Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine 12/01/12 by Dell Magazines

Author:Dell Magazines
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dell Magazines
Published: 2012-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

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MYSTERY CLASSIC

FICTION

TRICK OR TREAT

KRISTINE KATHRYN RUSCH

Art by Ron Chironna

Sometimes in the mundane world, I feel like a fish out of water. But on that Halloween day, driving my Lexus SUV in a part of San Francisco I had never seen before, I felt like a whale covered in bling with a target on his back—and, oh yeah, in need of water Real Soon Now.

It was my own fault. Over the years, I'd driven all over San Francisco in search of convention hotels—approving, disapproving, looking for bargains, seeing why the hotels really were bargains—and I knew better than to drive a high-end rental in certain parts of the city.

The problem is that I usually need high-end rentals for their size. I'm six six and four hundred pounds on a good day. After the month I'd had, I was probably four hundred and forty pounds because I'd had to buy new jeans and haul out the XXXXL T-shirts that I'd packed away for emergencies.

And now things could get worse. The last thing I wanted was some gang to carjack me at an intersection. I had no doubt that they'd toss me out of the SUV (shoehorn me out of the SUV?), but I suspected they just might shoot me when they saw the shirt. It had been a giveaway from the twenty-year anniversary promotion of the movie Alien, and it had a little rubber alien head bursting out of the chest.

I was wearing the shirt with two conflicting expectations. First, I hoped that the folks at the shelter would think it was a great (if subtle) Halloween costume; and second, I figured Paladin would force me to wear the shelter's service T-shirt whether I arrived in a tux or arrived in my underwear. I had volunteered at shelters on special occasions in the past, and they almost always had special clothing requirements (usually that I had to purchase).

If I had given this little detour more thought, I would have dressed a lot more sedately and I would have borrowed some book dealer's ratty van. Paladin was asking me to help out at a shelter, for God's sake, which meant by definition that I was heading to a relatively crappy neighborhood.

But I was preoccupied with my role as Savior of Alternate Pro-Con, which wasn't really the name of the convention or my real title. If you're involved in science-fiction fandom, you know which upstart pro-con I'm talking about, but for the rest of you, here's a bit of a clue.

There are only a handful of pro-cons every year in the science-fiction community, and only two over Halloween weekend. "Pro-Con" is short- hand for "professional convention," and it is designed for just the professionals in the field, from the writers to the editors. I suppose actors and producers and gaming company employees could come, too, but they almost never do, because what's the point of them showing up to promote things without a fan presence?

As you can probably tell from my tone, the very name "pro-con" irritates me.

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