Nostalgia City Mysteries

By Mark S. Bacon

Category Archives: flash fiction

Flash fiction: baseball

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Today’s flash fiction is a blast from the past.  As baseball season winds down, all but the pitiable D-backs fans–don’t forget the Padres and Braves–are looking to next season. So here’s a chuckle for all fans.

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Platitudinous Pronouncer

“That was a clutch hit,” said the color man. “Eaton hit a rocket. He really came to play. Showed mental toughness.”

Gawd, thought Dick, the play-by-play announcer, was that four in a row? Where’d they dig this guy up?

“You know all the clichés, don’t you, Ron?” Dick said during a commercial break, hoping he’d get the message.

“I call ‘em as I see ‘em,” Ron said slapping Dick on the back.

A week later, Ron was downcast. “They canned me,” he told Dick. “Said I was too trite. Can you beat that?”

“Your career just took a bad hop.”

This week’s mystery flash fiction

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Today’s crime flash fiction is perhaps striking the limits of how complex a story you can adequately tell in exactly 100 words. Wish I had maybe ten more, but nevertheless, it works.

Porsche-in-lot

One Jump Ahead of the Police

 Finally got a collar on that car theft ring?”

“Think so, lieutenant.  Suspect’s in interrogation.” 

“How’d you nab him, Burnside?”

“We staked out a stolen Porsche.  Thieves took it but parked it two miles away.  They do that when they think a car might have a LoJack tracking device.”

“They let it sit to see if we show up,” the lieutenant said ,  “then pick it up when they think it’s clear.”

 Burnside nodded.  “Smart, but we’re smarter.”

“Bad news,” said another detective entering Burnside’s office.  “Guy we arrested was homeless.  Got paid fifty bucks to drive it to another location.”

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Today’s crime flash fiction

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A fixed, 100-word length is a challenge. This story arrived in my head almost fully formed, but when I’d written it, I knew it could have only one title.

 

‘B’ Movie Plot

 Dashing off the curb, the teenager ripped open the car door and jumped into the passenger seat. He aimed a small caliber semi-automatic at the driver.

Al Marino was unperturbed.  “Jacking cars, kid?  That’s no way to make a living.  Know who I am?  I could use someone like you.”

“Pull around the corner,” the young man said.

“Sure, kid.” Marino turned the luxury sedan and stopped.   “You’re making a mistake.”

“No mistake. I ain’t no ‘jacker. This is for my sister you got hooked on smack. Now she’s a ’ho’.”

Marino thought the kid wouldn’t shoot.

He was wrong.

Noir-street-scene

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