Planning for Retirement

It’s Wednesday. At least, that’s what they’ve told me. That must mean it’s time to check out the stories for the Indies Unlimited flash fiction challenge.

The premise is simple. They give out a written and picture prompt on Saturdays, and then we have till Tuesday to come up with a 250 word story to match the prompts. After a grueling selection process it falls on us again to vote for the one we think is best for the week.

It’s that easy, and that hard.

Planning for Retirement

O’Malley spent eight years on the hijacking case before he retired. It was a difficult endeavor. The exact position of the plane when the hijacker ejected was not known. Thousands and thousands of acres of inaccessible wilderness could hold the secret forever. Neither the body nor the money was ever found. At least, that’s what the report read.

All those eight years ago, O’Malley had had no trouble locating the loot. That bit just didn’t make it into the report. The body was a different matter, though. Striker had been alive and well when O’Malley met up with him. But he took care of that. No loose ends. He left the money in place, biding his time until retirement – until today.

Mexico, here I come. But the money wasn’t there…

Planning for Retirement

Photo by K. S. Brooks

The bag emptied of money, had nothing but a scrap of paper left inside. An address, nothing more, just an address written on the scrap of paper.


O’Malley staked out the old warehouse. He hadn’t seen anyone coming or going in the past day but that didn’t ease his gut. The whole thing was a set up, he was sure of it.

The warehouse was down by the docks. The sea on one side and the main road on the other. Though the rest of the building looked pretty beat down, the door and knob had been replaced recently and it was unlocked.

He took a deep breath and let it out slow before he turned the knob and pushed the door open. The glow of soft bulbs lit the way through a hall into the main warehouse. O’Malley pulled his .38.

A new 50-foot yacht sat in dry dock in the main part of the warehouse. He took a step back at the sight of it and missed the shadow come up behind him.

“Took you long enough.”

The hijacker hobbled up behind him, his left hand on a cane and his right held sawed-off pointed at O’Malley’s chest. “You’re dead?”

“I been waiting a long time for this,” he said. “You weren’t as thorough as you thought.” He pulled the trigger as O’Malley raised his pistol. The blast of bird shot sent O’Malley to the ground. “If you live, maybe I’ll see you in another eight years.”


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