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Super short stories of intrigue

Before I was published, I wrote one super-short extemporaneous story every week, based on a word or phrase chosen at random. Each was written quickly, with minimal revisions, to force myself to stop self-editing and just write (probably something I should start doing again).

I thought I’d share a couple of the stories that have a hint of intrigue. Enjoy!

The gun

Handgun and Hollow Points

The agent in the crisp gray suit slapped a picture onto the hood of Dustin’s truck. A bloody body lay in a tangle in the dirt, partially covered by a blanket. “This was Arnaldo Jimenez. He was 15.”

Dustin tore his eyes from the photograph and pressed on his stomach. Oh, God, he was going to throw up on the man’s shiny black shoes. Saliva filled his mouth and he covered his lips with his palm. The hot, dry air swirled around him as he took a deep breath and waited for his gut to unclench.

After he graduated he was going to move somewhere cool and humid and never come back to the desert again. Assuming he didn’t get thrown in jail.

“I didn’t know,” Dustin finally whispered, feeling lame. He should have known where the gun would go, or at least suspected it. If a kid asks you to buy beer, he’s under age. If a man asks you to buy a gun for him, he’s a criminal.

But it hadn’t been a man. It had been the hot girl from his Physics lecture.

Dustin rubbed his eyes. He would not cry. “She told me she wouldn’t pass the background check because she’d been arrested for possession of meth. Supposedly it was her brother’s, but it was found in her car. She wouldn’t flip on him, so she took the rap.”

Agent Fernandez held out another photo. “Is this her?”

Dustin’s heart sank and he nodded. Silky brown hair and lean curves mocked him. Every guy in class wanted her. He’d thought he had a chance. Fool. “She said it was for protection. That there had been some break-ins in her neighborhood.”

“Victoria Arenas-Thomas.” Fernandez shook his head. “She’s got a lot more than meth possession on her record. If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the first schmuck she’s suckered.”

Oh, right. Dustin felt so much better now. His stomach heaved and he doubled over, but he managed not to puke. His sneakers mocked him as images of the dead boy overlay the cracked asphalt of the student parking lot.

That’s when the anger kicked in. The bitch had used him and now a boy was dead at the hands of the cartel thugs that held Sonora and the rest of Mexico hostage. He couldn’t change the outcome, but he could try to prevent it from happening again.

He took a deep breath and stood to face the agent. “What can I do to help?”

Fernandez stared at him for a beat. “How are your acting skills, kid?”

Dustin thought back to his starring role in Central High’s production of Death by Chocolate. “A lot better than my taste in women.”

The agent’s lip twitched. “All right then. Give me a minute.” He pulled out a phone and walked a few steps away.

The hot sun beat on Dustin’s neck and he wiped his brow as students streamed into the parking lot from the nearby engineering building. Until three minutes ago, he’d been as innocent and naive as they were. The moron his dad always said he was.

But, maybe, just maybe, he’d do something right for a change.


Lies

shadowy man walking up stairs

Mike rushed home from work, eating his drive-thru burger and fries in the car, napkin tucked in his collar to protect his tie and crisp white shirt. In his rush to get out of the house this morning, he’d left his briefcase in the hall. With the Harlowe presentation in it.

He swerved into his driveway and hit the brakes in surprise. Why was Karen’s car there? Had she forgotten something too? She’d already been long gone when he woke up.

Suspicion stirred at the back of his mind. Just enough that he closed the car door quietly, and entered the house through the side door into the kitchen. He swung the door shut, careful not to make a sound. For a full minute, he stood in silence, listening.

From the back of the house—the master bedroom—he heard muffled noises. His heart rate kicked up a notch and he squeezed his hands into fists. He marched down the hall. If she was… He couldn’t even think about it, but he’d have to kill her.

With a deep breath, he flung open the bedroom door.

Karen scrambled away from the man lying naked beneath her. “Mike!” She hid behind a sheet, her face white with shock and fear.

Mike slumped back against the wall, his pulse pounding in his head. Thank God. She hadn’t found the safe.

His secret was still secure.


Congratulations to Lindy Dierks, winner of the $10 Amazon gift card offered by Julie Mulhern last week! Please use the Contact link above to send us your email address and we’ll pass it on. 🙂

Barb Goffman: Method Writing is Murder

Hope you’re all enjoying the holidays! For a special treat, I’m sharing a video I did with multi-published, multi-award winning short story author, Barb Goffman. 1f12dc3352207d823b40716dacfa790a_8bwn

Barb has been nominated for the Agatha Award seven times, the Pushcart Award once, the Macavity twice — winning the latter in 2013 and also the Silver Fachion Award for the best single-author mystery short story collection published in 2013.

Anyone need a holiday gift? Not even the fussiest recipient can complain about receiving Barb’s great short story collection, Don’t Get Mad, Get Even,  this holiday season.

In the meantime, enjoy this interview where Barb tells me how Santa and those naughty elves ended up in one of her recent stories. If the file doesn’t load, please update your Adobe. And to leave a comment, please click HERE or scroll to the bottom.

81fGiQN+XVL._SL1500_ And in the mystery spirit, let us know what might incite you to go over the edge and push you toward murder? Is murder ever justified?

or

Do you prefer full length novels, shorter novellas, or a book of shorts?

Happy Holidays!

 

 

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