The Pulptress
THE
PULPTRESS
Copyright © 2012 Pro Se
Productions
Published by Pro Se Press at
Smashwords
The stories in this publication are
fictional. All of the characters in this publication are fictitious
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely
coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any
information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in
writing of the publisher.
Edited by – Tommy Hancock
Editor in Chief, Pro Se Productions
- Tommy Hancock
Submissions Editor - Barry
Reese
Publisher & Pro Se Productions,
LLC Chief Execuitive Officer - Fuller Bumpers
Pro Se Productions, LLC
133 1/2 Broad Street
Batesville, AR, 72501
870-834-4022
“
Under the Fedora, Behind the Mask”
and “Black Mask, Big City” copyright © 2012 Tommy
Hancock
“The Portrait” copyright © 2012
Terry Alexander
“Butcher’s Festival” copyright ©
2012 Ron Fortier
“Voice to a New Generation”
copyright © 2012 Erwin K. Roberts
“The Bone Queen” copyright © 2012
Andrea Judy
Front Cover Art by Mitch
Foust
Cover Format and Logos by Sean E.
Ali
Print Version Formatting by Matt
Moring
E-book Formatting by Russ
Anderson
The Pulptress created by Tommy
Hancock
The Voice created by Erwin K.
Roberts
Dillon created by Derrick
Ferguson
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION: UNDER THE FEDORA, BEHIND THE
MASK
by Tommy Hancock
by Tommy Hancock
by Terry Alexander
by Ron Fortier
by Erwin K. Roberts
by Andrea Judy
FEDORA, BEHIND THE MASK
An Introduction to the
Pulptress
by Tommy Hancock
Bringing stories to life is
what a writer does. In New Pulp we do it with a few more gun
battles, explosions, and dire situations, mingling in just the
right amount of fisticuffs, than writers in other fields might, but
still, stringing one word after another to create a whole new world
for readers to live and die in alongside the characters is what
it’s all about.
It’s really neat when
stories come out of that ambiguous place where fact and fiction
sometimes converge.
In your hands you hold the
first of what we truly hope will be many adventures of a brand new
character- The Pulptress! Although there are several other female
heroines both from Classic and New Pulp, The Pulptress is a jewel
with her own sparkle in a few ways. And two of them have to do with
her origin stories.
Yes, I said ‘stories’.
Let’s address the one hinted at within these pages. The child of
the two greatest Heroes in Pulp History (identities not revealed
here or anywhere else- yes, I know, we’re just evil that way), The
Pulptress is the living continuation of their legacy. Orphaned as a
baby, The Pulptress was, by prior arrangement of her parents, taken
in and raised throughout her entire life by a plethora of Pulp
legends and icons, Heroes in every sense of the word, training her
to be the best at every skill they possessed and more. Readying her
to be the world’s ultimate Hero were the day that was needed ever
to come. And although such a dire day has not yet arrived, The
Pulptress finds plenty of nefarious plots, criminal undertakings,
and madcap maniacal adventures to keep her busy. As you will most
definitely find out as you read on.
But then there’s her other
origin story. The concept for The Pulptress was actually not one
slated for fictional adventure initially. No, she was a marketing
tool, a mascot of sorts, of the best sorts, for Pro Se Productions
as well as the entire New Pulp Movement. Being a force behind both
of those, I wanted something, someone to be associated with all the
great work that was being produced in New Pulp and my own company
as well. But this couldn’t just be any someone. How could a
character with a single facet, draped in just one genre, represent
the kaleidoscope that is New Pulp? The answer was obvious, so in
designing the character, I had an eye out for a young lady who was
simultaneously extremely attractive, yet had that innate ability to
sort of blend in to wherever she was, a skill The Pulptress would
need.
Fortunately, I found just
such a damsel within my own ranks and with the addition of a snappy
fedora and a domino mask, The Pulptress was literally born full
grown and ready to entertain fans at the first Pulp Ark (New Pulp’s
official Convention) in 2011. She debuted her first day in what has
become her trademark look, the outfit that adorns the cover of this
book, but on the second day of the convention, only the mask and
the lady behind it were the same. She came in that day fully decked
out as her western Cowgirl heroine persona. Yup, The Pulptress is
one woman, but due to the training and influences throughout her
life, she has many looks, can affect many personalities, and
therefore can meet any challenge daring, intrepid writers might
fling her into.
This last fact is a good
thing with the lineup we’ve put together for The Pulptress’ first
foray into fiction. The diversity which is The Pulptress herself
demanded that the authors charged with bringing her to life exhibit
variety as well. With a lead story by yours truly, we bring to bear
the formidable talents of Ron Fortier, Terry Alexander, Andrea
Judy, and Erwin K. Roberts on the further adventures of our leading
lady. Each writer brings their own unique touch, not only to The
Pulptress herself, but also to the genre the story slides into. All
plainly Pulp, each tale displays a different aspect of our mystery
lady, adding to her story, but also deepening the shadows about her
at the same time. Just what a good Pulp tale should do.
So often the focus on books
is on the writers and that, being one of them for this collection,
is as it should be, but just as The Pulptress represents so many
characteristics of New Pulp rolled into one, so should the book and
stories she appears in. The fantastic cover by Mitch Foust captures
not only the true physical beauty and striking appearance of the
real life Pulptress, but also imbues the character with a mix of
mystery and mirth that is exactly what makes this concept’s heart
beat. The wonderful design work of Sean Ali adds so many levels to
the presentation of this volume, bringing forth shades of the past
and present with just a choice of font or logo, a skill so few
wield as well as Sean.
And lastly, but not least,
the fact that The Pulptress is not the only New Pulp hero to grace
these pages must be mentioned. Thanks to Ron Fortier, Erwin K.
Roberts, and Derrick Ferguson for lending their creations (in order
of author- Brother Bones, The Voice, and Dillon) to this first
collection of this new creation. Not only do we get to enjoy
adventures of some New Pulp favorites, but it really adds to the
whole package of what The Pulptress is- The best of New Pulp all
rolled into one awesome lady.
Tommy Hancock
June 11, 2012
by Tommy Hancock
“
Too public if you ask me.”
The short heavy bellied man ran his sausage like digits through
what few strands of greasy black hair clung to his splotched pate.
His dull green eyes never wavered from their predetermined target,
that being the monolithic oaken door at the back of the luxurious
space he and his partner had haunted for the last three hours. A
door that hadn’t opened once, he grumbled under short breaths as he
tugged with his free hand at wrinkles in the rumpled lavender suit
coat that barely contained his burgeoning abdomen. “Too many
witnesses.”
“
Don’t matter,” the thin,
angular bald fencepost of a man standing back to back with his beer
barrel of a partner squeaked. He was thankful that he had the more
active view, even if it was more to take in. The Morriston Room, a
millionaire’s bawdy version of a local watering hole replete with
mahogany tables, authentic crystal chandeliers, and gold inlaid
handcrafted paneled walls that rose from imported marble floor
tiles, took up almost the entire first floor of Morriston Plaza.
He‘d been charged with eyeballing the front door, his murky yellow
orbs watching as playboys and their gaudily dressed and bejeweled
playthings stumbled in and out of the bar through a twin to the
hinged plank his partner had ogled the entire evening. “Mr.
Lannigan says the first team plays nice, we try nice. After all,”
he drummed the caramel brown mahogany bar with thin nail like
fingers, “this is Park Avenue. And,” his almost nonexistent lips
mangled into a warped grin, “we could be on the second
team.”
The fat man chuckled, the
noises tumbling from his meaty maw more like a donkey braying than
a mercenary laughing. “Yeah,” he said, resisting the urge to glance
over his shoulder at his companion, “there is that. I’ll take my
posterior glued to a leather topped barstool any day over asphalt
and alleys after midnight.”
The gaunt man snorted his
agreement, then both men again grew quiet. They’d played this scene
many times since first arriving in The Morriston Room at nine
o’clock that evening and taking up adjoining stools at the main bar
at the back of the club. Actually, they’d been the anchor pair on
most jobs for Mr. Lannigan for the last five or so years, both
earning reputations as good clean up men. They were nondescript
enough to fit in almost anywhere, from a grocery store parking lot
to a New York rich men’s club, but they also stood out just the
right amount so as not to seem suspicious by being ‘too’ normal. Of
course, Lannigan’s obsession with his men wearing matching lavender
suits made them conspicuous regardless. But Lannigan paid for the
clothes and a hefty sum besides, so neither man, nor any of the
eccentric crime boss’s flunkies, argued too much.
“
Bingo,” sang the lean,
lipless gun for hire eleven minutes after his last exchange with
his partner. Standing up from his roost, he unrolled to a full
height of six feet, three and stood still, looking like the
stripped trunk of a tree, his shoulders, elbows, and knees jutting
out like hard pine knots. His eyes narrowed in on the couple that
had just stumbled through the front door, their voices and limbs
tangled together as they practically fell into the Morriston Room.
As he mentally noted every aspect of both the man and the woman as
they attempted to compose their drunken selves and failed, he said
his standard line on any job when the quarry fell into the trap.
“Neck’s in the noose.”
“
Drawin’ it tight,” came the
standard response as his diminutive fat partner wiped the words
from his mouth with his sleeve and wobbled upright onto his feet.
He scanned the room like he always did, ignoring the target, but
accounting for every other soul in the room. One body sat with them
at the bar, an elderly lady wearing too many diamonds and drinking
too much bourbon. The fiftyish silver haired bartender stood in
front of her, his eyes half lidded, a victim of her slurred verbal
barrages for the last hour. The obese goon in the lavender suit
nodded to himself as that took care of anyone on the periphery.
Casting his lazy emerald eyes to the room as a whole for the first
time, he quickly counted twenty three more, including the eye candy
dangling all over the target. Slow on a Tuesday night, even for a
billionaire’s beer joint, he mused silently as he evaluated every
single possible threat to the work they were about to
do.
