of the bubonic plague?”
    A clap