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    Smith's Monthly #38: Smith's Monthly, #38
    Smith's Monthly #38: Smith's Monthly, #38
    Smith's Monthly #38: Smith's Monthly, #38
    Ebook306 pages4 hours

    Smith's Monthly #38: Smith's Monthly, #38

    By Dean Wesley Smith

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    About this ebook

    Over sixty thousand words of original fiction from USA Today bestselling writer Dean Wesley Smith.

    In this thirty-eighth monthly volume the full novel The Deep Sunset: A Ghost of a Chance Novel, plus four short stories and the serialized nonfiction book Killing the Top Ten Sacred Cows of Publishing.

    Short Stories

    Blind Date: A Marble Grant Story

    The Thickness of a Warp

    Unlocked Gate

    A Parker House Roll

    Full Novel

    The Deep Sunset: A Ghost of a Chance Novel

    Serialized Nonfiction

    Killing the Top Ten Sacred Cows of Publishing (Part 2 of 2)

    Nonfiction

    Introduction: Some Schedule Fun

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWMG Publishing
    Release dateJul 28, 2017
    ISBN9781386298465
    Smith's Monthly #38: Smith's Monthly, #38
    Author

    Dean Wesley Smith

    Considered one of the most prolific writers working in modern fiction, USA TODAY bestselling writer, Dean Wesley Smith published far over a hundred novels in forty years, and hundreds of short stories across many genres. He currently produces novels in four major series, including the time travel Thunder Mountain novels set in the old west, the galaxy-spanning Seeders Universe series, the urban fantasy Ghost of a Chance series, and the superhero series staring Poker Boy. During his career he also wrote a couple dozen Star Trek novels, the only two original Men in Black novels, Spider-Man and X-Men novels, plus novels set in gaming and television worlds.

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      Book preview

      Smith's Monthly #38 - Dean Wesley Smith

      CONTENTS

      Short Stories

      Blind Date: A Marble Grant Story

      The Thickness of a Warp

      Unlocked Gate

      A Parker House Roll

      Full Novel

      The Deep Sunset: A Ghost of a Chance Novel

      Serialized Nonfiction

      Killing the Top Ten Sacred Cows of Publishing (Part 2 of 2)

      Nonfiction

      Introduction: Some Schedule Fun

      Subscribe to Smith’s Monthly

      Copyright Information

      Introduction to Issue #38

      Some Schedule Fun

      Those of you reading this a ways after this issue was published will wonder what I am talking about here. But let me say this simply. Even though it says November 2016 on the cover, the publication of this issue happened a good distance into 2017.

      And that’s fine, since this is my magazine. A number of people asked me why I just didn’t skip the months I was behind. Just pretend I was on schedule again.

      Honestly, I flat don’t want to. In fact, by the time this magazine goes into its fifth year (Issue #49), I hope to be back on time, meaning the publication date on the cover will match the month the issue actually comes out.

      But here in this introduction, I wanted to admit the fact that this is late and to thank a number of people for being so understanding while I went and did other things for a time.

      All the subscribers to this magazine first off. Wonderful support and faith in a crazy project.

      And also thanks to the Patreon supporters who also get this magazine every issue and support my blog every month.

      Thank you one and all for sticking with me on this crazy idea of putting out a magazine of only my stuff every month.

      Back when I came up with this idea almost four years ago, I told those around me that at times over the years I would get behind.

      Actually, I said that after the first year, because I wasn’t sure I could even fill my own magazine every month for a year. So after the first year, when I shifted my goal to getting this magazine to Issue #100, I warned people I would get behind at times as life got in the way.

      But I also said I would always try to catch up.

      So this is the first issue in getting caught up.

      And this issue has some really fun stuff. Not only is there a new Ghost of a Chance novel, but the first story in a brand new Ghost of a Chance series starring Marble Grant, a former superhero.

      Ghost of a Chance novels have attitude. Marble Grant stories take that attitude and multiply it a few hundred times. Hope you like them because every issue for the next ten issues will start with a new Marble Grant story.

      And I hope you enjoy a lot of reading coming up. Over the next five months, as I get caught up, a bunch of these issues will be headed your way.

      And once again, thanks for all the support.

      Cheers.

      —Dean Wesley Smith

      May 18, 2017

      Dying on a first date sucks. Dying on a blind date sucks even worse.

      Marble Grant, superhero, finds herself suddenly dead in a disgustingly smelly back alley and not catching a white-beam ride to the other side of whatever.

      As a superhero, she knew about Ghost Agents. Never met one, but knew they existed.

      She never heard of superheroes making the transition to Ghost Agent before, either.

      The first story in a new and fun Ghost of a Chance series, where ghosts solve problems and help people. And look damn sexy in the process.

      Blind Date

      A Marble Grant Story

      One

      Dying on a first date sucks. Dying on a blind date sucks even worse.

      Especially when your date dies with you. And then goes off through some tunnel of light into the next life or something, leaving you sitting alone, dead, in a dark alley, waiting for your own tunnel of light.

      Hands down, the worst ending to any date in recorded history.

      The alley we had been forced to go into was blacker than the inside of a latrine, and seeming how it smelled, I would have not been surprised to be in a latrine, but I knew I wasn’t since it seemed that being dead meant I could see just fine in the dark.

      And smell just fine as well. Holy crap. The nearby Chinese restaurant garbage smelled like my fridge after six days of feeling sorry for myself and laying on the couch and eating take-out without taking out the uneaten food. And no telling how many homeless and drunks had used this alley for a bathroom.

      I was sitting on a big green dumpster owned by a nearby office, so thankfully it didn’t have the odor of the other dumpsters coming up between my legs.

      The scum with the greasy black hair and dirty ski parka that had killed us was going through my date’s pockets as I sat and watched.

      The guy looked skinny and no doubt drug-addicted. His motions were jerky, his eyes darting around him like a rat trying to find a way out of a maze.

      My blind date, dear old Handsome Bob, as I had started to think of him for the full thirty minutes I had known him, had caused this mess by thinking he could be a macho asshole or something.

      The scum with the greasy black hair had approached us on the sidewalk and Bob had shaken his head and said, Not now.

      We were headed down the street to a nice Italian restaurant that served the best red wine and bread plate this side of New York. And that was going some for the Old Towne section of Boise, Idaho.

      Bob was dressed in a clearly expensive silk suit and no tie, while I didn’t look so cheap myself. For the date I had put on dark slacks, a silk white blouse with pearls around my neck, and a thin see-through sweater. No bra because I wanted my date to get an occasional peak at what might be offered after dinner if things went right.

      Sitting dead in an alley sure wasn’t my idea of things going right.

      The greasy jerk had pulled out a gun, his hands shaking. Dear old dead Handsome Bob had said, You don’t want to do that.

      Bless him.

      Clearly the druggie did want to do exactly what he was doing, but I didn’t say that. I was busy ramping up one of my super powers.

      You see, before I was so suddenly cut down, I had worked as a superhero in the housing and hotel industry. Over the last century I had worked both front desks of hotels and sold real estate. At the moment I was on the real estate side, trying to help out in the booming Boise real estate market.

      Amazing the kind of crap that goes on in real estate when big money is involved.

      I hit greasy-hair with a full dose of my calming power. The guy was so high on drugs my power actually didn’t do anything but make him stop shaking so hard.

      He pointed to the dark alley with the gun. Get in there and then dig out your money.

      And if we say no? Handsome Bob asked the guy.

      Since Bob was almost a foot taller than the greasy-haired druggie, I suppose Bob thought he could bully the situation a little.

      Bless dear old now-dead stupid Bob.

      I hit the guy with another dose of calming power. I had enough power on a normal day to stop a shouting, irate, pissed-off hotel customer at a front desk and make them smile.

      The guy with the gun got calmer, but his pea brain was still set on robbing us. At least I got him to not shoot us right there on the sidewalk because of Handsome Bob’s stupidity.

      Let’s just give him our stuff and he will let us go, I said to Bob.

      Smart woman, the guy said, smiling and showing a mouthful of rotted teach.

      Actually, I had planned that when we got into the alley I would simply jump us away from this nut and then figure out something to tell dear old Bob.

      Bob didn’t know I was a one-hundred-year-old superhero and could just teleport anywhere I wanted. Not something you tell someone before a first blind date. Men tended to have sexual problems when they realized the woman they were with was over a hundred.

      Bob nodded to me and we walked the twenty steps into the alley, Bob pushing me slightly ahead of him.

      Then, as we stopped and turned at just about the point where the rotted Chinese food odor got the worst, Bob went to lunge at the guy.

      Handsome Bob went to stupid Bob very quickly.

      I was so surprised Bob would do something that idiotic, I didn’t react fast enough to jump us out of there.

      The guy fired, hitting Bob in the arm.

      The bullet went through Bob’s flesh and hit me square between the eyes.

      Now that was a shocker, let me tell you.

      One moment I am standing alive in the alley and the next I am a ghost sitting on a smelly dumpster watching dear old Handsome Bob hold his arm and swear.

      The greasy-haired guy was now twitching again. He stared at my body lying there in the alley, clearly getting my wonderful blouse and sweater all stained up with my own blood.

      Then he looked at Bob who was also staring at me, holding his wounded arm and looking sick to his stomach.

      Then the guy did what any self-respecting murderer would do. He shot Bob.

      Bob slumped to the ground and the guy fired one more shot into his head.

      A moment later I watched Bob’s ghost stand up, look around, then look up and float off into a white light.

      Nice meeting you jerk-face, I shouted after Bob.

      I was pretty sure he didn’t hear me.

      As I said, the worst ending to a blind date ever.

      Two

      The druggie who had killed me and my blind date started through Bob’s pockets. He pulled out a money clip and then took Bob’s watch. Then he rolled Bob over slightly and took out his wallet.

      He pulled out a single-package condom and tossed it aside.

      I just shook my head. Damn, Bob, only one? Where was the confidence? If you had come back to my place, you would have needed at least three just to make it to breakfast.

      The greasy murderer clearly didn’t hear me. And I had a hunch dead Bob didn’t either.

      I glanced around. I was still the only ghost in the alley.

      Where was my greeting party?

      I figured I had become a Ghost Agent which was why I hadn’t gotten the beam-of-light ride. I had never met a Ghost Agent, but I had heard from my best friend Patty that she and her boyfriend, Poker Boy, had worked with some Ghost Agents just lately to save the world. Seems Patty and her boyfriend were always saving the world, which I must admit I appreciated.

      The guy stood and stepped toward my body.

      Hey, not so fast there, jerk-face, I said, jumping down from the dumpster and brushing off my pants.

      The greasy-haired slime-ball picked up my clutch purse and went through it. That I didn’t much care about. I had a few hundred in there and that was that.

      But then he looked around at the mouth of the alley and then looked back at me with that look I had seen scum like him get. Ghost or no ghost, he wasn’t touching me, even if I did have a hole in the middle of my forehead.

      This night had gone bad enough as it was.

      The guy kneeled down beside my body and I took two quick steps at the guy and went to kick him clear across the alley.

      Foot went right through him. Charlie Brown would have been proud of my form, though. I didn’t end up on my back.

      However, when my foot went through the guy, I got to read all of his thoughts.

      All of what he was about to do to me.

      So I closed my eyes and went inside the scum. Now I knew for a fact I was in a cesspool, swimming in the shit that this guy called thoughts. If I got out of here I would need about ten showers.

      If ghosts took showers.

      As he reached for my right breast, I shouted at the top of my lungs, No!

      And trust me, I can be loud.

      Just ask anyone who sat beside me at a Broncos’ football game.

      And I was inside the guy when I shouted.

      Slime-bucket grabbed his head and rolled over backward, the intense pain striking everywhere.

      As he rolled away, I managed to stand my ground and get out of his body. I shook myself, wishing I could forget the memories of what I had just seen in his mind.

      It would take twenty showers before I would feel clean again.

      The guy was holding his head and screaming and rolling on the ground. Blood was coming out of his ears.

      Both ears.

      Wow, what did you do to him? a voice behind me asked.

      I turned around to see a handsome couple standing to one side looking shocked. Both were about my height of five-ten, both wore jeans, expensive shirts, and tennis shoes.

      The pervert was about to get his jollies on my dead body, so I climbed inside his head and shouted as loud as I could.

      Both of them laughed.

      Then the woman stepped forward. I’m Jewel and this is Tommy. We came to help get you used to being a ghost, but guess you are doing just fine.

      I shook both their hands, happy as hell I had company. I’m Marble Grant. And got a hunch I’m going to need a lot of help.

      Someone close to you? Tommy asked, pointing at Handsome Bob?

      Knew him for thirty minutes, I said. Blind date. But I had planned on getting much closer to him after dinner, if you get my drift.

      Jewel laughed and Tommy actually blushed a little, which I loved. I had a feeling I was going to like these two.

      I suppose you two are Ghost Agents. Right?

      Both of them looked shocked.

      I was a superhero in the hospitality and real estate side of the world, I said. Any chance you two know Patty Ledgerwood and Poker Boy?

      Now they both were looking shocked.

      We do, Jewel said.

      You know, I said, I’m damn hungry and I assume there is a way ghosts eat, so any chance we could get out of this smell and grab a bite and you guys call Patty and have her meet us. I would kind of like to tell her about my sudden death myself, since she has been my best friend for a hundred years now, give or take.

      Both of them just nodded.

      Anything we need to do with that guy? I asked, looking down at the scum who had killed me and Handsome Bob before I had the chance to find out if the handsome part went all the way to Bob’s southern regions.

      Greasy hair was still rolling on the dirty concrete, holding his ears and screaming. He was losing a lot of blood through his fingers. I clearly had done some damage.

      I think he’s finished, Tommy said, laughing.

      Yeah, Jewel said. Got to remember that trick.

      With that we jumped to a place I knew well and loved, the Golden Nugget Buffet in downtown Las Vegas.

      Now I knew I was really going to like these two.

      Three

      The Golden Nugget Buffet had been decorated in all warm brown cloth and polished brass. Plants ringed the outside of the side part of the dining room nearest the escalator and the tables were solid, as were the chairs.

      My hand went right through a chair as I tried to pull it out and Jewel did it for me.

      "You’ll learn how to actually move some physical matter, but you don’t want to do that too often because people start to get spooked.

      I’ll bet, I said.

      Tommy jumped away to find Patty and Jewel led me up to the wonderful smelling food. The images from the murderer’s head were slowly fading, something I was very grateful for.

      Be careful to not run into anyone, Jewel said, indicating the six people around the large buffet area. You end up reading their thoughts.

      Yeah, learned that with the guy who shot me, I said.

      Jewel showed me how to pick up a plate, which was actually just the ghost component of the plate and how to take food from the buffet.

      In five minutes of filling a ghost plate with ghost food, I managed to not run into anyone alive, which sort of felt like a victory. I called it the dance of the living. A living person came toward me, I stepped sideways and went around them.

      Jewel did the same, seemingly without noticing.

      Back at the table, I bit into a piece of prime rib and damn near had an orgasm right there at the table.

      Jewel just smiled as I moaned and kept on eating the fantastic tasting food.

      I remember the food being good here, I said after a few bites, but never this good.

      Everything is better when you are a ghost, Jewel said. Food tastes better, emotions are more powerful, and the travel and living is easier.

      Sex? I asked.

      As the joke goes, Jewel said, smiling, it’s to die for.

      Oh, no, I said. I had enough trouble controlling myself when I was alive.

      Jewel just laughed and at that moment Tommy appeared.

      Patty is in Poker Boy’s office, Tommy said. Let’s just grab some food and jump there. She’s expecting us but doesn’t know why yet.

      It dawned on me why Patty couldn’t jump here. She was still alive. Anyone in the restaurant would see her arrive and then talk to no one. Not a good idea.

      Tommy headed for the buffet. I really needed to pee, but instead I kept eating as we waited for him. Damn, the food was so good. I was going to be lucky to not gain a ton of weight now that I had died. I needed to remember to ask Jewel and Tommy how they stayed so thin.

      After Tommy came back with a full plate of food, he jumped the three of us and our food and drink to what I assumed was Poker Boy’s office, although I had never been there.

      In fact, the place was like a legend.

      But I had heard it was something special and I had heard right. The office wasn’t really an office. It was more like a tile platform floating in the air a thousand feet over the Strip.

      All four walls were freaking clear glass with a wood railing about waist high all the way around.

      Without that railing, I would have been so afraid of falling off that slick checkered tile floor, I would have been clinging to the furniture and screaming like a ten-year-old girl not wanting to go see her uncle.

      And I was dead, so pretty certain the fall wouldn’t kill me again.

      Still, scary damn place and now I really had to pee.

      I made my heart stop racing and looked around.

      In the very center of the room was this huge 1950s style diner booth, with a scarred tabletop and red vinyl booth seats on three sides. The thing was big enough to hold ten people if the people really liked each other.

      There were a half-dozen chairs around the room that could be pulled up to the open end of the booth I suppose, but three of them just sat facing out over the incredible view of the city.

      And

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