The stories found here were written by Heather Haze for the Short Story Challenge, an annual writing competition hosted by NYC Midnight. There are three rounds to each competition, in which writers are randomly divided into "heats" with their own genres, subjects, and characters. In the first round, writers are challenged to compose an original short story of no more than 2,500 words using the assigned prompts. The top five writers in each heat advance to the second round, where they receive new assignments and have just three days to write a story of no more than 2,000 words. Finalists from round two advance to the third and final round, in which they have only 24 hours to write a story of no more than 1,500 words. 
 | Bullets and a Handshake A professional thief tells his final tale of betrayal. But will anybody ever know the truth? |
| Contest: | Short Story Challenge 2018 |
| Round: | 1 |
| Genre: | Drama |
| Subject: | A Handshake |
| Character: | A Burglar |
| Results: | did not advance |
My name is Ben Douglas, and I’ll be dead soon. My story will die with me. I know this, yet still I write. Maybe it’s my way of finding peace with what I’ve done, and what’s been done to me. I’ve no doubt they’ll destroy my journal, just as they destroyed my life. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Soon Officer Jenkins will come and I’ll be led to my execution.
It all started back in November. I’d just finished the Henderson job. Small-time stuff. She didn’t even have a decent security system, just an easily picked lock and a drooling guard dog. I was in and out with the payload in under twenty minutes. Mrs. Henderson called me the next morning in a panic. She couldn’t believe it was so easy. That’s how it goes in the vulnerability assessment business. My clients pay me good money to break into their homes and businesses so I can provide security recommendations. But they’re never really prepared for the reality of it. No matter how secure the site, I’ve never failed to break through. I can find the weak link in every fence, the blind spot in every surveillance system. There’s always a weakness. It’s my job to find it before someone else does. It’s a great gig, or at least it was before I met Mr. White.
He showed up in my office on an overcast Tuesday morning wearing thick-framed black sunglasses, a brown fedora and the ubiquitous tan trench coat. I should’ve listened to my gut and shown him the door. But it had been a slow month and I needed the work. Besides, I’d seen plenty of eccentric types walk through my door.
The job sounded intriguing. Mr. White said he had an office in Crystal City, a government contracting business. He said he wanted me to break into his office and enter his vault. He explained that he’d recently parted ways with his old partner, George Flemming, and was concerned he might try to ruin him by stealing or destroying his files. It all seemed a bit unorthodox, but again…I needed the job. I hammered out the contract and waivers, and Mr. White signed them. As he shook my hand to seal the deal, he removed his glasses and stared straight into my eyes. It was only then that I realized Mr. White was an albino. He gave me an unsettling grin, replaced his glasses and left.
I never tell my clients when, exactly, I’m going to hit the place. It usually takes a few weeks to case the property, analyze their security, and formulate a plan. Sometimes it’s an elaborate affair, with complicated gadgets and electronics, like you’d expect to see in a James Bond movie. But you’d be surprised how often the best way in is to simply smash a window and unhitch the lock.
Mr. White’s office fell into the latter category. It was located in an older office building on the edge of town, with outside access to the back door and an un-alarmed window positioned conveniently within arm’s reach of the lock. All too easy, I thought. Once inside, I quickly disarmed the security system. I’d already taken the precaution of cutting the Internet. My job was legit, but I didn’t want to have to explain that to a nervous cop staring down the barrel of a 9mm pistol.
The office was a mess, with papers strewn about on cluttered desks arranged in cubicles. A central pathway through the cubicles led to the vault. Normally, I don’t bother with vaults, because they’re pretty much impregnable. I was assured, however, this particular vault was never locked. Sure enough, I gave the vault door a tug and it swung wide open. I stepped in and immediately stumbled over the body of Mr. Flemming, losing my balance and landing in a pool of blood.
That was the moment everything changed.
My mind raced. The alarm I’d disabled inexplicably began blaring. I instantly knew I’d been set up, and cursed myself for being so stupid. I scrambled back to my feet, drenched in blood. With little other choice, I made a run for it. I only hoped the Internet hadn’t been reconnected, or my run might have ended at gunpoint in the alley. Fortune favored me, and I managed to flee the building and make it back to my truck. I grabbed a towel from behind the seat and did my best to clean up. God what a mess. After retching by the side of the truck, I finally clambered in and drove away.
I considered going to the cops, but I knew the score. I’d been framed, and framed good. If I turned myself in, they’d lock me up and throw away the key. In hindsight, I’d probably have been better off. When I finally returned to my office, I found Mr. White waiting inside, sitting in my chair. His mocking smile filled me with a sense of dread.
“Congratulations on a job well done,” he said. “You certainly proved worthy of your reputation.”
I scowled as I closed the door behind me and removed my coat. “Get out of my chair,” I said. He shrugged and started to rise. As he did, I charged him, using my momentum to shove him into the wall. I pinned him there with my forearm against his throat. “What the hell is happening here? Why did you set me up, you bastard?”
“Mr. Douglas, please calm down. I’ll explain everything…” he said with some effort.
“You’re damn right you’ll explain. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t pop your fucking head off right here and now?”
“I’ll give you two reasons, Mr. Douglas. One, I have a proposition that you’re going to want to hear…”
“Not interested! Two?”
“…and two, I have a gun aimed at your heart and a trigger finger that’s developing an itch.”
I glanced down and discovered he wasn’t bluffing. I released him and backed off. He kept the gun leveled at my chest as he composed himself. “Well it looks like you’re holding all the cards, Mr. White.”
“Yes, I am,” he said simply, again with that loathsome smile. “Do you understand what’s happening to you, Mr. Douglas?”
“No,” I admitted. “But if I had to guess, I’d say you wanted to off your partner and needed a scapegoat. So you hired me to break in so it looked like a burglary gone bad. Now your partner’s out of the way and you’re off the hook. You might even get a nice insurance payoff.”
“Good theory, Mr. Douglas,” said Mr. White. “But wrong.”
That stumped me. My confusion must have been apparent, as Mr. White continued.
“Oh, you got the superficiality of it more or less correct. But there is much more. Mr. Flemming wasn’t my partner. He was simply a pawn in a much larger game, a man who knew too much. His usefulness had come to an end. Besides, I needed the right scenario to recruit a man of your talents, Mr. Douglas. So why not kill two birds with one stone, if you’ll pardon the cliché?”
I considered this for a moment and wondered what the hell I’d gotten myself into. “‘Recruit?’ That’s a funny word for it,” I said, bitterly.
“Perhaps, Mr. Douglas, but apt nonetheless. I needed to ensure your cooperation. You’re a free man, for now. But somewhere there’s a folder brimming with evidence that points squarely to you as Mr. Flemming’s murderer. It would be a shame if that folder slipped under the door of the local police. Wouldn’t it?”
“Okay, I get it. Now cut to the chase, Mr. White. What do you want?”
“I have another job for you, Mr. Douglass.”
- - -
I studied the estate as well as I could in the time given, which wasn’t much. This time, there was no convenient window to smash, no easily picked locks, no kittens disguised as guard dogs. This was the real deal, with state of the art electronics, surveillance cameras, tamper-proof locks, and well-trained pit bulls. It was James Bond time.
I’d already completed the first stage by cutting Internet, cable and phone services. This is where modern technology is a mixed blessing, because everything comes in on fiber optics. It’s trickier to access, but only takes a single cut to disable all communication. When I say cut, I don’t mean literally cutting a cable. That would alert the provider that there’s an outage right away. No, I had to reroute the signal path to a dummy router that I could control remotely from my phone. Then I could simply switch it on or off at will.
I’d dealt with the dogs, too. I’d made sure they had plenty of yummy treats tossed into the yard…laced with a safe but strong sedative, to keep them sleeping like kittens. Next was the outside fence. Most of the perimeter was clear and well-covered by security cameras. But there’s always a weakness. Near one side of the estate, a large elm tree provided enough of a blind spot for me to work without being spotted. The fence was sturdy, but not electrified. It’s simply a matter of having the right tools and enough time. I had both, and soon I’d broken through.
I knew there were motion detectors and floodlights lining the driveway and much of the front and back of the house. The right side entrance was equally well-protected, along with the garage area. But the left side appeared far more vulnerable. The elm tree again provided a modicum of cover for a stealthy approach. I knew the ground floor windows would be alarmed and secure, but hoped the second story would present no such obstacles. An ivy-covered trellis offered an easy climb to a nearby window. If they’d been my client, I would have scolded them severely for this oversight. Instead, I thanked my lucky stars and carefully climbed my way up.
As I suspected, I found no evidence of alarms on the upper story windows, a very common mistake. The windows had old-fashioned latches, easy to jimmy with the right tool, even while hanging on to the trellis. Time was my biggest enemy at this point, since I risked being spotted at any moment. Luckily, the windows were well-maintained and easy to open, and soon I stood inside a darkened room of the mansion.
On a normal job, I’d have memorized the floor plan down to the inch. But I’d had no such luxury this time, so I was forced to refer to a map I’d saved to my phone. I’d entered a guest bedroom. The payload would be locked in a safe in the downstairs office. I crept my way forward, using my phone to light the way. I cracked open the door. There was no sign of anybody about, nor did I expect anyone. But since I had so little time to prepare, I couldn’t be certain. I moved as silently as possible, which isn’t easy in an old mansion like that. I stepped as closely as possible to the walls to keep the creaking to a minimum, using the same caution to descend the stairs. As careful as I was, I couldn’t completely prevent all the creaks inherent to aged wooden floors.
After what seemed an eternity, I finally made it into the office. Since I’d entered the house, I couldn’t find any obvious signs of security cameras. That doesn’t mean there weren’t any, of course. Modern cameras can be concealed in hundreds of ways. I’d been running a wifi jamming device, but if they had a closed-circuit system it would be useless. In any event, there was nothing I could do about it now.
The safe proved easy to find. Better yet, it was a new state-of-the-art electronic model. That made my job far easier. I reached in my pack and pulled out a rare earth magnet, carefully wrapped in a tube sock. I attached the magnet to the panel, made a few adjustments, and popped it open. Child’s play. A traditional safe could’ve taken an hour or more. Another common mistake. I fervently wished I’d been there on an assessment job, instead of my present circumstances.
With the safe opened, I quickly grabbed the payload. The portfolio was there, as promised, along with other paperwork and a few stacks of cash. I briefly considered grabbing it all, but no…that wasn’t me anymore. I just wanted to finish the job and put it all behind me.
Suddenly a noise and a flash of light startled me. I whipped around to find a beam of light in my eyes. Through the glare I could make out the silhouette of a person and a pair of gun barrels pointed right at me. An angry male voice emanated from the silhouette, “Mister, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” He edged closer.
“Whoa, easy does it,” I said, my voice wavering. “I’m not going to give you any trouble.”
“You’re damn right you’re not! You walked into the wrong fucking house!”
I knew I was about to die. This guy was working himself up into a rage so he could pull that trigger, and I had only moments. I could feel my handgun pressed against my body in its holster. I didn’t want to kill this guy, but if I didn’t…
Suddenly my survival instinct kicked in, and without thinking, I dove behind the desk and drew my weapon. I heard the blast of the shotgun and felt a surge of pain shoot through my left leg. I turned to see him leveling the barrels at my head. As if in slow motion, I watched myself aim and fire. My bullet hit him in the left eye, and he dropped to the floor like a slab of meat. At that moment, I knew that whatever happened, my life was over.
I fled the scene and made it to my truck. How I’ll never know, because I can’t remember a thing after that. My leg was shot to hell, so I must have been running on pure adrenaline. I never made it home. Somewhere along the way I passed out and smashed my truck into a sign post. When I woke up, I was in a hospital room with an armed guard.
The trial was short and sweet. I was convicted and sentenced to death. I couldn’t defend myself. The frame job was too perfect. They even burned down my office. They charged me for that, too, said I was trying to destroy evidence. So I guess this is it.
I’m giving my journal to Officer Jenkins. It’s the only evidence left to clear my name. Jenkins shook my hand and said not to worry, that he’d take care of it. I only wish I could believe him.
