Double Barrel Blog

Beau Johnson has been a prolific contributor to Shotgun Honey fiction going back to Coffee, Tea and Me. It’s been an honor to host over a dozen of Beau’s stories, many which include his notorious vigilante Bishop Rider. Much like his anti-hero protagonist, Beau has been vigilant in his writing so much so that he has produced eight collections, seven published and the latest debuting next year,…

You may have noticed Shotgun Honey has been on a bit of a hiatus the last 3 months. Part of that was to give the site a much needed restructuring, clean up, and a pretty facelift for the start of our 15th anniversary. Of course, best laid plans and all that.. the updated site is not quite ready for primetime. Soon. Hopefully, it will have been worth it. It’s hard to believe that is has been 15…

It’s over. We all heard the shots. Two, one right after the other. It’s Christmas Eve and the street surges with holiday shoppers, protecting you in their midst, a gathering the cops ignore. Those of us gawping form a semi-circle around the glass doors of the bank, a rapt audience. Our stomach-churning, naked curiosity is understandable, even welcome. Somebody says, I heard there were two of…

Rawls walked out of the joint the week before Christmas. Cold wind fixing to edge more lines into his face. Chrissy was waiting for him leaning against her car, still looking mighty fine. She’d been visiting him inside all the time, but seeing her outside was different. Sure, parts of her seemed more susceptible to gravity than before—but that didn’t bother him much. They were already at it…

Who am I? Call me Charlie. When people need something to go away, I’m the guy they call. Blood, bodies, punk bitches, and snitches. I take care of it all—one-stop shop to make lives easier or make lives end. Just gotta pay me. And keep your fucking mouth shut. I don’t market myself. I don’t put cryptic ads on Craigslist. Don’t need to. My number gets passed through boardrooms, back alleys, and…

You head to his house with intention, approachin’ it all sneakin’ and surprise like. Cut your chopper bike’s engine down the end of the street. You go in the way you have your entire life: hot. Push his rotted door open like it’s your own.  You carry a heavy case.  His narrowed eyes, his tight mouth, tell you it would’ a been smarter to carry what’s inside the case in your waistband, or hand.…

“It’s tight,” Denny Cullen said, picking at the polyester blindfold that cut into the soft skin under his eyes like a noose. Wink Easman stood behind Denny, his wide frame and swollen belly pressing against the younger man’s back as he fixed the knot of the blindfold and patted him on the shoulders like a coach attempting to soothe a rookie quarterback. “Was the same way for me, boss,” he said…

Ryan stood next to the open casket, waiting for his older brother, Paul, who hadn’t shown up yet.  The room, with its yellow walls and lights that were too bright for the occasion, was crowded. A group of his father’s friends from the retirement community, clustered in chairs, reminisced about Joseph Granger, the tall man who made them laugh. Former schoolmates of Ryan’s huddled in the back,…

Come gather round me, I’ll tell you the taleof the Haint Hound Killer, what come from La ValeThree nights he rode horseback, up from Cumberland waythree nights of the Haint Hound’s howlin’ and bay I could feel him comin’ in the way the wind blew. The sparrow’s flight told me it’d not be long before I was discovered. So, I went to see my brother, the one what lived on the mountain.  It pained me…

When we moved to the new cave, Dook became my first and best homie. My tribe bounced around a lot, trying to dodge the cold and get grub, you know? When we found this cave, Dad was stoked. Then, we found this whole other tribe already living there. A small one, but, like, seriously? They were short, stocky, had, like, the biggest brows I’d ever seen. Mom clicked with them right away—classic Mom.…

We a pleased to release WHAT THE RAIN REVEALS by Ken Brosky. A story of loss and mystery set in What to Expect inside… In the Driftless Area of Wisconsin, where rolling hills and hidden valleys guard secrets as old as the land itself, a missing child’s case threatens to slip into oblivion. The leads have dried up. County resources are stretched thin. But for a disgraced deputy named Mason…

Sloane and Jess were at a laundromat in a strip mall in North El Paso wearing clothes that belonged to a dead man and watching their jeans run through the spin cycle. The sun was up and the sky looked big the way it can in certain parts of Texas. It was filled with smoke from the wildfires raging to the northeast of the city. A siren sounded. A cruiser sped through the intersection followed by a…

Here I am—another beat city bloke emerging from the London tube. I breathe out the soot and engine grease I’ve inhaled underground, and queue up for my morning dose of americano with extra shot of depresso. Busy station—cafes and bakeries, mechanical voice soundtrack and miserable commuters dragging themselves to be swallowed by glitzy office blocks for the next nine hours. “Americano extra shot…

The man was already half in love with her before she even said his name. “Danny,” she drawled, letting the syllables melt like rum over ice. “You smell like driftwood and other people’s mistakes.” He laughed too quickly—shoulders tight, eyes flickering like they’d misread something. A laugh that begged: please, let this stay simple. She leaned in, close enough for him to catch the synthetic…

 Later, once all requisite reports had been properly filled out, it was determined that the break-in had occurred at 9:30 a.m.  Timing, as the sage has pointed out, is everything.  Most especially when police forms are done in triplicate. Perhaps if it had been a weekday during the school year, the escaped murderer and bank robber extraordinaire Norman Peters might still be alive.  This being a…

I saw death in his eyes. Doug sensed it too.  “Stay,” he said, gripping my shirt. Sand scattered from his hands and down my front. “I can get help,” I said, not believing there’d be time. Swallowing, Doug shook his head. His lips were dry and crusted. His eyes sunken. The baking heat of the desert does that to a man. Even without a bullet hole in the side. “C’mon.” The bleeding had stopped…

1 kid (a mom at sixteen). 2 death threats (both from him, years apart). 3 years with him (I should have left sooner). 4 Plan Bs taken (one didn’t work). 5 years with Aria (she starts kindergarten in the fall). 6 friends dead (drugs [opioids], car accident [two friends, one car], suicide, drugs [cocaine and alcohol], drowning). 7 times in a police station (at ages seven, eighteen, nineteen,…