Murder-a-Go-Go's, page 1
MURDER-A-GO-GO’S
Crime Fiction Inspired by the Music of the Go-Go’s
Edited by Holly West
PRAISE FOR MURDER-A-GO-GO’S
“I always suspected that twinkle in the Go-Gos’ eyes was a coded invitation to a darker world. In the hands of these 25 stellar crime fiction writers, ‘We Got the Beat’ and ‘Our Lips Are Sealed’ become evil little gems. A totally rad read.” —Alan Hunter, Original MTV VJ, SiriusXM Host
“Shock and awe, that sums up my reaction to Murder-A-Go-Go’s. Shock to live in times when ‘The Whole World Lost Its Head’ and awe at the response of these gifted writers. Buckle up for a ride that will leave ‘Skidmarks on Your Heart.’” —Sara Paretsky, bestselling author of the V.I. Warshawski crime series
“Who knew those happy songs by one of all-time favorite bands, the Go-Go’s could inspire such dark, noir, spine-tingling stories?!! It’s a collection of tales of distinctly female rage—the murderous kind and otherwise—to keep you up at night!” —Alison Arngrim, TV’s Nellie Oleson and author of Confessions of a Prairie Bitch
“This is the music-driven anthology you didn’t know you needed, but after you read it, you’ll realize your bookshelf was lacking without it. This is a killer line-up of writers, and under Holly’s steady hand, they don’t play a single false note. Murder-A-Go-Go’s has got the beat.” —Rob Hart, author of The Warehouse
“Like the songs these writers used for muses, each story contains the energy of a pop group and the rawness of a punk band, with some of the darkness and vulnerability that underscores the Go-Go’s themselves thrown in for good measure.” —Steph Post, author of Miraculum
“The Go-Go’s spun some of the brightest, catchiest all-girl pop back in the day. But they always carried more weight than your average pop band: the burden of trailblazing and pioneering; the bad kids in the back of the class breaking all the rules and looking damn cool doing it. This collection commandingly captures that sweet subversion.” —Joe Clifford, author of The One That Got Away
“Beneath the pop stylings and sensibilities of the Go-Go’s pulsed the heart of a punk band. In this eye-opening anthology, some of the sharpest voices of contemporary short crime fiction tease out the aches and anxieties echoing through the groundbreaking group’s music: the dark sides of desire, the missed opportunities, the tangled regrets. These stories—they got the beat.” —Art Taylor, award-winning author of On the Road with Del & Louise: A Novel in Stories
“Holly West (editor)’s Murder-A-Go-Go’s is murderous fun from the first story to the last. Each masterful tale is distinctive, but this collection is so much more than the sum of its parts, infused with all the talent and skill of some of the best short story writers working in crime fiction today.” —Jennifer Hillier, author of Creep and Jar of Hearts
Compilation Copyright © 2019 by Holly West
Individual Story Copyrights © 2019 by Contributing Authors
All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Down & Out Books
3959 Van Dyke Road, Suite 265
Lutz, FL 33558
DownAndOutBooks.com
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover art and design by John K Snyder III
Cover special thanks to Mollie Randa
Cover layout by Lance Wright
Visit the Down & Out Books website to sign up for our monthly newsletter and we’ll deliver the latest news on our upcoming titles, sale books, Down & Out authors on the net, and more!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Murder-A-Go-Go’s
Foreword
Jane Wiedlin
Introduction
Holly West
Our Lips Are Sealed
Lori Rader-Day
You Thought
Susanna Calkins
Vacation
S.W. Lauden
Good for Gone
Jen Conley
This Town
Greg Herren
Tonite
R.D. Sullivan
It’s Everything but Party Time
Lisa Alber
Blades
Steve Weddle
Fading Fast
Sarah M. Chen
Kissing Asphalt
Dharma Kelleher
Mercenary
Bryon Quertermous
We Don’t Get Along
Diane Vallere
We Got the Beat
Thomas Pluck
Forget That Day
Wendall Thomas
Head Over Heels
Craig Faustus Buck
Beatnik Beach
Patricia Abbott
Johnny Are You Queer?
Travis Richardson
The Way You Dance
Renee Asher Pickup
The Whole World Lost Its Head
Josh Stallings
Lust to Love
Jessica Laine
Girl of 100 Lists
Stephen Buehler
You Can’t Walk in Your Sleep (If You Can’t Sleep)
Nadine Nettmann
Skidmarks on My Heart
Eric Beetner
How Much More
Lisa Brackmann
Unforgiven
Hilary Davidson
About the Contributors
Preview from Hell Chose Me by Angel Luis Colón
Preview from Guillotine by Paul Heatley
Preview from Silent Remains by Jerry Kennealy
For Evie
Foreword
When editor Holly West contacted me about an anthology of crime fiction stories based on the titles of the Go-Go’s songs, I was intrigued. How did Holly come up with this idea? Why crime fiction? Why the Go-Go’s?
The human brain is an endless source of wonder and curiosity to me. It will make random connections and generate genuinely original creative ideas if we just step aside and let it do its thing. At least, that’s been my experience these last forty years of being a songwriter. My favorite and best songs I’ve helped create always seemed to pop into my head out of nowhere. When you’re in an inspired groove, it doesn’t feel like work, and it certainly doesn’t feel like anything you did. More like The Universe opened that secret trapdoor at the top of your skull and dumped some magic inside. I like to imagine that the writers of these tales had a similar experience; that once they chose their song title, the ideas just flowed.
I’ve been a lifelong bookworm. When I was just a kid, my mom would drive my siblings and me to the library once a week during the summer. I’d check out the maximum number of books allowed, ten. Then I’d plow through those ten books like a starving man getting his first square meal in ages. Ten books a week, for years and years. There was/is nothing like that feeling of being swept away and engulfed by another world. Many other worlds. I lived to get lost from myself and my life. Not that my life was bad, it’s just that my brain wanted and needed more than my typical suburban life in a typical house in the San Fernando Valley. Books. Words. Stories. Ideas. That’s where it’s at, baby. That’s what feeds the soul. I still feel the same way today. Reading these stories let me disappear into unknown places, where I got to meet interesting people doing strange and sometimes disturbing things.
It is fascinating to me that this group of talented writers looked at the titles of our songs and came up with what they did. Before reading each story, I’d try to guess what the story would be about, based on the song title. I was wrong every time. It reminded me of how often people have totally “misunderstood” what our songs were about. For a long time, that used to bother me. Now, I see it as a weird and wonderful thing. My brain interpreted the words this way, your brain sees them that way. And it’s all good!
It is a wonderful honor that the Go-Go’s were chosen to inspire this anthology. I hope you dive into this cool pool of creativity and get lost in these tales. I know you will totally enjoy their crime-y goodness!
Jane Wiedlin
Oakland, California
April 2018
Back to TOC
Introduction
I was half-naked and vulnerable in a thin cotton hospital gown when my doctor entered the exam room and told me she was no longer prescribing birth control because it violated her religious beliefs. Nobody in her office bothered to tell me this before I undressed, so I was caught off balance and didn’t know how to respond. My doctor’s decision to put her religious beliefs ahead of her responsibilities as a healthcare professional rendered her incapable of providing me with the best possible medical care, and yet I let her conduct the exam anyway, a decision I regret to this day.
Unfortunately, this scene—and worse—plays itself out every day, not only in medical facilities, but in legislatures, all over the country. Women are regularly denied their right to sexual healthcare and those organizations that seek to preserve those rights are vilified, restricted, and at risk of losing essential funding. Like me, the publisher and the authors who contributed stories to Murder-A-Go-Go’s are passionate about protecting women’s affordable access to reproductive health services. To this end, we’ve agreed to donate the net proceeds from this volume to Planned Pare nthood, a crucial provider of these services. We stand in solidarity with Planned Parenthood in fulfilling their vital role in advancing access to sexual health care and the defense of reproductive rights.
People are often surprised when I tell them this crime fiction anthology is inspired by the music of the Go-Go’s, but to me, it’s a natural fit. There’s no argument the Go-Go’s have produced some of the catchiest pop tunes of all time, but as the first all-female band to play their own instruments and write their own songs to hit number one on the Billboard charts, they broke important musical ground. Forty years later, their music still captures what it feels like to be young and female—a little wide-eyed and innocent, with an undercurrent of vulnerability, but tough and street smart at the same time. Beyond their effervescent sound, there’s a darkness underlying many of their lyrics and melodies, plenty to inspire murder and mayhem.
My sincere gratitude goes out to everyone involved with this project. To the Go-Go’s, especially Jane Wiedlin, who responded with an exuberant “hell yeah” when we asked her to contribute the foreword. To the authors whose stories appear in this book, thank you for donating your time and creative energy to this project. I’ve loved working with you and I’m grateful to call you friends. A special shout out goes to Craig Faustus Buck, who not only helped get Jane Wiedlin on board, but suggested the title for the anthology. Thanks to John K. Snyder III, who donated the book’s cover. And finally, my heartfelt thanks go to Eric Campbell, the publisher at Down & Out Books, who didn’t hesitate to say yes when I pitched this project to him. His enthusiasm for this anthology from the beginning was key in getting it off the ground.
I’m exceedingly proud of this collection. Thank you for reading it and supporting the cause.
Holly West
Editor
Back to TOC
Our Lips Are Sealed
Lori Rader-Day
When the credits for the movie the girls weren’t supposed to be watching started to roll, Colbie went to check that her mother was asleep, stamping down on the hand of her sister, Alexa, on the way out. Alexa sat up and sniffled into her fist but kept silent with effort. On the floor, Jane and Patricia picked white flecks of popcorn out of the kernels left at the bottom of the bowl. Nori slipped into the bathroom with her pajamas balled up in her fist.
Jane watched her go. “I usually sleep naked.”
“Bullshit,” Patricia said. Jane was older, by almost a full year, already thirteen. But Patricia was taller. If she needed to, she would hold Jane down and force her to say she was a liar.
Colbie returned to the doorway with a six-pack of soda cradled in her arms. “My mom’s either dead or she took one of her pills. Where’s Nori?”
“Peeing,” Jane said. She picked at the chipped blue nail polish on her big toe, leaving a patch of paint on the pink carpet of Colbie’s room. “Why didn’t you invite boys over? I went to a boy-girl sleepover when I was at my old school—”
Patricia snorted. “For church? That doesn’t count.”
“Let’s do something else,” Colbie said.
“Not a lock-in, bitch,” Jane said. “A sleepover. With boys.”
Patricia rolled her eyes at Colbie. Everything seemed to have already happened to Jane, but out of sight, at her old school, in her old town. She sometimes wanted to ask Jane why she didn’t just go back if everything was so great there. She was sure Jane would say she couldn’t because she was a kid. Which, for once, would be the truth. They were all stuck where they were, being who they were. Patricia turned to Colbie. “What should we do?”
Nori opened the bathroom door an inch. “You guys?”
“Did you get your period finally?” Jane said. She had the deck of cards Colbie stole from her older brother’s room earlier and was setting out a game of solitaire. Jane wanted to sneak down the hall later and see if Colbie’s brother was back yet. He was fifteen, and that was just about right, although it would be better if he could drive.
Alexa scooted across the floor, drawn toward the stacks of cards. She was only eight and had been allowed to stay up with them—as opposed to being shoved into Colbie’s closet and tormented in the dark—if she promised not to speak. She hunched over the cards like a rabbit.
Jane snapped the last card into place and glanced up. “Sorry, kid. It’s an alone game.”
Nori came out of the bathroom with her head down. She wore a long, shiny red nightgown, the neck too wide for her narrow shoulders. It slipped down on one side. “Hot stuff—” Jane started to say.
“What the hell is that on your face?” Colbie said.
Nori drew her chin up. Her head had grown a silver wire halo. The metal circled her face across her mouth and hooked to a black band that ran under her ears and around the back of her head. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her words garbled and juicy with spit.
She looked like a horse trying to chew its bit, Colbie decided. Patricia felt sorry for her and wondered if Nori couldn’t have, just this once, gone to bed without it. Jane thought: Freak.
Nori, when she had studied herself in Colbie’s bathroom mirror, thought of Saturn’s rings. When she took it off in the morning, she would have a dent in her long, black hair and marks on her cheeks. She took a wet breath. “It’s just headgear.”
“Headgear,” Jane said. “Head. Gear.” She twisted her mouth and looked around knowingly.
Jane would not let them forget she was older. Early birthday, she said. Held back, Patricia said. That year was like an arm held out. She took the same classes at school, walked home with them after, liked the same boys, and shared her bounty of lip gloss. But she had a way of turning everything anyone said into something sexy.
Not sexy, Nori wanted to clarify. Sex-y. Not enticing and romantic like the movies Nori liked, where the man and woman came toward each other and the screen blurred or misted, or the camera turned delicately away. Not like that at all.
More like sex was a pudgy animal with slick skin that the rest of them didn’t want to talk about and hadn’t ever seen, not even in books. Like Jane could reach into her pocket and plunk one of the rare beasts down on the table when the rest of them weren’t even talking about animals. She wielded a familiarity with the subject that made the rest of them blink.
Colbie tended to play along, except when Alexa, who was a blabber-baby, was around. Patricia would squint hard at Jane, wanting to say You don’t know anything—but didn’t, because she didn’t know enough herself, to know what Jane did or didn’t know.
When Jane got going, Nori always grew pink, trying not to cry, and Colbie had to assure her it probably wasn’t like that really. Probably.
Now Patricia rolled her eyes. “I know what we could do.” Nori looked at her gratefully. “We could call people.”
“Mom says you’re not supposed to use it—” Alexa clamped her hands over her own mouth. Slap, slap.
Colbie jumped off the bed and leaned down, pointing a finger at the tip of her sister’s nose. “Too late, punk. You get one more chance or I swear I’ll lock you in. And if you tell Mom, oh, I don’t even want to tell you what’s going to happen.”
Alexa put a thumb in her mouth, quickly remembered where she was, and popped it out. Alexa was often left with Colbie while their mom worked. Colbie had the hardest pinch in the world because she worked on her grip for softball. She was the pitcher. “I won’t tell,” Alexa whispered.
“One more chance to keep your big fat Trapper Keeper closed.” Colbie leaned over her sister until she nodded and hung her head, her long brown hair curtaining over her face. Colbie glared at her and then out at her friends. She hadn’t wanted to call people and use all the minutes on her new phone, but now they would have to. “Who should we call first?”
