Writer’s Prompt
In a city built on secrets, the person you’d take a bullet for is usually the one behind the trigger.
The neon sign above “Bernie’s” flickered like a dying pulse, casting a bruised purple light over the rain-slicked pavement. I leaned against the brick, the cold seeping through my trench coat, waiting for Elias. We had a deal: the ledger for the life he promised me back.
But in this city, promises have the shelf life of an open carton of milk in July.
Elias stepped out of the shadows, his silhouette sharp enough to cut glass. He didn’t have the briefcase. He had a cigarette and a look of practiced pity. “You were always too sentimental, Jack,” he murmured, the smoke curling around his fedora like a noose.
My hand drifted toward my waistband, but my fingers felt like lead. That’s when I heard the click of a hammer behind me—the unmistakable sound of a .38 caliber betrayal.
“The girl?” I asked, my voice grating like gravel.
“She’s the one who gave us your location,” Elias said, tilting his head toward the dark mouth of the alley. “Business is business, and you, Jack, are a bad investment.”
I turned slowly. Shadows shifted. A figure stood there, draped in the silk scarf I’d bought her last Christmas. The rain blurred her face, but the barrel of the gun was crystal clear. She didn’t shake. She didn’t look away.
“Tell me it’s a lie,” I croaked.
She took a step forward into the light. Her finger tightened on the trigger, and for a second, the whole world held its breath.
She didn’t fire. Instead, she adjusted the angle of the barrel by a fraction of an inch, aiming not at my chest, but at the heavy iron transformer bolted to the brick wall just behind Elias’s head.
“The investment just matured, Elias,” she whispered.
CRACK.
The bullet sparked against the casing, and the transformer shrieked, exploding in a shower of blue sparks and white-hot oil. The street went black. Elias screamed, blinded by the flash, and I didn’t wait for the spots to clear from my eyes. I lunged left, my boots skidding on the wet asphalt, grabbing her hand as we dove into the narrow throat of the service alley.
“The car is two blocks over,” she panted, the silk scarf fluttering behind her like a ghost.
Behind us, shouts echoed through the rain, followed by the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of Elias’s goons hitting the pavement. We reached the sedan, the engine already humming—a gift from a friend I hadn’t known I still had.
I slammed the door, the scent of her perfume finally masking the ozone and gunpowder. I looked at her, the woman who had just “killed” me in the eyes of the city.
“Why?” I asked, putting the car into gear.
She looked out the rear window at the fading neon of the district we were leaving forever. “Because, Jack,” she said, a small, dangerous smile playing on her lips, “I always did like a bad investment. Especially one that knows how to disappear.”
The Final Chapter is Yours
They’re out of the line of fire, but the road ahead is long and Elias has friends in every port. Where do they hide when the whole world is looking for two ghosts?
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