Short Stories

Rain pounded against the office window while lightning flashed through it, briefly illuminating a man sitting at the desk inside. The placard facing the door glinted faintly as the light faded; it read: Detective Cooper K. Bowser. He leaned back in his chair, groaning as he did so, to peer into the darkness and out onto the city below.

Storm must’ve knocked out the power, he thought. His meager desk lamp was out and nary a streetlight could be seen. Lightning flashed again, illuminating his grizzled face. He had scars from many cities etched there, but none cut so deep as the permanent crease in his forehead he developed after moving to Nola; after taking this case, this damnable case. He puffed at a cigarette, the bud glowing red hot as he sucked in the miniscule murderers that he relied on more and more to keep him going. Another bolt of electricity arced across the sky outside, followed by an ominous roar of thunder, then the pounding rain slackened. The desk lamp popped back to life.

He exhaled the acrid smoke through his nose and leaned forward again, examining the case file open before him. A picture of a blonde woman in a pink dress peered back up at him. He had been so close, so sure he had her captors in his grasp. But yet again somehow, they managed to slip through his fingers.

*Knock, knock, knock*

“It’s open,” Bowser grumbled.

A lanky man with flaming red hair opened the door, “Hey, Coop, er, uh, I mean, Detective Bowser. Power’s back on.”

“I noticed, Flowers,” Bowser replied, blowing another cloud of smoke through his nostrils.

Officer Flowers hesitated a moment, then said, “Right, um, the captain wants to see you. She doesn’t look too happy.”

“No shit,” the detective growled.

Flowers turned to leave, then turned back, “Heard what happened at the Green Castle Factory. Sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Me, too,” Bowser replied, taking a last puff of cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray.

Flowers started to say something else, thought better of it, and headed off into the bowels of the precinct. Rookies, Bowser thought. Not good for much except cannon fodder. Too young and stupid for anything else.

He stood up, groaning again while clutching his right side. He flashed back to the raid on the factory. The empty basement. The chase that ended with a lead pipe to his torso and maniacal laughter fading into the distance as he gasped for breath. He took a deep one now, wincing slightly, then made his way to the captain’s office.

The door was open. Bowser noticed the nameplate next to it barely hanging on to the wall. He had to tilt his head to read it: Captain Maggie Kamek.

“What the hell are you looking at, Bowser? Get your ass in here!” the captain yelled from across the room. “And close the damn door!”

Bowser stepped gingerly into the cluttered office. It was barely larger than his own, and with several more cracks and chipped paint on the walls, mainly around the entranceway. He secured the door, turned and found Captain Kamek face to face with him, her face blood red.

“Do you have any idea the shit you stirred up with that little raid this afternoon? Not to mention the chaos with that car chase downtown. No, it doesn’t qualify as a CAR chase. A fucking suped-up GO-KART chase right in the middle of the city. Mon dieu, I’ve known 800 pound swamp ‘gators that cause less trouble than you.”

“Captain, I- “

“SHUT UP! You shut the fuck up right now or so help me I will have you pounding the pavement for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Bowser felt the blood flow to his own cheeks, rising to meet the challenge. Just one swing. One swing and this asshole of a captain would be out cold, he would be out of the force, and he would be free of this damn case, once and for all. He balled his fist, ready to pour all his frustration and fury into it. Then the captain turned and walked back behind her desk.

Her volume and tone slackened a notch or two, “Now, you know the mayor has been breathing down my neck on those kidnappers you’ve been after, and I’ve spent the last hour convincing her that you’re still the best man for the job despite the mess you made.” She sighed, looked him over and asked, “How’re the ribs?”

The tension in Bowser ebbed, his fist slowly opened, and the pain in his side suddenly took all his focus.

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Horseshit,” the captain hissed back at him. “Get your ass down to OMC hospital and get checked out. You ain’t no good to me with broken ribs and a punctured lung and don’t even think about skiving off somewhere. I’ll know if you don’t show. Then, go home and get some fucking rest. You look and smell like shit. Tomorrow, you get back here and show me why I put so much goddamned faith in you. D’accord?”

The detective chomped into his lower lip, grunted, then said, “Alright, Cap.”

A look of concern washed over the captain’s face, then it hardened again. “You must feel like shit, too, cause you ain’t never agreed to anything I’ve ever told you so quickly.” She stepped back around her desk towards him and sighed again. “We’re gonna get these bastards. You remember that. They can’t run forever. Not from us. Eventually, justice comes for everyone.”

“Not always; not everyone,” Bowser almost whispered in response.

“Damn, you also full of shit. Now go on, get fixed up, and get your head right. Dismissed.” She crossed her arms and waited.

Bowser looked once more out the rain spattered window to the flickering city lights, then opened the captain’s door, and walked out. A few steps later he heard the captain’s angry voice behind him, “Can’t nobody ‘round her close a goddamn door! Merde!” The walls shook as the door slammed shut.

Bowser grabbed his coat from his office and headed to the elevator. A burly man poked his brown head out from one of the cubicles, catching sight of Bowser. The detective pretended not to see him.

“Yo, Coop! Hey, Cooper! Hold up man!” the burly man said, chasing him down.

Bowser finally stopped and turned as he waited for the elevator doors to open. “Long day, Deke,” he said to the man.

“I know, I heard. I’m sorry, man. I really thought we had ‘em this time,” Deke replied.

“You and me both.”

“Cap laid into you pretty hard, sounded like. I tell you, she been a captain so long she forgets you can’t just conjure up a collar by waving a wand or snapping your fingers. You and I go back a long way and we know better. You just can’t let it keep you down.”

Bowser didn’t respond. He knew Deke meant it. He was a good guy, maybe too good. He had a knack for taking things on the chin and moving on. Bowser, on the other hand, just couldn’t let some things go.

Deke broke in on his melancholy, “Listen, I’m meeting up with the troopers, Kay, Tee, and those guys. Thought you might want to come along.”

“Gotta go down to the med center and get patched up, captain’s orders,” Bowser said, as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. He walked in and hit the button for the car park level.

“Alright, but after, swing by the Treehouse on Thalia. I hear they have banana vodka shots half off, so you know I’ll be there!” Deke hurriedly said as the elevator doors closed. The elevator whirred its sole occupant slowly downward. The lights in the low ceiling flickered. Bowser lit up another cigarette, took a deep drag, and held it. The pain in his ribs forced him to cough and sputter, filling the small compartment with smoke. Then the doors opened and the damp, cool air rushed in. He took a quick taste of it, then hobbled to his unmarked cruiser.

Hours later, his abdomen taped up and his blood pumping with a mix of pain killers and cheap whiskey from his flask, Bowser stumbled up the stairs of his apartment building. The doctors hadn’t found anything broken, just some severe bruising. He’d been in luck, they told him. It’d could’ve been much worse, but as it is he should be fully healed up in a few days.

“Heh, in luck,” he muttered aloud as he thought about the doctor’s words. “Bad luck, maybe. That I got in spades.”

“Detective Bowser? Is that you?” a voice came from the landing just above him, followed by the face of his down-the-hall neighbor.

“Yeah, it’s me, Catherine. What’re you doing up at this late hour?” Bowser asked.

“Well, a bit of insomnia plus insurance is giving me the run around on my meds so I’m struggling. Oh, and I thought I heard a noise down the hall. Thought it might’ve been from your place. Were you home earlier?”

Bowser stiffened, “No, I’ve been out all day. What makes you think it was my place?”

“Well, the door is open. I thought about taking a look see, but I chickened out. Thought you might be mad if I walked in unannounced,” a small smile crossed her lips as his eyes met hers. Then she looked away, shifting her weight and crossing one arm, somewhat embarrassed.

Bowser barely noticed. He was too focused on what she had just told him. “Catherine, I want you to go inside your apartment right now and latch every lock you have on that door,” he told her as a slowly mounted the last few steps and reached for his holstered weapon.

“Coop, you’re scaring me,” she laughed nervously, almost playfully, but then saw he was dead serious. Something was very wrong and she suddenly realized she had stepped into the middle of it.

“Um, okay. If you say so,” she finally said, turning towards her door.

“Go, HURRY!” he hissed after her in a whispered tone. Once her door was closed and he heard the deadbolt latch, he pulled his piece, aimed it warily down the hallway, and crept carefully towards his apartment. He found his door ajar, giving him a sliver view of what might be inside. It didn’t give him much, but there was no movement. He glanced at the doorframe and noted the tell-tale signs of the door having been forced. Cautiously he opened the door wider, all the while actively scanning for threats and noting anything out of place. Still, no movement; no immediate sign of trouble inside; not yet.

With a swift motion he swung the door wide while simultaneously pivoting himself against the wall. He took another peek around the door jamb, then rotated into the doorway, ready to fire. But nothing happened. Nothing moved and, strangely, nothing seemed out of place. He stepped quietly into the main room and, checking behind it before he did so, brought the door silently to a close, and latched it. Methodically, he checked each room of the apartment, which didn’t take long. The kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom. Nothing and no one. It was clear someone had gotten in, but for what purpose? That’s when he noticed the lid half off of the terrarium.

He strode over to it and looked inside. The young turtle he’d rescued outside the boulangerie down the street a few weeks ago was missing.

“Shit,” he said aloud. Who breaks into someone’s home just to steal a fucking turtle? Especially a small gopher turtle. Or was it a tortoise? Didn’t fucking matter. Whatever it was, it was gone. He sighed, “I never even gave him a name.”

Maybe some kids broke in and stole it as a prank? Real stupid of them to steal from a cop regardless. He holstered his weapon, convinced whoever had been there was long gone. Then he had a thought: Maybe the asshole who broke in knocked the lid loose while searching for whatever they were really after. And maybe, just maybe, the little guy got loose and was wandering around the apartment, looking for some food. He retraced his steps back through the apartment, double checking both for missing items and for any sign of his reptilian friend. Kitchen: nothing. Bedroom: nothing. Bathroom: no…wait. Bowser walked over to the toilet. The top lid was down. He never left the lid down since he lived alone. He carefully lifted it and caught sight of the familiar yellow-orange shell. For a second he was relieved, then he glimpsed the note taped to the underside of the lid. He read it, unbelieving at first. Then read it again:

Dear Detective B,

Sorry we missed you, but we found your little friend.

Yet another life you failed to save today.

But don’t despair! The PRINCESS is in another CASTLE.

XOXO

All the best,

M.B.

Shaking with rage, Bowser tore the paper from the lid and cast it aside. He then carefully reached into the bowl and scooped out the shell. That’s all it was: the shell. Hastily hollowed out with a few bits of leathery flesh attached to the inside.

“MOTHERFUCKERS!” He let out a tear-filled yell and stormed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. At the back of the top drawer of his bedside table, he felt for the safe key taped to the back and tore it free. He then uncovered the safe in his closet and dialed in the combination: 8, 30, 70. Once he heard the click, he inserted the key and pulled the door open. He grabbed three stacks of one thousand greenbacks, an old revolver with a handful of Magnum rounds, and a medieval looking flail. He then stomped back out to the main room and rifled through the coat closet until he found the last thing he needed: a worn, spiked leather jacket. He slipped it on and carefully tucked away the cash, the revolver, the flail, and the shell. Then he punched a number into his phone.

“Deke, you still with the troopers?” Bowser asked. “You sober enough to drive? Well fucking get the guys and meet me at the old Princess Oil Refinery just outside Newcastle. No, don’t call it in. Tonight, we take care of things like we did in the old days. Now hurry your ass up!” He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and felt a set of keys resting there. He pulled them out, realized what they were for, and couldn’t help but give them a quick, wry smile. He headed back downstairs.

A few minutes later, Bowser pushed his modified Harley Davidson XR-TT out of the storage bay. He’d tended to it every now and again while it was down there, but he never rode it, not anymore. But he never could bring himself to sell it, either. They had been through too much together.

“One last ride, old girl,” he said as he patted the gas tank, mounted the bike, and kicked it into life. He and the bike screeched out of the parking garage and out onto the city streets.

As he rode out of town, he thought about the letter those bastards had left for him: “Yet another life you failed to save…All the best, M.B.” The rage and adrenalin kicked in again and he felt for the shell in his jacket. Yeah, he had failed. But tonight, tonight would be different. Tonight, he would put an end to the Mario Brothers once and for all.

He gunned the accelerator as the last of the city dropped away, the few remaining streetlights glinting off the metal studs on the back of his jacket as he sped towards his destiny. The metal spelled out a single word:

KING

The End/fin

Jamie sat down for dinner. It had been a long day. Every customer she talked to seemed to give her a hard time today. Some berated her in frustration with the company she works for. Many asked for a manager. A few threatened violence. A few called her, “sir.”

Everyday was becoming like this. Everyone who walks into the store seems to be on edge or flustered or ready for a fight when she approaches them. She tries to smile, tries reassuring those customers that she’ll assist them, to help them find what they’re looking for, that she’s around if they need her. That’s what her co-workers do. That’s what her company trained her to do. But it just doesn’t seem to be enough anymore.

“Mom, you okay?”

Her daughter’s question snapped her out of her internal doom scrolling. “What? Oh, sorry sweetheart. Yeah, I was just thinking about work.”

“Another long day, huh, hun?” her husband, Billy, asked as he took a bite.

“Yeah, they’re all long these days,” she said, then shook her head, “I don’t want to talk about it.”  She looked toward Shana, their daughter. “How was school today, dear?”

“It was alright, I guess,” Shana said, picking at the food on her plate.

“Just alright? Did something happen?” Billy chimed in.

“Kind of,” she said, looking down again at her plate.

“Kind of?” her mother asked.

“Yeah, kind of,” Shana replied.

“Well, kind of spit it out then, kiddo. Not the food, I know you’re thinking it. What happened today at school?”

Jamie smiled. Billy was always trying to be funny. Failing mostly, but he tries. He’s too good natured not to. Part of why I still love him, she thought to herself.

“They came and took Mr. Perez and Mrs. Kelley today,” Shana said solemnly.

“What?” Jamie said, shocked, “What do you mean “they took” them? Who took them? Where?”

“I dunno. They said they had detention or something which is weird. Teachers don’t get detention, do they?” Shana asked, hopefully.

Jamie shot Billy a look before answering. His eyes met hers and a flash of fear crossed for a second. Jamie shook it off. “Detention? No dear, not in school. That is very strange.”

“Maybe they swiped the principal’s lunch money,” Billy joked unconvincingly.

“Really?” said Shana, “Donny Trembo stole my friend Tenisha’s lunch money three times this year and he didn’t get detention.” Confusion painted her face.

Her mother replied, “Your dad is just joking about the lunch money. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding and they’ll both be back before you know it.” Billy nodded in agreement as he sipped his water.

“No, they said we would have substitutes until they found replacements. They said they’re not coming back, which sucks because I really liked Mr. Lopez. He was my favorite,” Shana said, mournfully.

“Well, I-,” a knock at the front door stopped Jamie short.

“I’ll see who it is,” Billy said, getting up from the table.

As he strode towards the door, Jamie asked her daughter, “I forget. Did you say Tenisha was coming over after dinner today?”

“Nope,” said Shana, finally nibbling at her food, “One of her dads told her they needed to pack for vacation, which also sucks. Do you think I could go with her?”

At that moment, Billy walked back into the room, “Jamie, there is a man in a suit here to see you. I think you better speak with him. I think he’s in the wrong place but he won’t leave until he speaks with you.”

Confused, Jamie wiped her mouth, got up, and walked to the door. She found a middle-aged man in a clean grey suit, buttoned up and pressed as if he was about to walk into a courtroom.

“May I help you?” she said, as calmly as she could. She saw two men in fatigues emerge from a truck parked in front of the house, both wearing body armor and armed with what looked like assault rifles of some kind.

The man in the suit smiled, “My name is Ellis Malcolm. I’m with the US Department of Homeland Security.” He flashed a badge at her. “Are you Jamie Marie Smith?”

“That is my name,” she said falteringly, “What is this all about?”

“You haven’t always been Jamie Smith, have you?” he said, slowly and deliberately.

“I’ve been married for six years if that’s what you mean.”

The man’s smile grew crooked, and he said, “No. That’s not what I’m talking about. Does the name James Mason Black mean anything to you?”

Jamie stood there, stunned. That name definitely meant something. Or it did, long ago. She had tried desperately to forget it.

“I- I know that name. What about it?”

“That’s your real name, isn’t it?” Ellis asked, staring intently at her.

“No, yes, well no, not anymore. Not for a long time,” she stuttered in reply as she felt her cheeks grew hot.

“You were born male were you not?” He pressed her.

“I- you have no right- I had my birth certificate changed,” she stammered.

“So you admit it? You were born with a male birth certificate with a male name and changed both so you could masquerade as a woman?” he accused.

“I did change them, but I-.” He grabbed her arm before she could finish.

“James Mason Black, by the power delegated to me by the United States Government and its honorable and steadfast President, I place you under arrest for violating the Decency and Integrity in Public Spaces Act of 2025,” he said as he slid handcuffs around her wrists.

“What the hell are you doing?” Billy roared as he grabbed the man in the suit, “Get your damn hands off her!”

“Sir, your ‘wife’ has violated the law and is being taken to a secure location for processing. If you obstruct this arrest, these trained soldiers are authorized to respond with deadly force.”

Billy then saw the rifles trained at him. He loosened his grip, but lashed out in anger, “You sons of bitches! You have no right to do this!”

“Dad, what’s going on? Why is Mama being arrested?” Shana asked from the door.

“It’s okay, honey,” Jamie said, trying to force back tears. She looked at Billy. “You keep her safe. Promise me, you’ll keep her safe. She doesn’t understand what’s happening and you have to help her.”

“But it’s not right!” He cried, moving towards her.

“Sir! Back away from Mr. Malcom and keep your hands where we can see them!” one of the soldiers yelled.

Billy froze, then raised his hands and backed away slowly.

“Dad, I’m scared,” Shana cried, “Mom, do you have to go? Please don’t go!”

“Come on, let’s go, Mister Black,” said the man in the suit loudly enough for the curious neighbors nearby to hear.

Jamie’s legs became rubbery, her head spun. She fell.

“Damnit, you’re hurting her!” Billy yelled, compelled forward to help his wife. He rushed to her side, to hold her, to protect her despite the efforts of the man in the suit.

“Get back! I’m warning you! Step back now!” yelled one of the soldiers. Jamie didn’t hear it. Neither did Billy. But they did feel. They felt each other’s warmth, the touch of a loved one. In one moment, just that one special moment, the world fell away and both of them found themselves living in the sweetness of the first time they kissed. It was years ago, sure, but it came rushing back to them as they touched, her legs crumpled beneath her on the grass with him huddled over her. They spent a lifetime there, in that moment, never wanting to leave it, never needing to leave it, because they had each other. For that moment.

CRACK. The rifle butt against Billy’s skull made a sickening sound, and he collapsed to the ground.

“Daddy!” Shana screamed, rushing to her father. “What did you do to my Daddy, you mean men!”

Jamie’s mind cleared suddenly, her daughter’s screams ringing in her ears. She saw Billy, blood dripping from the side of his head. She saw Shana, full of fear and rage, holding him, looking to her for help, for comfort. That was part of Jamie’s job after all, as a parent. She struggled to do that simple thing, but the handcuffs and grip of the man in the suit kept her from going to her.

“It’s going to be okay, Shana. It’s going to be okay,” she lied. It was all she could muster.

The man in the suit looked over at one of the soldiers.“Make sure the kid doesn’t do anything stupid and call for an ambulance. Stay here until Child Protective Services arrives. The kid should already be on file with them.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldier answered, dutifully. He walked over to the sobbing child and took her arm. She yanked it away.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Let me go! Mama!” Shana screamed.

The soldier gave up trying to lead her back inside and instead picked her up and carried her kicking and screaming back through the front door.

“Let me go! Let me go! Mama! Mama! They hurt Daddy! Mama! Mama! Ma-,” the slamming of the door cut off the young girl’s screams. Jamie just looked after her, the door now closed, unbelievable. Her eyes moved to her husband, lifeless on the ground. Her own rage built up inside her. She tried to wriggle away. To see if Billy was even breathing. To rescue her daughter from that man who took her inside. But the man in the suit held her firm.

“You bastards better not hurt her or I’ll, I’ll- ,” Shana spluttered.

“Now, now. I think that’s enough bloodshed for one day, don’t you?” interrupted the man in the suit.

An immense sadness came over her. She felt defeated. Like she had failed. Failed not only herself, but her husband, and her daughter. Failed her mother and father who supported her always even if they didn’t fully understand what she wanted or needed from life. Like she failed God who she always felt still watched over her, even if her prayers so often went unanswered.

The men put her into the backseat of the truck, the seats cut out to accommodate her handcuffed hands behind her back. She looked out the window. Several neighbors were now at their doors or in their yards, watching, judging, waiting for what’s next. Not one went to check on Billy. They all just watched.

Show’s over, you cowards, Jamie thought. She looked back at the house she had called home and wondered if she would ever be able to do so again. Then she saw the face in the front window, looking back at her. Shana was still crying, pounding on the glass with her childish hands, delicate fingers formed into tiny balls of fury and frustration.

As the truck pulled away and the neighbors slowly went back into their own homes, their own families, their own lives, most of them simply shrugged. Some wondered what terrible thing Jamie and Billy had done to deserve what happened. A few felt they knew why, and they began to make “vacation” plans of their own.

Jamie didn’t notice any of that. She only watched her daughter’s face fade into the distance, her tiny mouth forming the words that anyone with a heart could make out from a mile away: “MAMA!”

And then, she was gone.