I started the Death and the Detective series from the writing prompts challenges at Creative Copy Challenge. The words in bold are the writing prompts from the challenge.
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Challenge #25
What was he doing here? He was a homicide detective, not a frickin’ hostage negotiator.
“Come on, tell me what you want. You want a car? You want it? You got it! Is that what you want? You have the ransom money. Seems all you need is a car to drive away.”
“Shut up. I’m the one giving orders, Detective Connors. You better remember that.”
The mania of the moment threatened to overpower Brett. The kidnapper was inside with a 20-pound-plus bag of bills, and a knife held to the victim’s throat. Einstein hadn’t counted on the cops disabling his car. That’s when he started making demands.
His first was to bring Detective Brett Connors to the scene. Brett had no idea why.
“Okay, you’re in charge. What do you want?”
“I want you, Detective. I’ll let the girl go in exchange for you.”
Well that was an interesting request. At 46, Brett thought he was getting too old for this shit. But, he knew he’d do whatever he had to so the girl could go unharmed.
“You got it,” Brett replied.
“Don’t be a hero, Connors,” the task force leader growled.
“Look, if we don’t seize the moment, it’s gone – in a nanosecond. What, I should be a coward? What would Dirty Harry say?” Brett smirked.
“You ain’t no Dirty Harry. Throttle back until we figure something out.”
Brett was already surveying the surroundings. It was a quiet neighborhood –where kids had lemonade stands and shot hoops. Now, it had an invasion of cop cars, helicopters and media vans.
Taking a vault over the hood of his car, Brett walked towards the house.
“Connors, get your ass down!”
“Hey, I’m coming in. Then you let her go”
He was on robot control, moving and reacting to the showdown he created.
Challenge #27
Brett watched with fascination as the kidnapper approached him. His stance, deceivingly relaxed, Brett’s survival instincts tested the limits of patience.
“I’m here, like you asked. Now, let her go.”
The slender, young man tightened his chokehold on the trembling, pale girl, pressing the knife along her throat.
“I told you, I give the orders!”
Brett held up his hands in cult-like reverence.
“Easy, man. What do you propose?”
“I ‘propose’ that you die today,” he sneered. With that, he swept the knife across the girl’s throat, releasing a sound of misery, more wrenching than the cry of a lone wolf.
Shots rang out, dropping the young man to blanket the innocent victim. Brett stood frozen with the horror he had caused. Later he would wonder what he should have done. For now, all he could be was a cop.
“Be yourself. Do your job,” he thought, fighting to block any feeling. Police were running around him, but he did not see them. The shrieking disapproval of a seagull flying overhead went unheard. All faded, but for the youthful crumple of shattered hope.
As he bent down, the CD of his mind softly played,
If you see me getting by,
If you see me getting high,
Knock me down
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