This is a new writing exercise, by @jeezzle, for all of us aspiring fiction writers. Every day for this week @jeezzle will be posting a newspaper article without any context behind it.
The point of this exercise is to create a short fiction story based on the headline of the article regardless of what content originally followed it.
See the original post here: https://steemit.com/writingexercise/@jeezzle/writing-a-story-using-newspaper-article-headlines-day-1-vast-areas-no-longer-shielded
The link to her story for today's prompt fired cop indicted in shooting can be found here: https://steemit.com/writingexercise/@jeezzle/writing-exercise-day-3-fired-cop-indicted-in-shooting
"You'll never get away with it, Spencer," he said. His voice was as it always was: steady, firm, no sign of fear.
Crabb either didn't believe I would shoot him, or he didn't care. He thought he knew me.
They all did.
"You ruined my life," I said. He laughed.
"You ruined it, yourself, Spencer. You needed no help from me, or anyone else."
That was partly true. I was an expert in screwing up my life, always had been. I'd learned that lesson, well from my father.
As my mother liked to remind me at every available opportunity.
But this time, I had had plenty of help. From him and the others. Whether he knew - or cared to admit - it or not.
He shifted slightly in his seat. The leather grumbled. I gripped the revolver harder, my finger twitching on the trigger.
"You could have been a good cop, Spencer. Shit! You were a good cop. You threw it all away. For what? Money? Sex? Power? And what did you end up with? Nothing."
Crabb knew why I had done it. So why the pretence? He's wearing a wire. Saving his own skin.
And that of the department.
“You’re as guilty as I am, Captain,” I said, my smile felt tight against my teeth. “Whatever deal you think you have, whatever evidence you’ve manufactured won’t help you. If I go down, you’ll go down. I’ll take you all down.”
“You’re not helping yourself, Spencer. Threatening me with a loaded gun is not going to help prove your innocence.”
He leaned forward and mouthed the words YOU ARE FUCKED
He sat back, smiled back and gave me the finger.
He was right: I was fucked.
No way out. Nothing left to lose. I let my finger squeeze the trigger. The bullet tore through his chest, embedding itself into the plush leather.
“Fuck you,” I said, and spat on his corpse.
I heard them coming, then. Heavy boots thumping down the corridor. The door crashed open. They stood looking at me. They all were there. Three guns pointed at me.
My former colleagues. My former friends.
“And fuck you too,” I said.
I smiled and raised my gun.