"In Many Ways" by Peter Carroll

He had no particular preference when it came to how to make money and wield power. To get where he was, he had certainly had to ditch any sense of empathy or sympathy for those he dealt with. Better still, he was almost certainly born without such cumbersome baggage. This unburdening undoubtedly saved him the angst that those initial, moral, gangster dilemmas would have elicited in most until they had dulled themselves to it. It would always be difficult to decide in any individual, which one of nature or nurture had played a bigger part in shaping who they were. However, from a fairly early age, spurred on by the example (or genes) set to him by his father, he really did not appear to be all that interested in whether his actions had a negative effect on, or outcome for, other people. No matter the conclusions drawn in any intellectual debate as to the origins of his disposition, it was fair to say that if ever there was a man that had been born to profit from the misery of others, then this was he, and that lad in the chair was about to be very miserable indeed.

From "A Clear and Feathered Danger" by Noah Murphy

After a day spent covering death, destruction and politics, chilling with a group of drunk, dancing avians was a nice change of pace.

Leyla sat on Abernathy’s entertainment room sofa watching an avian tap his foot while clicking his beak to the beat of the blaring dance music. Another was twisting her head and torso, a third was just bouncing her head and up down. A fourth was just flapping her wings in place. Off in a corner, a bonded pair was doing something best described as the avian version of making out, holding each other’s beaks and vibrating rapidly. Leyla’s camera pod was on the floor capturing the whole scene.

Behind them at the bar, an avian was squawking angrily because they had completely cleaned out the liquor cabinet. But before the fun had a chance to stop, an avian flew up with a box of beer. Four avians tore the box open and grabbed the beer. Holding the bottles, they twisted off the caps with their beaks and flung the caps with their tongues. They turned their beaks skywards and let gravity do the work.

From "Cold Hillside" by Martin Cooper

Simon visits his brother's house a few days after his death...

I don’t know what I expected. Some speaking sense of his personality. But there was nothing. Shirts ironed in the wardrobe, socks rolled in pairs in a top drawer. On one wall several groups of Victorian great-grandparents waited stiffly for the photographer to release them. The bookshelves were full of his favourites, old editions some of them, probably valuable.

His reading glasses were lying on the bedside table. I picked them up and sat on the edge of the bed. He had chosen them because they made him look harmless - I remembered how he used to blink over the gold framed half-lenses. He loved to mislead.

Finally, in great, helpless, breathless gulps, the tears came.

Fairly late, I went downstairs and turned on the stereo. There was a CD already in the drive and it started automatically, filling the living room with the drone of a concertina, very soft. Then the fiddle. Then the girl’s voice, phrases fading, lost in the shadows:

Too many battles, too many loads,
Old wounds carried down too many roads
To a bed on a cold hillside.

Giles had gone to his death with my song in his ears.

From "The Fall Guy" by Simon Wood

Todd glanced at the headline: DRUG DEALER BUSTED DURING ROUTINE TRAFFIC STOP.

“The car you hit belongs to an employee of mine. Driving home the other night, he was pulled over for a busted headlight. The cops discovered two kilos of cocaine in his possession. He’s in a lot of trouble and I’m minus an employee, not to mention a lot of money. Do you see now? Do you see what you’ve done and why it has led us to your door?”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not important.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to know. But I’ve lost a valuable employee who had a job to do. Now he can’t do it. This is where you come in.” The small man stabbed a finger in Todd’s direction.

Todd’s stomach twitched. He didn’t like what was coming. He knew it was retribution for what he’d done, but it wasn’t the kind he wanted. Points on his license and a fine he could accept. He’d even take a beating. But the small man’s kind of retribution filled Todd with dread.

“Me?” Todd stammered.

“Yes. You’ll have to fill in.”

From "The Butcher's Boy" by Michael Robb Mathias

The ghostly boy picked up another empty and went through the wind up again, but this time the can went over Oliver’s head and clattered into the kitchen. Oliver whimpered like a terrified child and the ghost boy grabbed at its belly and laughed. The sound that came out held no mirth though. It was a hollow gravelly hiss that was full of spite and anger.

Oliver used a hand to push himself up and tried to climb over the recliner to get away. The ghost snarled at this and reached for another can. There was no dramatic pause to check the first base runner with this wind up. The ghostly arm shot forth and the can flew across the room.

Oliver put a hand up to protect himself, but he wasn’t fast enough. This can wasn’t opened yet and when it him full in the mouth it shattered his lips as if they were grapes and broke some teeth. He threw his arms up into a cartwheel trying to keep his balance, but it wasn’t to be. He and the chair went over and the back of his head hit the floor so hard that it bounced.

From "The Docks" by V.H. Folland

"Guy in the dock office. With a gun. Said he'd scuttle the ship in five minutes. Bombs." I was gasping, sweating in the heat. It was all true, but covered in oil, clothes charred, a total stranger, I couldn't have looked a less believable witness. The man stared for a moment, then yelled to the crew. Fortunately letting them out must have given me some credibility, as they abandoned efforts to extinguish the blaze and turned to escape.

A splash over the side indicated a crewman taking a sensible option. Others began to follow. In four minutes this ship was sinking. Anyone close in the water would be pulled under. The rest would be swimming in a sea covered by burning fuel. A shout came from the end of the deck where a crewman had found my abandoned grapple, still trailing over the side. Hauling it up from the tangle of cables where it had caught precariously he was making it fast to the fixings on board and all I could think was there was no god-damn time. I ran back towards the flames.