EQMM, July 2010 by Dell Magazine Authors

Author:Dell Magazine Authors
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dell Magazines

Fiction: INTENT by Phil Lovesey

Stories written entirely in dialogue are extremely rare in our genre, and it takes a writer with a keen ear to pull it off. Phil Lovesey's one such writer and this is one such story. The British author is a frequent contributor to EQMM. He has several highly acclaimed books in print (all dark psychological novels), but seems to particularly enjoy the short form. In his short stories, he can often be found in a lighter mood!

"It's me!"

"I'm in the lounge."

"Good day?"

"Very. Exceptionally good. Brilliantly good. Yours?"

"Same as every other weekday. A morning spent on the phone punting for business leads; an afternoon chasing invoices from last month. I think I may have finally got a sniff of something more promising, though. But it's such hard work."

"Your choice to quit a well-paid job and start up your own business, Steve."

"Our choice, Zoe. Not just mine. You wanted this as much as me."

"True. But I think at the time I was a little naive about the full financial implications of a respected lawyer chucking it all in to start selling Japanese camping equipment."

"We'll get there, Zoe. It's just going to take time, that's all. Give it another year, eighteen months. We'll pull through. And it's not camping equipment. It's the material they make their tents with, really light and weather resistant. Honest, Zoe, I'm close to cracking a good deal for this stuff."

"You'd better be. You want a drink? You look bushed."

"Beer'd be good."

"We're out of bottles. Just cheap cans now."

"Anything, Zoe. Doesn't matter."

"Sit down. Put your feet up. May as well use the sofa while we can. We're already three months behind on the payments. They'll be knocking on the door to repossess it any day now."

"I just love Friday nights with you, Zoe. It's all fun, fun, fun, isn't it? And just to think, I've got a whole weekend of your financial pessimism to look forward to before I go back to selling tent fabric on Monday."

"Or not selling it."

''I'm selling it, Zoe. It's just . . . “

"You're not getting the money?"

"It'll come."

"Just as long as we don't end up in one of your bloody Japanese tents, Steve."

"No way."

"Here's your beer."

"Thanks."

"So—you going to ask me?"

"About what?"

"My day. My exceptional and brilliantly good day?"

"Let's see now. I walk in, and for once you greet me brightly. You ask about my day, then offer me a beer from the fridge. Even more confusing—you're smiling, appear happy for once. All I can conclude, judging by previous instances such as this, is that you've been spending money again."

"Objection! Merely circumstantial evidence at this point, Your Honour. It could just be that I'm pleased to see you."

"And you're wearing new shoes."

"Correction, Your Honour—new designer, vintage shoes."

"Oh Christ!"

"And, for the benefit of the jury, would you mind estimating how much I paid for these shoes?"

"Zoe, please. Can we stop the lawyer game? I'm not a barrister anymore."

"More's the pity. You were good."

"I lost too many cases, Zoe, you know that."

"You just got unlucky, that's all.

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