From "Dark Lake - A Mike Angel Mystery" by David H Fears

Mike and partner Rick in typical exchange:

 
“Okay,” I said, “so you had your .22. How’d you manage to get the drop on the whole bunch with that peashooter?”  

 “New York cop 29 years, Mikey, learned a couple things in that time. The bad boys had a Walther PPK under the bar. Interesting gun. I backed Inga up with the .22. Without her happy whip, she whimpered like a virgin at a Teamster’s outing, if you can imagine.”

“Typical Nazi.”

“Exactly. Anyway, when I got the drop on Inga, she must have pressed a silent alarm. One bozo flew down the stairs and we swapped lead. That’s why the sling. I scored a nice shot grouping around his sternum. By the time I checked upstairs you were gone, so too everyone else. Phones were ripped out so I hiked to one of those nearby mansions and strong-armed a butler into letting me use the phone.”

“You muscled a butler, eh? What’d you use, adverbs?”

“Not really. Butlers don’t read much. That’s why they’re always accused of the murder in the parlor. Everyone knows they’re stupid enough to be the killer.”

“Go on, Miss Marple.”

From "The Book of the Nine Ides" by Benjamin Goshko

Ashley is waiting for her mother to visit her in the sanitarium...

Cole squinted at the computer monitor while blindly fumbling for the mouse.

"Your mom's here, but the Director wants to sit in for her visit. You'll need to wait for him. It'll be a few minutes. Just stay quiet and keep still."

Ashley couldn't hold still. She began to slowly rock back and forth in her chair, writhing as Qualkhoikhom took hold. The mad god felt like a waterfall breaking over her. She quivered in its flow, trying to focus on Cole so she didn't shift.

Cole didn't notice her jerky movements. He idly scratched what was left of his right ear. A boy had bitten the top flap off, years ago. It was now dark purple and shriveled. An ugly, fleshy stub.

A loud tapping sound made Ashley lose focus. The noise was coming from the hallway. She recognized the rasping, uneven footsteps.

A khlathu. Someone is dying. . .is it me? Is it my time, now?

She eyed the doorway expectantly, waiting for the creature to appear.

A nine-foot tall, black insect slowly lumbered into the office, tapping its front legs against the floor tiles like a blind man feeling his way forward with a cane.

From "Intoxication" by Tim Kizer

As she pulled the trigger and watched the holes appear on the target, another theory formed in her head: what if someone had hired Helen to kill her? In this case, it would be so much harder to figure out the motives behind the attempt on her life.

Another thing--a poison could kill you, but it could also cripple you for the rest of your life. In light of this fact, what was Helen’s intent? To murder her or get her paralyzed? Suppose they wanted her out of the way but alive (that would explain why Rick had not died that day). It takes an expert to choose the right substance and the right dosage to spare the target’s life while damaging important body functions. An expert such as a chemist? But Helen was not a chemist; she was just a bimbo with a marketing degree from Fullerton State University.

If Helen had died, how was Leslie going to identify the forces behind her? That would be a very tough task. And in the meantime, these people would send a replacement killer instead of Helen.

Damn, it was too early to relax after all.