Harlan Coben Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Introduction

  Audacious

  Something Pretty, Something Beautiful

  Clean Slate

  Who Stole My Monkey?

  Ride-Along

  Sometimes a Hyena

  What His Hands Had Been Waiting For

  A Crime of Opportunity

  Flying Solo

  Destiny City

  The Hitter

  West of Nowhere

  Baby Killer

  The Stars are Falling

  The End of the String

  Diamond Alley

  Last Cottage

  Heart Like a Balloon

  Chin Yong-Yun Takes a Case

  A Long Time Dead

  End Matter

  Contributors’ Notes

  Other Distinguished Mystery Stories of 2010

  Copyright © 2011 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company

  Introduction copyright © 2011 by Harlan Coben

  All rights reserved.

  The Best American Series® is a registered trademark of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  Publishing Company. The Best American Mystery Stories ™ is a trademark of Houghton

  Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

  electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any infor-

  mation storage or retrieval system without the proper written permission of the

  copyright owner unless such copying is expressly permitted by federal copyright

  law. With the exception of nonprofit transcription in Braille, Houghton Mifflin

  Harcourt is not authorized to grant permission for further uses of copyrighted se-

  lections reprinted in this book without the permission of their owners. Permission

  must be obtained from the individual copyright owners as identified herein. Ad-

  dress requests for permission to make copies of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt mate-

  rial to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Av-

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  www.hmhbooks.com

  ISSN 1094-8384

  ISBN 978-0-547-55396-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  DOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are

  products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to

  actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  “Audacious” by Brock Adams. First published in Sewanee Review, Summer 2010.

  Copyright © 2010 by Brock Adams. Reprinted by permission of Sewanee Review.

  “Something Pretty, Something Beautiful” by Eric Barnes. First published in Prai-

  rie Schooner, Winter 2010. Copyright © 2010 by University of Nebraska Press. Re-

  printed by permission of University of Nebraska Press.

  “Clean Slate” by Lawrence Block. First published in Warriors, March 16, 2010.

  Copyright © 2010 by Lawrence Block. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Who Stole My Monkey?” by David Corbett and Luis Alberto Urrea. First pub-

  lished in Lone Star Noir, November 2010. Copyright © 2010 by David Corbett and

  Luis Alberto Urrea. Reprinted by permission of David Corbett and Luis Alberto Ur-

  rea.

  “Ride-Along” by Brendan DuBois. First published in Strand Magazine, Winter/

  Spring 2011. Copyright © 2010 by Brendan DuBois. Reprinted by permission of

  the author.

  “Sometimes a Hyena” by Loren D. Estleman. First published in Amos Walker: The

  Complete Story Collection, September 2010. Copyright © 2010 by Loren D. Estleman.

  Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “What His Hands Had Been Waiting For” by Beth Ann Fennelly and Tom Frank-

  lin. First published in Delta Blues, May 2010. Copyright © 2010 by Tom Franklin and

  Beth Ann Fennelly. Reprinted by permission of the authors.

  “A Crime of Opportunity” by Ernest J. Finney. First published in Sewanee Review,

  Summer 2010. Copyright © 2011 by Ernest J. Finney. Reprinted by permission of

  Sewanee Review and Southern Methodist University Press.

  “Flying Solo” by Ed Gorman. First published in Noir 13, July 22, 2010. Copyright

  © 2010 by Ed Gorman. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Destiny City” by James Grady. First published in Agents of Treachery, June 2010.

  Copyright © 2010 by James Grady. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “The Hitter” by Chris F. Holm. First published in The Needle, no. 2 (Summer

  2010). Copyright © 2010 by Chris F. Holm. Reprinted by permission of Chris F.

  Holm.

  “West of Nowhere” by Harry Hunsicker. First published in Ellery Queen Mystery

  Magazine, November 2010. Copyright © 2010 by Harry Hunsicker. Reprinted by

  permission of the author.

  “Baby Killer” by Richard Lange. First published in Slake, no. 1, July 2010. Copy-

  right © 2010 by Richard Lange. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “The Stars Are Falling” by Joe R. Lansdale. First published in Stories, June 15,

  2010. Copyright © 2011 by Joe R. Lansdale. Reprinted by permission of the au-

  thor.

  “The End of the String” by Charles McCarry. First published in Agents of Treach-

  ery, June 2010. Copyright © 2010 by Charles McCarry. Reprinted by permission of

  the author.

  “Diamond Alley” by Dennis McFadden. First published in Hart’s Grove. Copyright

  © 2010 by Dennis McFadden. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  “Last Cottage” by Christopher Merkner. First published in The Cincinnati Review,

  Summer 2010. Copyright © 2010 by Christopher Merkner. Reprinted by permis-

  sion of the author.

  “Heart Like a Balloon” by Andrew Riconda. First published in Criminal Class Re-

  view, vol. 3, no. 1. Copyright © 2010 by Andrew Riconda. Reprinted by permission

  of the author.

  “Chin Yong-Yun Takes a Case” by S. J. Rozan. First published in Damn Near Dead

  2, November 30, 2010. Copyright © 2010 by S. J. Rozan. Reprinted by permission

  of the author.

  “A Long Time Dead,” a Mike Hammer story by Mickey Spillane and Max Allan

  Collins. First published in Strand Magazine. Copyright © 2010 by Mickey Spillane

  Publishing, L.L.C. Reprinted by permission of Max Allan Collins for Mickey Spil-

  lane Productions, L.L.C.

  Foreword

  MANY OF THE GREATEST NAMES in the mystery genre have appeared on the pages of The Best American Mystery Stories during its fourteen-year history, including Elmore Leonard, Michael Connelly, James Lee Burke, Dennis Lehane, Laura Lippman, Jeffery Deaver, and Lawrence Block. Too, many of the major authors of literary fiction have contributed outstanding work to the series, including John Updike, Jay McInerney, Roxanna Robinson, Russell Banks, Alice Munro, and, of course, the incomparable Joyce Carol Oates. I would make the argument, however, that one of the greatest strengths of the series has been the stories of relatively little-known writers who have graced its pages, many of whom have gone on to enjoy warm critical attention as well as popular success.

 
Stories by these authors are seldom found in the pages of such acclaimed purveyors of contemporary fiction as The New Yorker, The Atlantic, or Harper’s Magazine. Most of the early work by these hugely talented writers has been discovered in the pages of literary journals, those labors of love produced in such modest numbers that very few readers ever get to see them, and a few in electronic magazines.

  Here was the introduction to a large readership of Scott Wolven, whose “Controlled Burn” was initially published in Harpur Palate and collected in the 2003 edition of The Best American Mystery Stories. This, and subsequent stories also published in BAMS, got him a book contract with Scribner’s (Controlled Burn: Stories of Prison, Crime, and Men).

  Tom Franklin’s “Poachers” was found in the pages of Texas Review and appeared in BAMS 1999. The story went on to win the Edgar Allan Poe Award from the Mystery Writers of America and a book contract from William Morrow for Poachers: Stories; it was later selected for The Best American Mystery Stories of the Century. Franklin has gone on to write several novels, including Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter, which was nominated for an Edgar as the Best Novel of 2010.

  “All Through the House” by Christopher Coake was chosen for BAMS 2004 after its first publication in The Gettysburg Review; it became the centerpiece of his Houghton Mifflin Harcourt collection, We’re in Trouble.

  It is profoundly gratifying and humbling to know that this series can have such a powerful impact on the world of mystery fiction and the enormously talented writers who toil in its gardens. One can only wonder if some of the contributors to this volume will go on to follow in the footsteps of Coake, Franklin, and Wolven to find similar much-deserved success in their mystery writing careers.

  While it is redundant for me to write it again, since I have already done so in each of the previous fourteen volumes of this series, it falls into the category of fair warning to state that many people regard a “mystery” as a detective story. I regard the detective story as one subgenre of a much bigger genre, which I define as any short work of fiction in which a crime, or the threat of a crime, is central to the theme or the plot. While I love good puzzles and tales of pure ratiocination, few of these are written today as the mystery genre has evolved (for better or worse, depending on your point of view) into a more character-driven form of literature, with more emphasis on the why of a crime’s commission than on the who or how. The line between mystery fiction and general fiction has become more and more blurred in recent years, producing fewer memorable detective stories but more significant literature.

  It is a pleasure, as well as a necessity, to thank Harlan Coben for agreeing to be the guest editor for the 2011 edition of The Best American Mystery Stories. Putting aside virtually everything on his very crowded plate, he delivered the work on schedule, thereby causing champagne corks to pop and hats to be flung in the air at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt as the very tight deadlines have been met. Sincere thanks as well to the previous guest editors, begin ning with Robert B. Parker, who started it all in 1997, followed by Sue Grafton, Ed McBain, Donald E. Westlake, Lawrence Block, James Ellroy, Michael Connelly, Nelson DeMille, Joyce Carol Oates, Scott Turow, Carl Hiaasen, George Pelecanos, Jeffery Deaver, and Lee Child.

  While I engage in a relentless quest to locate and read every mystery/crime/suspense story published, I live in terror that I will miss a worthy story, so if you are an author, editor, or publisher, or care about one, please feel free to send a book, magazine, or tearsheet to me c/o The Mysterious Bookshop, 58 Warren Street, New York, NY 10007. If it first appeared electronically, you must submit a hard copy. It is vital to include the author’s contact information. No unpublished material will be considered, for what should be obvious reasons. No material will be returned. If you distrust the postal service, enclose a self-addressed, stamped postcard, on which I will acknowledge receipt of your story.

  To be eligible, a story must have been written by an American or a Canadian and first published in an American or Canadian publication in the calendar year 2011. The earlier in the year I receive the story, the more fondly I regard it. For reasons known only to the blockheads who wait until Christmas week to submit a story published the previous spring, this happens every year, causing much gnashing of teeth as I read a stack of stories while my wife and friends are trimming the Christmas tree or otherwise celebrating the holiday season. It had better be a damned good story if you do this. Because of the very tight production schedule for this book, the absolute firm deadline is December 31. If the story arrives two days later, it will not be read. Sorry.

  O. P.

  Introduction

  I HATE THIS PART.

  You should skip it. I’m serious. You know what this is, don’t you? This is the part of a story collection where the editor writes some faux-deep, pseudo-erudite essay on the larger meaning of the short story. It is, quite frankly, an irrelevant exercise. The collection is about the story, not my view of it, and thus this introduction becomes the literary equivalent of a bad overture at a musical: It gets you in your seat, but if you’re already seated, you just want the curtain to open. It stalls. It annoys. Even the best introductions, no matter how well done, are a bit like a toupee. It may be a good toupee. It may be a bad toupee. But it’s still a toupee.

  It is also pretty ironic when you think about it—an excess of words to introduce a form that relies on the economy of them. A novel is a long-term commitment. A short story is more like a heady fling—intense, adventurous, emotionally charged, and, when I was young, embarrassingly quick. Okay, forget that last one. The best short stories, like those high-octane lovers, never fully leave you. They burn, linger, haunt. Some sneak up on you in a subtle way. Others are like a punch in the gut—sudden, spontaneous. They knock the wind out of you.

  One of my favorite rules of writing comes from the great Elmore Leonard: “Try to leave out the parts that readers tend to skip.” If you learn nothing else from this introduction—as if you’re really learning something—please make sure you keep this rule front and center in your thoughts. The best writers do. The best writers ask themselves on every page, every paragraph, every sentence, every word: “Is this compelling? Is this gripping? Is this absolutely necessary? Is this the best I can do?” (So, too, do the best readers, but that’s for another time.)

  That doesn’t mean you can’t have larger themes, descriptions, well-defined characters, or explore matters of great import. You can and you must. All great stories—long and, yes, short—contain those elements. You will, in fact, witness many examples in just a few turns of the page. Again, my job here is to delay that sense of satisfaction, I guess, by pointing out the obvious in wonderful, economic storytelling, so let us continue.

  What Elmore Leonard means in the above quotation, of course, is that every word must count. The writers included in this collection are masters at this. In the pages after this intro, you will find no navel-gazing, no endless descriptions of winter weather or dithering on about worldview, no fashionable “look at me” acrobatic wordplay that amounts to nothing more than proving that someone bought a brand-new thesaurus and isn’t afraid to abuse it.

  What will you find, then? In two words: great storytelling.

  The writers in this varied and brilliant collection—a heady blend of household names, veteran scribes, and promising newcomers—have taken Elmore Leonard’s credo and fed it steroids and raised it to the tenth power and then driven it out to a dive bar by the airport and given it an unlimited tab. Yes, I know that makes no sense, but horrendous analogy aside, you’re in for a treat.

  Here, my good friend Otto Penzler and I have assembled the “best of the best” in mystery short stories. We often wax nostalgic about some past era, some now-gone golden age of—take your pick—music, literature, cinema, art. Let me give you the good news here. We—you and me, dear reader—are living in the golden age of crime fiction. I do not say this lightly. Never in history have so many authors “dunnit” with such variety and such skill.
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br />   In this collection you will find every sort of hero, every sort of villain, every sort of setting, every sort of crime, every sort of solution, every sort of surprise. To paraphrase the old saw, these stories will make you laugh, they will make you cry, they will make you cringe in fear, they will become a part of you.

  All of which brings me back to Elmore Leonard’s rule. Do you see something worth skipping? Cut it. Cut it off at the knees. Like, to give you an immediate example, this introduction. Cue the maniacal laughter. Fool. If you had skipped this part, you’d already be lost in one of the best mystery short stories of the year. Instead, alas, you’re stuck with me.

  But not for much longer. Turn the page, dear reader. These will be the last wasted words you will read in this collection. Go. Enjoy.

  HARLAN COBEN

  Audacious

  Brock Adams

  FROM Sewanee Review

  SHE WAS A PICKPOCKET.

  She haunted the subway station on Thirty-fourth and Holloway, where every morning Gerald waited for his train on the same cold concrete bench. He watched her through thick glasses. She was young, frail and thin, waiflike, with short shaggy black hair, and she moved like a ghost, drifting in and out of sight as the crowd milled about.

  She made him look forward to the mornings. She made him feel sparks. Watching her was the only time that Gerald had felt alive since he found Dolores, his wife of fifty-three years, face-down in her Cheerios on a Sunday morning, dead from a stroke.

  Gerald’s pickpocket wore black leggings covered by a short blue-jean skirt. She wore two jackets, Windbreaker over denim—lots of pockets, Gerald figured. Sometimes she wore sunglasses, even though she was underground.

  She was good, crafty and swift and clever, and not greedy—you get caught when you get greedy. Gerald learned her patterns as he watched her on the way to work.

  Not work really. After Dolores died, and after the funeral and the family and the random visitors bringing potluck stuff over to mold in the fridge, he found himself alone in the house. He had been retired for nine years before she died, and they had never done much of anything. They never traveled or went to parties or joined any clubs. But they were in the house together, living close but separate lives, side by side. She was there, a constant, a daily affirmation, like the soreness of his right rear molar or the ingrown toenail on his middle toe—a part of life.