The NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge 2021 kicked off in January and included over 6000 entries broken down into over 200 groups with random writing prompts. The challenge has four rounds, and the round one challenge was to write a 2500 word story in 7 days using the given prompts for genre, subject, and character. Winners were selected from each group to advance to the next round.
Why does any of this matter? My story was selected and I made it to round two! Whoo hoo! The deadline for round two has come and gone, and I’m hopeful I’ll advance to round three. I’ll post an update in May, but for now, I’d like to share the short story that earned me 5th place in the challenge. I hope you enjoy it!
- Genre: Mystery
- Subject: Suburbia
- Character: A sniper
Sniper for Hire
A tale full of murder, mystery, and HOA Presidents.
Five Ranch suburbs. An ocean of homes neatly fixed along waves of well-lit streets. A private road broke from the others, veering north as it wound up the hill. Four multistory villas stretched out in a circle at the top, basking in a blanket of light. A tranquil scene. An utter farce.
A silent shot zipped through the air.
Franco watched as Mary’s body fell, crushing her prize-winning begonias. Smoke wisped near the tip of his Barret M82 as he sipped a bottle of whiskey. From his perch on the rooftop terrace, Franco had a clear view of each villa on the circle.
Maggie was the first to reach her. Bound by her Hippocratic Oath, she performed CPR to no avail. Mary was gone.
Joe approached next, a golf bag strapped to his back. Franco waited a beat before joining them, suggesting right off that they call the police. Joe and Maggie reacted precisely the way he expected.
Joe campaigned against it, making arguments about property values, encouraging Franco not to be selfish, pretending he saw Franco as one of them. Lies, of course. Maggie quietly aligned with Joe.
After three years rubbing elbows with Five Ranch’s suburban elite, Franco had learned three things.
First, never let the grass grow above the standard quarter inch.
Second, everyone, without exception, hated Mary Teef, but pretended not to.
Third, deep pockets had dark secrets, and Maggie and Joe had pockets deeper than Mary Poppins’ carpet bag.
Those secrets were a double-edged sword, and Mary had danced too close to the blade. The Five Ranch HOA president lay cold on the ground. She was supposed to fly to Paris today. Pity.
Jobs like this were typically beneath Franco, but demand was low for this high-priced sniper. His client went to great lengths to hide his (or her) identity, using voice distorters and high-level encryption, but Franco suspected it was Joe, Mary’s ex-husband. Mary took over half of Joe’s stock options, and nearly everything else, in their divorce. But Mary rubbed everyone the wrong way.
They buried Mary in her garden, then had drinks at Joe’s. Maggie and Joe seemed largely unaffected. Perhaps it wasn’t their first time. But Franco shrugged off their indifference. He’d be long gone before anyone got suspicious, and then it would be their mess to clean up.
***
Franco woke the next morning with a screaming headache. His phone buzzed, and he checked his voicemail. The first was an automated reminder to pick up a prescription. Franco perked up when the next message played. It was his client. He listened to it twice, then rubbed his eyes. Maybe a run would clear his head.
He stretched, knocking down an empty bottle of Jack as he walked out. His client sounded agitated. Do the job right? What did that mean?
The grinding whir of an excavator pulled his eyes towards Mary’s house. The compact machine pulled up mounds of dirt from Mary’s final resting place, and ice shot up Franco’s spine. He rushed over, scanning each clay-filled bucket as panic clawed at his insides.
There was no sign of Mary’s body. Franco’s gaze dropped from the mound to the hole, searching.
“You coming to the HOA meeting?” Franco’s head shot up as Ted, the neighborhood snoop, peered down into the hole. “Did I scare you, Franco? Don’t mind me. I’m just supervising this guy,” Ted pointed to the excavator. “He’s on the gate list, but since Mary is busy, I thought I’d keep an eye out.”
Obsequious little ankle biter.
Franco cocked his head as Ted’s statement settled in. “Mary is . . . in Paris.”
“No, she’s up at the clubhouse setting up for the HOA meeting. Guess she canceled her trip–”
Before Ted finished his sentence, Franco was gone. He ran to the clubhouse, convinced that Ted was mistaken. Convinced it had to be someone else.
Then he saw her.
Auburn hair. Cold, blue eyes. Augmented features. Mary smiled warmly at Franco, then looked past him to Maggie. Mouth agape, Franco gawked as the women chatted. Joe walked in a moment later. He stopped by a mirror, wiped dirt from his face, then headed to the drink table. Neither Joe nor Maggie seemed disturbed by Mary’s lively state.
“You’ll catch a fly if you keep that up,” Ted chuckled, startling Franco out of his stupor. When had Ted arrived?
“Hey Franco? Has anyone ever told you you’re a dead ringer for Gabriel Byrne?”
“What?”
“You know, from The Usual Suspects?”
Franco looked back at Mary, ignoring Ted. Something was very wrong here.
“Hey, Franco?” Ted tapped him on the shoulder. “You think something’s up with Mary? Not sure why, but she’s been a peach all day. Maybe she’s on a cleanse. Or,” Ted leaned in conspiratorially. “Maybe she’s got a twin? I heard she had a sister, but rumor is she killed her so she wouldn’t have to split their inheritance.”
“You shouldn’t spread nasty rumors, Ted,” Joe approached, scowling. “Someone always gets hurt.” Ted withered before slinking away, and Joe turned to Franco. “I need something stronger than champagne. Drinks at my place?”
Franco agreed. They needed to talk about Mary, and Joe had a great selection of 80 proof spirits. He’d snuck into Joe’s house enough times to know.
But as Joe poured Franco shot after shot, Franco’s thoughts of Mary faded. Two bottles of whiskey later, Franco was sloshed. Had he been in possession of his faculties, he would have noticed that Joe hadn’t touched a drop.
When Franco blinked again the world was red. His clothes, his couch, the brandy and prescription bottles laid out on his table. All of it was covered in sticky, dried blood. A quick check confirmed that it wasn’t his.
Franco paused. The bottle of brandy belonged to him, but where had the pills come from?
He examined the label on one of the bottles. Risperidone? Why did he have antipsychotics?
The front door creaked, and Franco tensed. A pair of very loud voices rang through the foyer. It was Maggie and Joe.
“No, Maggie, I don’t care! He’s out of control!” They both froze when they reached the living room. Maggie’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Franco, what have you done?”
“This isn’t my blood.”
Joe snorted. “I can guess whose it is. I told you he was acting strange today. He threatened Mary and assaulted Ted, and now Ted’s missing!”
“What?” Franco stripped off his shirt as Joe’s accusations and threats continued. His words rang hollow in Franco’s ears. Maggie ambled into the kitchen, stopping by Franco’s garbage can.
“How long have you been off your meds?” she asked, pointing to a pile of pills amassed at the bottom. Franco joined her in the kitchen, then rubbed his grimy face.
“Those aren’t mine.” Franco shoved his bloody shirt into a bag and carried it with him as he walked upstairs. “See yourselves out.”
“How convenient. It’s not your blood. They’re not your pills,” Joe mimicked. “I’m calling the cops, Franco!” Joe sounded even less convincing the second time, but it didn’t matter. Franco was rattled.
He waited for them to leave. Once the front door clicked, Franco checked his voicemail. He had a single message from his client.
“The mark is down. Payment sent. Well done.”
Mary was dead? Franco searched for his previous messages, but they were all gone. He checked his account, which had doubled thanks to a large deposit. He scrubbed off the blood in the shower, then dressed and headed up to the roof.
Franco stared at Mary’s house, watching as landscapers planted fresh rose bushes in the late afternoon sun. Mary stood nearby, still alive.
Franco smelled a setup. He grabbed his rifle and aimed it at Mary. He never left a job unfinished. It was bad business. Just one shot, and he’d be done. But something was off.
Franco put his rifle away. He had to know. He left the house and crossed over to Mary’s.
“Hey, Franco,” Mary flashed him a smile, and he studied her closely. All external indicators suggested that the woman in front of him was, in fact, Mary Teef. He’d have to dig deeper.
“Got tired of the tulips?” Franco asked suddenly. Mary’s smile faltered, just slightly.
“Roses are better suited for the front, I think.” She cleared her throat. “But I’m afraid you’re mistaken. They weren’t tulips. They were begonias.”
“Ah. My mistake.”
Franco walked away, wheels spinning. His first day at Five Ranch, Mary had ripped him a new one for mistaking her precious begonias for salmon pinks. That was definitely not Mary.
So, who was she?
Franco walked down the private road and into the lower sections of Five Ranch. Neighbors gossiped beside neatly trimmed hedges and cookie cutter houses. They smiled as he passed, but Franco wasn’t fooled. He could always spot a fake.
He returned home as the sun set, but instinct compelled him to take the back entrance. Muddy footprints tracked down the hall, disappearing at the heels of a pair of muddy, black boots.
Franco didn’t own black boots.
He bolted both doors and did a sweep, starting from the roof and working his way down. Someone had been in the house. Might still be in the house.
Every creak made his pulse spike. As Franco cleared the master bedroom, he heard the deadbolt click.
Franco reached for his revolver and crouched by the rail at the top of the stairs. A figure ambled through the dark foyer, feet scraping against the floor. Franco released the safety.
“Don’t shoot!” Maggie walked out of the shadows, hands raised. “I need to talk to you, Franco.”
“So talk.” Franco didn’t lower his gun. “How’d you get in here?”
“I have a key,” Maggie’s voice trembled. “Ted had masters of all the houses in the neighborhood. That’s how he knew so much.”
“What do you mean?”
“We know about the blackmail.” Maggie waved an envelope at him. Franco descended the stairs and snatched it. Inside were photos of Franco and Mary. The explicit kind. Franco lowered his gun, examining each picture. “Ted was blackmailing all of us, not just you. Joe’s trying to frame you for his murder. He planted evidence in your house, and I came to warn you–”
“These photos are fake.” Franco’s eyes shot up.
“There’s no need to pretend, Franco.”
“You’re the one pretending, Maggie! I didn’t kill Ted, and I never slept with Mary. Mary is dead!”
“Oh, Franco.” Her eyes were pitying.
“You saw her, Maggie!” She did. Didn’t she?
“How long have you been off your meds, Franco?”
“Why do you keep asking me that?” Franco’s eyes traveled to the pill bottles on the coffee table.
“You’re having hallucinations again.” Mary checked her watch. “Joe wanted to have drinks tonight. He’ll get suspicious if I’m not there. Promise me you’ll take your meds? And get out of town tonight if you can.”
Franco stared at the door long after Maggie had left. Either Maggie was lying, or Franco was losing his mind.
***
Franco angled his M82 as the sun peeked overhead. He was positioned on the roof across from the clubhouse. Fake Mary would arrive soon to set up a brunch.
Franco had analyzed every clue. The morning the garden was excavated, Joe’s face was covered in dirt. That explained the missing body. Then there was Ted. Joe had interrupted him when Ted mentioned Mary’s sister. Now Ted was missing. Presumably dead. The Risperidone had been prescribed by Dr. Margaret Thatch. But Maggie wasn’t his doctor.
After more digging, Franco discovered that Mary did in fact have a twin sister. She’d disappeared after a boat accident years ago. But no body was ever recovered, and Franco suspected she was alive and well. And impersonating Mary Teef.
If Mary’s sister was behind her murder, that meant she had hired Franco. But why mess with Franco’s head? Why frame him for Ted’s murder? To paint him as a delusional killer? With Maggie’s help, it wouldn’t be hard.
Fake Mary would arrive any minute now. As soon as she was in his sights, he’d end this whole charade.
Glass shattered and Franco checked his scope. Maggie and Joe were inside the clubhouse, arguing. Maggie struck Joe’s face and ran. Joe drew a revolver, pulling the trigger twice.
Franco gripped his rifle. It wasn’t his problem. But Maggie had tried to warn him. Maybe she didn’t know everything. Maybe she actually cared. Franco swore and abandoned the roof. Maybe he’d reach her in time.
As he stepped into the street, police cars blocked his path, screeching to a halt as they formed a barricade. Officers rushed out with weapons drawn. Franco dropped to his knees and raised his arms.
“A woman’s been shot inside!” Franco shouted. Two officers searched and cuffed him as a third disappeared into the clubhouse. The officer reemerged with Joe. And Maggie. Franco’s eyes rounded in surprise.
“What’s going on?” Maggie turned to the officer.
“We got a call about an armed man on a roof.”
“I’m his doctor. He’s off his meds and will need to be taken to a facility for treatment.” Franco glared at Maggie as their eyes met. “Don’t worry, Franco. We’ll take good care of you.”
Franco understood. He’d be locked away, his words tainted by a false narrative. That he was crazy, that he couldn’t be trusted, that he was a killer. Well, the last part was true. But why go through all this trouble?
Maggie walked over as an officer placed him into a patrol car. “Can you give us a minute?” The officer nodded and stepped away. “You should have left town, Franco. I tried to give you a way out, but you just kept digging.”
“You killed Ted.”
Maggie’s mouth twitched. “Joe thought he was a liability. He did that without consulting me. The plan was to throw you off balance and plant just enough doubt that you wouldn’t be a problem down the road. Ted complicated things.”
“So, you’re in charge? Not Mary’s sister?”
Maggie tilted her head from side to side. “You’re partially right. I am in charge, but the woman playing Mary Teef is not her sister.”
“Who is she?”
“No one important. Amazing what money and plastic surgery can accomplish. And thanks to you, justice was served.”
“You had Mary killed. How is that justice?”
“She tried to kill me first. I had to reconstruct my whole life because of her. But I’ve been patient, waiting for just the right moment.”
“Wait. You’re not Maggie. You’re . . .” Maggie bent down, whispering in Franco’s ear.
“As I said, it’s amazing what money and plastic surgery can accomplish.”
The officer returned and Maggie straightened. “You just focus on getting better, okay Franco?”
Maggie watched the cruiser as it drove away. Hours later, crystal glasses clinked, teeth flashed, and the cadence of the Five Ranch suburbs continued, undisturbed.
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