Posted: April 5, 2014 by writingsprint in Drama
Tags: , , , , , , ,

silencerThe truck slowed down to make the turn toward the prison dump, in the darkest part of the courtyard. Charlie knew the spot well. He’d worked here five years. As it made the turn, Charlie let go of the truck’s undercarriage and rolled to his right. The truck rolled on. Charlie got up, brushing himself off as he ran the other way. He wore his blue police overalls, and even his badge.

Sometimes simple solutions were the best. It was Christmas Eve and snowing. The guards were in their towers keeping warm. The prisoners were in lights-out, and who in the world tried to break into a prison?

A nut job like Charlie. A man with nothing to lose, with an axe to grind.

He jogged across the courtyard to the service entrance for the prison kitchen. This door wasn’t alarmed. He checked the lock and found a set of picks that would do the job. Charlie was inside in seconds. He pulled the door shut, leaving it unlocked. He dried his shoes on a cleaning towel by the door to keep from leaving a trail. If he was careful, his boot prints would blend in with all the others at the prison, and the Trace Evidence team would never pick him out.

The truck lifted the first dumpster. Trash poured into the top. Iron crashed against iron as the dumpster shifted and swung on the truck’s lifting arms.

Charlie moved from the kitchen to the cafeteria, then entered the prison population area. He walked slowly, as if this was his post, staying in the shadows. Another guard on the far side of the block didn’t even look at him twice.

photoCharlie heard the truck lifting the next dumpster as he reached cell A4. Charlie checked it three times. Then he looked at the face of the man who slept inside. An old face, gray as concrete, cracked with lines deep with age and as dark as the crimes he had never regretted, lay against foam pillow. His gray hair was the same color as Charlie’s grandfather’s. It was one thing to see him in the papers, another to hear him snoring. From here, this man had ordered the death of a witness, a little girl only ten years old.

Charlie lifted his sidearm. As the second dumpster unloaded, the crash of metal echoed through the cell block again. Charlie fired a single silenced round into the man’s head. Upholding the law was one thing. Justice was another.

He walked away, drawing a slow, casual beat toward the other side of the block. The truck had to pick up more dumpsters there. Head wounds bleed badly. The blood would have a copper smell, but the block already smelled musty from the cold, wet winter. In the darkness of the cell block, if he was lucky, they wouldn’t realize what happened until tomorrow.

  1. A.D. Everard says:

    I like this – fast, straight into the action, a whole story and a happy ending (well, as far as justice is concerned), all in a very short space. 🙂


  2. I’m working on getting into the action faster. I spend a lot of time setting up “the car coming up the driveway,” but really, it’s “the party inside the house” that we want to see.


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