Detective Jill Burton faces a deadly ghost from her past. Can she survive a hitman’s bullet? Read this gritty noir flash fiction and finish the tale.
Writer’s Prompt
The rain in this city doesn’t wash anything away; it just turns the grit into a slick, black sludge. I sat in my office, the neon sign from “Al’s Diner” across the street bleeding rhythmic crimson onto my desk.
The envelope was heavy, expensive cream cardstock that smelled faintly of copper and stale cigars. Inside, the note was simple, printed in elegant, mocking script: “Say goodbye, Jill.”
I didn’t need a signature. Max Stedly was out. Ten years in Sing Sing hadn’t softened his edges; it had only sharpened his grudge. I’d been the one to put the cuffs on him during that blown drug bust in ‘16. He’d promised me a slow exit.
A floorboard groaned outside my door—the third one from the landing, the one that always squeaks when someone tries to be quiet.
I reached for my desk drawer, my fingers brushing the cold steel of my .38. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The shadow under the door severed the light, a silhouette of someone broad, wearing a heavy overcoat.
The doorknob turned, slow and deliberate.
“Max?” I called out, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’ve been expecting you.”
The door swung open. The man stood in the gloom, a suppressed pistol leveled at my chest. But as the light caught his face, my breath hitched. It wasn’t Max. It was someone I trusted—someone who shouldn’t be holding a gun.
“Max says hello, Jill,” he whispered. “And he says thank you for the memories.”
He tightened his finger on the trigger. I kicked the desk, diving for the floor as the first muffled thwip tore through the leather of my chair.
Finish the Story
The betrayal is deep, and the room is small. Does Jill manage to return fire, or has her past finally caught up with her in the form of a friend? How does Jill Burton escape this dead end?