Joe Temble had the perfect day—until he found a killer waiting in his office with a velvet box and a bloody souvenir.
Writer’s Prompt
The neon hum of the “Temble Investigations” sign flickered like a dying pulse. Joe patted the bulge in his pocket—three hundred bucks of the track’s finest luck—and adjusted his tie in the glass of the door. The girl, Elena, was waiting at Mario’s. She had eyes like expensive bourbon and a smile that promised a very long night.
He should have kept walking.
But the office door was ajar, a sliver of darkness bleeding into the hallway. Joe pushed it open. The scent hit him first: gunpowder and cheap gardenia perfume.
His desk lamp was tipped over, casting a jagged silhouette against the far wall. Sitting in his swivel chair wasn’t a burglar, but a man in a charcoal suit, holding Joe’s “Paid in Full” ledger. In the man’s other hand was a heavy .45, leveled right at Joe’s solar plexus.
“You had a hell of a day, Joe,” the man rasped. “The horse came in. The client cleared the debt. Even found a lady.”
Joe’s stomach did a slow roll. “Who are you?”
“I’m the guy who reminds you that luck isn’t free. Elena says hello, by the way.”
The man stood up, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He tossed a small, velvet box onto the desk. Inside was Elena’s earring, still attached to something wet and dark. The man thumbed the hammer back on the .45.
“The three hundred,” the man whispered. “And the client’s name. Or you don’t make it to dessert.”
Joe looked at the door. He looked at the gun. His hand drifted toward his coat pocket—not for the money, but for the snub-nose tucked in his waistband.
Finish the Story
Does Joe go for the gun and risk a lead buffet, or does he sell out his client to save his skin? The neon is flickering, Joe. What’s the play?
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