100 word story

The buyer

/ Cole H. Turner / 10 Comments

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Photo Copyright: Jan Wayne Fields

David knocked on the door three times before it opened.

A Latin beauty in a skintight black dress said, “He’s expecting you. Please wait by the window.”

With his attention on her David never noticed the two men, until a muzzle poked his back.

The man facing him said, “If you don’t have my merchandise, I’ll torture you and your girlfriend in Starbucks, before you die.”

David said, “It’s in the duffel.”

The man unzipped it to reveal an ancient statue of a Roman solider. He handed David a briefcase and said, “Leave.”

The bullet he expected never came.

The trip

/ Cole H. Turner / 16 Comments

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Photo copyright – Jean L. Hays

David parked in between two spaces in front of Starbucks.
“Why are we in Illinois? Please tell me, we’re not here for a tour of Route 66,” said Brandi.
David responded, “No sightseeing. I need to make a delivery.”
“What are we delivering?”
“We’re not. I am. You’re going to get a coffee and wait.”
With an icy glare Brandi said, “The hell I am.”
“Brandi, The guy I’m meeting doesn’t care for strangers.”
“He’ll have to get over it.”
“No, he’ll kill you. Wait here.”
“Fine.”
David grabbed the duffel from the backseat. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

The dream

/ Cole H. Turner / Leave a comment

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Brandi awoke with a jolt. “David, behind you!”

In one fluid motion David’s eyes sprang open the forty-five retrieved from under his pillow and raised it to a firing position. This was all done in the space of a few seconds.

“Brandi, no one’s here.”

“Sorry, bad dream.” Before David had time to object Brandi threw back the curtains. As she did something landed in her hair. With a quick shake of her head it landed on the sill. “I’m not staying here one more minute, let’s go.”
“What’s wrong?”
“A dried out dead roach fell in my hair.”

The Question

/ Cole H. Turner / 18 Comments

The below story is the continuation of David, and Brandi’s adventure. The story began with Middleham Motors, followed by the search and the decision.

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 Photo Copyright: Sandra Crook

 David dropped a white bag on the table. “Breakfast is served.”

Brandi pushed the bag away. “You know I don’t eat fast food.”

“Sorry, but given the circumstances it’s the best I can do.”

“Still not an option.”

“Forget the food. I need to show you something. The envelope he left with your surveillance photos contained one other. I don’t know what to make of it.”

David slid the photo to Brandi. “And you think a picture of a littered creek or river, is supposed to mean something to me,” said Brandi.

“It must. Why else would he send it?”

The decision

/ Cole H. Turner / 6 Comments

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The pit in David’s stomach grew, when his eyes met Brandi’s.
“Brandi…I’m sorry…I wish things were different,” said David.
“I haven’t seen you in three years and now you’re sorry.”
“Brandi, your in danger. I’ll explain everything, but we have to leave.”
“Get lost!”
“Brandi, he left an envelope for me yesterday.”
“So,” she said with a huff.
“So, he’s going to kill you.”
“Where can we go?”
“I know a place.”
They drove for hours, until David pulled into a small motel.
Brandi stared out the window at a frosted over tree. “When will this be over?”

The trip

/ Cole H. Turner / 23 Comments

This week’s flash fiction is the continuing story of Brittany,Harold, and Victor. The story began two weeks ago in the piece titled  Chance Meeting.

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Photo Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

As they waited for a table at Wolfgang Puck’s Brittany wrapped her arms around Harold’s waist. “You surprised me with this trip.”

“That was the plan,” said Harold.
Brittany leaned in to kiss him, but midway she froze. Her face became ashen.
“What’s wrong Britt,” said Harold?

Brittany’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Victor is in front of the souvenir shop.”

“Impossible, Victor doesn’t…,” something sharp pressed against Harold’s back.
Victor grinned at Brittany and in a calm tone said to Harold, “We’re going to walk to your car. If you try anything, I’ll kill you here and now.”

The kidnapper continued

/ Cole H. Turner / 7 Comments

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 Photo copyright: Jean L. Hays

Pain radiated from Henry’s leg. A moment later, he collapsed with a thud.

Before everything went black a voice said, “ Your death will not be quick.”

He awoke to find Patricia bound and gagged dressed in her bra and underwear.

The kidnapper pressed a gun to the side of Patricia’s head. “Did Henry tell you what

happened to Hope and Jason?”

Patricia’s voice trembled, “They ran off together.”

The kidnapper laughed, “No, Henry killed them.”

The van came to a stop. Two men dragged Henry into a pre-dug grave. As dirt covered his body Henry screamed.

Chance meeting

/ Cole H. Turner / 19 Comments

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Photo Copyright: Melanie Greenwood

Victor pulled Brittany’s arm and yanked her out of the pink chair.

“Let go. You’re hurting my arm,” said Brittany.

His grip increased, “I got your text. It’s not over until I say so,” said Victor.

Victor started to slap her, when his hand was pinned behind his back by a man with abs visible though his t-shirt. Victor howled in pain and released Brittany’s arm.

The man said, “Apologize.”

Victor croaked, “I’m sorry.”

The man released Victor. “Now leave.”

“Brittany, this isn’t over,” said Victor and stormed off.

“Thanks…,” said Brittany.

“Harold and you’re welcome,” said the man.

The kidnapper

/ Cole H. Turner / 14 Comments

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 Photo Copyright: The Reclining Gentleman

Only one man stood at the midway point of the bridge. As Patricia approached with the rolling cooler she started to sweat.

“Where’s the money,” said the kidnapper?

“Where’s Henry? I want proof he’s alive,” said Patricia.

The kidnapper handed Patricia an iPhone. “Hit redial.”

The call picked up on the first ring. Seconds later came Henry’s hoarse voice, “Hello.”

“Henry, don’t worry….,” the call dropped.

“The money’s in the cooler,” said Patricia.

A van speed up the bridge. Tires squealed, the door opened and Henry dropped out of the van. As Henry and Patricia embraced, two gunshots rang out.

Patricia’s morning

/ Cole H. Turner / 4 Comments

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 Photo Coypright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

Patricia peered through the window of the music shop. Her view blocked by keyboards. How does he work in this mess?

“Call me,” she texted.

Henry better have a good reason for standing me up last night? Thirty minutes passed with no response.

This isn’t like him. What if he’s hurt? She called the police. A patrol car arrived an hour later.

The patrol officer said, “Are you Patricia Harris,” to the woman pacing?

She stared at her clasped hands, “My..um..boss..Henry…Petzel is missing?”

“Miss Harris, you’ll need to speak with missing persons. We’ll take you.”