A desperate private eye, a sultry dame, and a $10,000 hit. Will Harry pull the trigger or become the next victim?
The Last Round
The rain against the frosted glass of Harry Hannigan’s office sounded like a cheap applause track. Harry spun the cylinder of his Smith & Wesson, the metallic click-click-click a countdown timer for a life fallen harder than poured concrete. A former middleweight with a red-headed temper and fists that still twitched for a fight, Harry was down to his last box of matches and a mountain of past-due notices. He looked at the barrel, considering an early exit.
Then the door opened, and the shadows parted for Jeanette Cosgrove.
She was five-foot-ten of absolute perfection, moving with the slow, deliberate grace of a jungle cat. When she spoke, her voice was a sultry purr that pulled at every worn-out heartstring Harry had left. She crossed the room, the scent of expensive jasmine cutting through the stale smell of cheap rye and despair.
She leaned over his cluttered desk. Her fingers brushed his jawline, and a current of pure electricity surged through Harry, burning away the alcohol haze. He froze, trapped in the headlights of her emerald eyes.
She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear as she softly whispered, “I want my agent to disappear. There’s ten thousand dollars—and me—waiting for you when he goes bye-bye.”
Harry’s hand tightened on the grip of his revolver. Ten grand was salvation. Jeanette was a dream he couldn’t afford, yet here she was, offering herself and a fortune. But Harry was trigger-happy, not completely blind. A dame like this didn’t walk into a dive like his unless the target was dangerous—or the setup was flawless.
He looked at the money, then into her eyes.
Finish the Story
What is Harry’s next move? Does he take the cash and pull the trigger, or does his boxer’s instinct warn him that he’s being set up for a knockout punch? Write the final lines and decide Harry’s fate.
