Because I don’t have enough projects in the works, here’s a (very) short story I wrote. It’s part of a new segment of fiction I call NU PULP. Enjoy my terrible prose.
“Open and clear…go!”
The SWAT team broke down the door and filed inside with all their trademark efficiency. The second man made a hard left to scope the bathroom. An unconscious body gurgled in a puddle, slumped over the sink before a cracked mirror further tarnished with a blood splatter. The busted faucet gushed water in a fountain. Broken-open bags of white powder filled the bathtub nearby. Otherwise the room was clear.
Such could ill be said of the main hotel room. A lone suited figure stood above a group of downed men. The air was thick with the acrid smell of gunsmoke, though none could be seen in the possession of the single individual left standing. Many lay on the floor or in the hands of defeated malcontents, but the only holes to be seen were in the walls or in each other.
“Police! On the ground!”
Pivoting on the spot, the figure facing the offending order wore a mask over its head. Black, but with a white face in the form of a moth. The man merely adjusted his cufflinks absentmindedly.
“Oh, I have altogether no time for you,” responded the man. Preempting a repeat of authoritative command, he closed the gap by ducking low and floored the point man. The forceful manner of said flooring chained into a swing of a seized twelve gauge, knocking down the second man. Such continued until the full team lay sprawled on the ground, momentarily incapacitated.
“Consider my services paid in full, gentlemen,” quipped the mystery man. “If you’d waited another minute, you’d have these men for free. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
With this, the Monochrome Moth leapt through the window and disappeared from Room 2983. And there was much paperwork.