Plugs

Jason Erik Lundberg‘s fiction is forthcoming from Subterranean Magazine and Polyphony 7.

Susannah Mandel’s short story “The Monkey and the Butterfly” is in Shimmer #11. She also has poems in the current issues of Sybil’s Garage, Goblin Fruit, and Peter Parasol.

Read Rudi’s story “Detail from a Painting by Hieronymus Bosch” at Behind the Wainscot.

Jason Fischer has a story appearing in Jack Dann’s new anthology Dreaming Again.

We Knew Your Ma, But That Was In the Old Days

by Luc Reid

We knew your Ma, but that was in the old days. These days we couldn’t help you, no idea where she goes. She rose up past us, your Ma–least if you ask her, she did. Saved up to get rejuvenated when she was ninety or so, real class job: permanent tan, Tyler lips, Barbie platinum autogrow, the works. Me an’ Paolo’d been making do with worn-out whores for some time, so we figured for old time’s sake she might–but you don’t want to hear that, do ya? It’s yer Ma. Never mind. But she had a fine quality ass on that rejuve job, I’ll tell you that. Didn’t mind showing it, either.

What, not even stuff like that? You’re too easy to squick, I tell ya. Not like yer Ma.

Anyway, she got hired out a lot more after that rejuve: young-looking, classy, the kind of thing that makes us veteran shooters look shabby and cheap. We fell on hard times, me and Paolo, while she was pulling down the big jobs. You’d think she’d cut us in– subcontract, like, some of the time–but not yer Ma. No, she took one of those hovering apartments just outside the city limits, moved around all the time, started pretending like she didn’t know us, what gave her her start. One day her name came up, though, some guy whose boss she’d done for, and me an’ Paolo got the contract.

We went out there to the hovering apartments and tried to track her down, but by the time we found her spot, she’d already gotten wind of us. Did for Paolo with a grenade pellet to the throat, took two of my left legs off with a booby trap, so’s now I can barely hobble around. She oughta killed me, but she said “You shoulda stayed on the planet you came from” and just walked away. Left the apartment, all her stuff. Never seen her since.

Another thou note? That’s awfully generous of you. Now that you mention it, all of sudden a little more does come back to me. See, she had this tatooist she liked, always went to the same guy, and she was kind of a collector, your Ma. I’d bet you kilos to crap he knows where she is–she’s probably been in for new art.

No, none of my business what you want her for. ‘Cept I already heard rumor of it, so I guess I know even if it’s not any of my business.

Shoot her once for me too, will ya?

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