It’s time to announce the winners of last month’s writing challenge! We had so many creative contest entries that it was difficult to choose! We picked three that stood out to us for their style, pacing, and use of the creative use of the prompt writing prompt. They made us want to read more! Check out the winning entries and last month’s writing prompt below:
Prompt:
Write a story in the style of a traditional hard-boiled detective fiction. (Think Dick Tracy and Sam Spade) Use some of the main elements of the style including the tough-as-nails investigator and the femme fatale. However, to add a twist to the story, switch the characters’ traditional gender roles. See if you can create an effective hard-boiled story without the usual masculine narration. And see if you can create an effective homme fatale to be her nemesis.
Dead Drop
By Jonathon Jones
I never expected to see him again. I would have been just as happy if I hadn’t. I had a new office, a new agency, a new life; a life that he wasn’t a part of. Of course, it would have been too easy for me if he had disappeared for good after we parted ways.
John walked into the office on a cold winter day. He was sweating through his coat.
“I need your help, Emily,” he said.
“I thought we agreed to never see each other again. Why should I help you with anything?”
“Because if you don’t help me, I’ll be found dead in the gutter.”
“And why would that be a bad thing?” I deadpanned.
John grimaced. We had a history, a history that he thought that I would ignore.
“Look, I can pay you,” he began.
“With mob money? Count me out. I chose to stay straight.”
“Look, all you have to do is set up a meeting. You’ll get five of the fifty thousand.”
I almost swallowed my cigarette.
“How much did you just say?” I asked.
“Fifty thousand. You’ll get ten percent. All you have to do is set up the meeting. Tell me you’ll do it!” I had never seen John so scared. He was speaking as fast as an auctioneer.
“Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”
He did just that. We used to run a detective agency together. He realized that he could make better money as a bag man for one of the local gangs. I had wanted none of it.
He had been responsible for a briefcase of fifty thousand dollars. He was waiting at the designated point when a rival gang had done a drive-by shooting. He ducked behind cover, but his contact didn’t. John’s gang thought that John had tipped off the rival gang, killed the contact, and taken the money.
“And now they want to kill you, huh?” I said as he finished his story.
“Yes, and I didn’t even take the money! I need you to protect me so I can give them the money! I was going to get half if the deal went through, I’ll give you my cut.”
All right, I thought to myself. Five thousand was worth dealing with John as a client.
“The mob wants you dead, so you need a place to hide. Meanwhile, I’ll use my contacts to set up a meeting, and you’ll be out clean. Then you’ll give me your cut.”
I told him to stay in my office. I kept a fold-out bed just for situations like this. In the meantime, I cashed in a couple of favors with my contacts. I may not have wanted to be a part of one of the local gangs, but I’m smart enough to know that a few buddies on the inside can be a big help.
“I got a meeting set up for a few days from now,” I told him. “We’re gonna bring the briefcase and drop it. They’ll pick it up a couple minutes later. Then you’re going to give me the cut of the money, like we agreed before. Clear?”
“Crystal.”
In the alley beside O’Leary’s Pub, 1:30 AM. That was the meeting place. It was going to be a simple dead drop. John would leave the briefcase behind some trash cans in the alley beside the pub. The mob goons would grab the briefcase, take the money minus five thousand wired to John’s bank account (and then transferred to me), and everything would be all right again. Too bad that’s not how things went down.
The first sign of trouble was the drunk sitting in the alley. He looked asleep. I’ve always trusted my intuition, and it was telling me that something was very wrong with the drunk. I kept a hand on my revolver.
John sensed my unease, and amplified it. I could see him glance back at the drunk, as if he expected him to reach into his tattered coat and shoot us both.
I checked my watch. It was time. I motioned for John to bring the briefcase. I grimaced at the sound of metal hitting metal, caused by my clumsiness in moving the cans. The sound of the trashcans almost drowned out the sound of a revolver being cocked.
“Don’t move, please. I wouldn’t want to have to shoot you. It’d make so much noise!” Of course it was the drunk. I kicked myself for turning my back on him, even after I recognized the threat he posed.
“And what gang do you belong to? The ones who shot his contact?” I pointed at John with my thumb. “And you’ve come to collect the money you tried and failed to get with the drive-by. Am I close?”
“Not bad. Not bad at all. Now, drop the gun you’re reaching for, and then John will drop the briefcase. Kick both of them to me, and you two might just live. Clear?”
“Crystal. Clear as a bell!” As I said it, I dropped to the ground and turned, my gun already in hand. The phony drunk had been looking at my right hand. Too bad I’m a leftie. I shot him twice, both times in the chest. He dropped to the ground dead.
“We leave. Now. Put down the briefcase and we break for the car.” John needed no urging. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel on the way back to the office. I expected every car to run us off the road, but I was only seeing ghosts.
When we arrived back at the office, John turned to me. “So, what will you do now?”
“Take the money, I guess, and see what the future holds. Who the future holds.”
“Does that future include me, Emily?”
I looked out the window. The city was teeming with life, even in the middle of the night.
“Yes, I think it does.”
Process:
I originally sketched out the plot of the story on a napkin in a restaurant. In that version of the plot, John set up the meeting between Emily and the mob boss in an attempt to have them kill each other, leaving him free to leave for a foreign country with no loose ends. I felt that this ending was more in the style of the classic noir films, and it made John a proper hombre fatale. Due to length constraints, this ending wasn’t possible, and I scrapped it. I was unhappy with the ending of the finished piece, but it was the best I could do. In addition, I was afraid that the pacing was too “stringy” but I couldn’t figure out a way to fix it without going over-length.
For more of Jonathon’s work, find him on Twitter at @Rikitytikitytin!
Atlas
By E.G. Upner
Cedar’s gaze fluttered over the milling workers streaming throughout the tightly packed Moscow streets. Everyone was the same here, all clad in their colorless sacks of threadbare garments. That was, except for the enchantingly beautiful man who added a refreshing spark to the mob. Azure eyes glaring just above the heads of the crowd, the strange vagabond enchantingly wove his body throughout the crowd, his loose turquoise tunic waving in the wind. Golden threads interlaced throughout the fine fabric, glimmering in the paling sunlight. Normally, Cedar could effortlessly deduce any passerby at a single glance. But not this time. Enchanted by the curiosity of the svelte man, it seemed sinful to the investigator to glimpse away at this moment, despite the usual reluctance from the sleuth to be intrigued by anything but the crime at hand.
Frozen in place, the pair of enigmatic eyes belonging to the stranger met Cedar’s steely ones. The hint of a alluring smile fell over the rosy lips of the other. The agent’s pupils bore into the others, daring them to grin once again. All too soon, however, the stranger had disappeared into light snow cascading down from the clouds.
Breathing out a puff of frozen air, Cedar advanced onwards towards the markets, disappearing into the fog of the snow. It was only moments later that the greatest detective in all of Russia detected that they had been looted. Cedar’s stamped leather wallet, as well as the keys to her squat flat, had been apprehended. Knitting her eyebrows together, the graceful figure slipped through the masses, storming towards the apartment. The subtle toss of the drifter’s ebony curls haunted her logical mind.
It wasn’t look before Cedar reached the alleyway in which she resided. Slowly kneeling down onto the icy streets, Cedar uncovered the burlap sack in which a single glinting revolver had hidden unnoticed for most of it’s days. The weight was all too familiar in her fitting palms, steel freezing to Cedar’s frosty skin. Using her free hand, Cedar swirled the unlocked doorknob with a silent maneuver. A voice responded, velvety in its nature. “Detective Cedar?” It seemed almost inviting.
Moving inwards, Cedar held up her pistol only to see the outsider walk in the door frame with a small grin on her face. “You robbed me.” spat the detective mercilessly.
“I have a name.” whispers the man hoarsely, tossing the leather wallet as well as the flat key onto the dusty glass table beside of him. “Inspect it? You’re good at that. You’ll soon see that nothing is missing.” Cedar tilted her head in confusion, observing the wallet from a distance. The man told no lies – all was returned.
Cedar shook her head. This must have been some trickery meant to fool her unmovable mountain of logic. “I would kill you if it wasn’t for my curiosity concerning your motive. Why apprehend, but not take?”
With a simple smile, the man looked gently at him through his half-lidded eyes. The snowflakes caught in his long dark eyelashes fell gently as he blinked. “My name is Atlas.” The peculiar name fit the peculiar man. “And I have came here to solve a murder.”Atlas leaned back against the wallpaper, a crooked smile dotting his lips. Atlas’ gaze darted around slightly before settling on her with a small smile. “You’re not the only observant one who likes to roam these streets.” Cedar’s glare faltered, with Atlas nearing her to simply stand near the lean woman. “It’s a famous murder – one that will propel us both into the history books.” Cedar’s eyes met his, questioning him silently.
“And whose murder would that be, Atlas the wanderer?” interrogated the imposter.
And with a ever-so-light smile that shone with an almost loving warmth he responded. “Yours.”
Process:
Everyone has heard the tale of the severe, cold, and logical male who solves crimes with a passion, as well as the enigmatic woman who enchants him. Going into this contest, my first thoughts were to flip these two traditional roles and create a unique story based on a concept that I have bounced around for quite a bit. Originally, Cedar was going to be disguised as a male, but then I chose against that and decided to have Cedar un-apologetically be herself. Drawing from the classic detective literature pieces, I began to see the story of Atlas and Cedar fall together. Their dynamic was interesting, and the ending was unexpected. I would love to add onto this story, deepening the characters and their lives. Maybe, sometime in the future, the two will come into play again?
The Case
By Ashley Pocrnich
I had seen her angry before, but never anything like this. Valerie’s eyes glowed with malice as she threw a file onto my desk and knocked my high-heeled feet off the surface.
“You’re a scumbag, you know that?”
Her tone was mocking and I knew I would have to tread lightly if I didn’t want to sleep on the couch that night.
She had leaned over me, palms flat on the papers she brought me, while I chose my words, and now I readjusted my skirt in an attempt at being as pulled-together as she was.
“Dear,” I said in as gruff a voice as I could muster, “please don’t do this to me.”
“I wouldn’t have to keep doing it if you weren’t always the same heartless bastard!”
My gaze had been pulled down to the file, out of avoidance, she was half-covering, and the name printed on its side: McCallister. I hadn’t heard that name in years, not since the Case, but Valerie knew that. What was she playing at?
She saw me looking and moved to hand it to me. When it came to issues at work, Valerie always knew how to keep things professional. She inhaled and sighed, crossing her arms in front of her red sports jacket and shaking off the vibe she had carried in with her.
“Yeah, I know, I read it. That moron thinks he can just waltz in here, submit a request like nothing happened, and you would even consider taking it on? No matter how desperate the situation here gets, I never want you working with that numbskull again.”
There was that fire I loved so much, and infinitely more appealing when it was directed at someone other than me. The thing was, our situation HAD become desperate, and work was work. Despite Valerie’s loathing, I knew I would suffer working with Cain McCallister again if it meant a slice out of his massive fortune. Our prices were affordable, but personalised for the client.
“Baby, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to take it. You know the McCallisters: I spend a day looking for their lost cat or whatever they need, and they give us enough to pay the next four months of rent.”
Valerie was not placated by my response. She unbuttoned her coat and flung it onto the back of my armchair before pacing circles around the room, arms crossed as tightly as ever.
“If that’s what you think, then we need to talk about what I came in here to tell you in the first place.”
“Does this have something to do with me being a scumbag?”
This called a smile to the corner of her rouged lips, but she forced it away and took another lap of the room. If she travelled fast enough, perhaps she imagined she could get me to do exactly what she wanted.
“It’s the baby, Flo. You never told me you already spoke to her parents.”
I leaned my head back into my chair and groaned. Valerie and I were planning on adopting a baby in a couple months, because neither of us wanted to go through the trouble of pregnancy. We had selected an unborn child due around that time through our counsellor, Banks, but hadn’t had a chance to contact them. I supposed it was an unspoken agreement for Valerie that we would approach the parents as a unit, and I had hurt her by going alone. To tell the truth, I did feel a little scummy about sneaking around behind her back, but I had a good reason for it.
“Val, Banks told me that they were considering accepting someone else. If we wanted her at all, I needed to state our case first.”
Valerie visibly recoiled, and she took a couple moments before responding. It was clear that she was fighting an internal battle: she had accused me of wrongdoing her, and she was never incorrect in these accusations.
“If that’s so,” she began with another large breath, “then you should have told me.”
I slapped my hand onto my forehead and felt the tips of my bangs. I needed a haircut, and Valerie did too, but we had both been so busy recently that self-care seemed at the bottom of our priority list.
“Yes, I should have told you, but you were in Prague for that business trip. Anyway, it was really very urgent that I get to them first, Val.”
For the first time, she looked at me with concern, her thin brows crumpling together and the fire was momentarily sedated.
“Val, it was Cain’s son, Lucas. Lucas McCallister and his husband Pete wanted the baby too.”
As soon as the words had left my mouth, I wished I had exercised more caution before bringing the subject up in front of her. Instantly her eyes sparked alight again and she fairly quivered in her skin. As badly as Cain McCallister had hurt me with that case, he had hurt my wife even more.
Valerie stood frozen in place for another second and I was afraid she would implode at my place of business, which she had begun to think of as her other place of business as well. When she finally moved it was to lean back across my desk and grab me by the beck of the neck.
“That baby’s ours,” she whispered at me, rather than to me, kissed me on the mouth, and straightened to her full height. “Ours,” she murmured again as she snatched her coat up from the chair and stalked out of my office, slamming the door behind her.
I watched her go with a smile on my face, tasting her lipstick and thinking about how lucky I was to have her. There was not a doubt in my mind that we would be adopting a new baby girl very soon.
I lifted the file from my desk and placed in in my cabinet under “Accepted Assignments.”
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