Free Crime Stories by Jack Kilborn Page B

confused when they tell you they’ve actually lost. Do this two or three times to the same loser. They’ll start to find it funny, eventually.
    SIGNINGS – There will be many scheduled signing times, where dozens of authors all sit in the same room and greet the hundreds of fans waiting in line for Lee Child. If you’re in Lee’s very long line, remember that to keep things moving quickly you aren’t allowed to say more than two words to him, and he’ll only have time to sign an “L.” A lower case “L.” Lee’s a very busy man.
    Lee Goldberg, on the other hand, will have plenty of time to sign his full name. Plenty of time. If you so desire, he’ll even sign it using the time-intensive, hand-lettered art of calligraphy. Don’t be afraid to ask. He has plenty of time.
    SUNDAY – This is the day where everyone sleeps in and/or catches their flight home, and panel attendance is traditionally low. By some dramatic conference oversight, 9 A.M. on Sunday is when JA Konrath has his scheduled panel. He’s not sure how this happened. Perhaps he pissed someone off somehow, unlikely as that may sound. But he urges you to attend this panel, on the super-exciting topic of writing for female characters. Never saw that hot-button topic at a convention before, have you? There will be some other high caliber authors on this panel, probably, and JA is bringing some butterscotch schnapps to put in the audience’s coffee. Get your lazy butt out of bed and be there. He’ll be entertaining. Promise.
    CONCLUSION – Remember, if you want to have a memorable conference, responsibility rests squarely on one person’s shoulders—the person running the conference. Be sure to complain about every little thing, at any given time, even if it’s something they can’t fix such as, “The carpet is too soft” or “F. Paul Wilson touched me inappropriately” or “I hear voices in my head.” Demand a refund. Threaten to contact an attorney. And above all, remember to have fun.

A humorous take on the many detectives in crime fiction who are able to glance at a crime scene and brilliantly deduce everything that happened. I wrote this for an anthology, but they rejected it. Too Monty Python-ish, they said.
    S pecial Investigations Inspector J. Gerald Oxnard arrives on the scene moments after the crime has been committed. The usual entourage of detectives from the SI Division of New Bastwick’s Police Department accompanies him.
    I’m the newly appointed member of this crack investigating team, a reward for my exemplary grades at the Police Academy. It’s just my luck that my first case is a murder.
    The portly Inspector kneels beside the cooling body of a man in his late twenties. After several minutes of intense scrutiny, he nods and clears his throat, prompting one of the nearby detectives to help him to his feet.
    “He was killed by a lion,” Inspector Oxnard says. “I’m thoroughly convinced.”
    The room absorbs the declaration, mulling and silent.
    “But…Inspector,” I say, “How did a lion get up to Room 715 of the Vandenburg Hotel without anyone seeing it?”
    Inspector Oxnard puts a thin and elegantly manicured hand up to his mustache and rolls the waxy end.
    “A disguise,” he says.
    “A disguise?” I ask.
    “Of course. Perhaps a long overcoat and some dark glasses. Haven’t you ever seen a lion walk on his hind legs at the circus?”
    Several of the detectives standing around sound their approval. One writes it down in his note pad.
    “But what about the knife?” I ask.
    “The knife?” Inspector Oxnard shoots back, eyes sharp and accusing.
    “In the deceased’s back.” I say.
    There’s a moment of chin-scratching silence.
    “Don’t lions have an opposable thumb?” Detective Jenkins asks.
    “No, you’re thinking of monkeys,” Detective Coursey says.
    “But isn’t a lion kind of like a big orange monkey with sharp teeth?” Detective Rumstead asks.
    There are several nods of agreement.