Nick Hames has the chance to let a mob boss aibdie—but at what cost to his own soul?
Writer’s Prompt
The neon sign outside flickered like a dying pulse, casting rhythmic stabs of red light across Mario Presti’s face. Or rather, the glossy 8×10 of it pinned to the corkboard. Nick Hames balanced the final dart, the weight of the brass heavy between his calloused fingers.
For six months, Nick had been a shadow in the rain. He’d lived on cold coffee and the stale scent of stakeouts, waiting for the one slip—a tax evasion, a bribe, even a goddamn littering fine. But Mario was a ghost in a silk suit. He didn’t leave footprints; he left victims.
Then came the whisper from a jittery snitch in a basement bar: the Vencetti family had greenlit Presti. The hit was scheduled for midnight at the Blue Note—Presti’s favorite haunt.
Nick glanced at the clock: 11:42 PM.
The moral calculus was a jagged pill to swallow. If he called it in, he saved a monster who’d keep feeding on the city. If he stayed in this chair, the city got a little cleaner, but Nick’s soul got a lot dirtier. He’d be the silent partner in a murder—the very thing he’d pinned a badge on to stop.
He grabbed his coat, the leather cold against his skin. He reached for his keys, then stopped. He looked back at the photo. One dart was buried right in Mario’s smug, smiling eye.
The rain began to lash against the window. Nick stood in the doorway, the engine of his sedan cooling in the alley, his hand hovering over the light switch. Silence is a heavy thing to carry, but so is regret.
Finish the Story
The clock is ticking, and the shadows are deepening. Does Nick Hames race to the Blue Note to uphold the law, or does he let the darkness do his job for him? How does the night end for Nick and Mario?