Matty knew every secret in the city, but the one he heard tonight might be his last.
Writer’s Prompt
The neon sign of the Lucky Dragon hummed with a low, electric anxiety that matched the vibration in Matty Beekins’ chest. To most, the Dragon was a dive; to Matty, it was a confessional where the wine was cheap and the sins were heavy.
He’d mastered the art of being part of the furniture. He polished the same spot on the mahogany bar until it shone like a dark mirror, catching the reflection of Nick Bena and Paul Costello huddled in the corner booth.
“The motorcade slows at the Fourth Street bottleneck,” Nick whispered, his voice cutting through the jazz playing on the overhead speakers. “One shot from the parking garage. The Mayor’s a ghost before the sirens even start.”
Paul nodded, checking his watch. “Simple. Clean. We’re in and out.”
Matty felt the cold sweat prickle his neck. He liked Nick. Nick tipped well and asked about Matty’s mother. But the Mayor? The Mayor had kids. If Matty stayed silent, he was the getaway driver in spirit. If he whispered to the precinct, he’d find himself at the bottom of the East River with concrete slippers before the ink on the police report was dry.
He gripped the rag until his knuckles turned white. He had ten minutes before they walked out that door to set the wheels in motion. His phone sat heavy in his pocket, a loaded gun of a different variety.
Matty looked at the back door, then at the rotary phone behind the bar, then back at the booth. The choice was a razor blade, and he was already bleeding.
How does Matty escape the noose?
Does he orchestrate a “clumsy” accident to delay them? Does he make an anonymous tip that backfires? Or does he find a third way that keeps his skin intact and the Mayor alive? The pen is in your hands—finish Matty’s story.