Call To Action [Fiction]

“Sarge, all's quiet with the deputy. We're, uh, clocking out for the evening, sir.”

Detective Jeffery glanced at his wristwatch before grunting into the phone. The young officers had been staking out the deputy mayor, Wolfe Hartmann, for forty-eight hours straight.

Their secret surveillance had revealed startling details about their town and its officials. But Jeffrey needed concrete evidence before he could make some arrests. That would most likely earn him a promotion.

“Alright, Carson. I'll be there in five to take over.” He ended the call, grabbed his car keys and left the precinct. This was a call to action—one he had to handle himself.

The deputy mayor's house was one of the finest in the town. Stately built, lined with floor to ceiling windows. Tonight, the curtains were drawn tight and it was dark inside.

He parked his coupe behind his officers who were parked discreetly from the house. He walked up to them. “Looks like the deputy has turned in,” he said, frowning. “Isn't that a bit early?”

Carson shrugged. “Not sure, Sarge. He's been quiet in there for over twenty-four hours ever since that call with the mayor.”

Jeffrey's gaze lingered on the house. “Hmmm. The thermal lens?”

“Yes. We confirm he's inside, drinking in his private study.”

“Alright. You two, go home to your wives. Get a good night's sleep. I'll take it from here.”

Jeffrey watched their car disappear down the road before settling into his. He looked through the thermal camera. Most of the house lay cold and dead, except the private study area where a human shaped, red-orange glow flickered.

Wolfe Hartmann appeared to be in a strange pose, bent over his desk with his hand hanging awkwardly by the side of the desk. The image held for fifteen minutes.

That was odd.

The detective sat up straighter in his car seat. His instinct stirred. He needed to get close to the house to check things out.

He reached for the door handle when a cloaked shadowy figure appeared right beside his window. His stomach dropped. Before he could grab his gun from the console, the window shattered, shards pouring on him.

He raised his arm to shield his face when he felt the butt of a handgun strike his temple hard.

Pain exploded and dark spots quickly covered his vision but not before he saw Wolfe Hartmann beneath the cloak.

“Oh, shit,” were his last words before going unconscious.

I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece which is a chapter in a thriller series. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "call to action". You can follow the attached links to keep up with the story.

Thank you for visiting my blog.

^{_{Image credit: CharlVera}}