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Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
How to become a Hitman.....by accident
CRASH!! An old black SUV slams into a parked car right in front of me just as I exit my apartment. It was early, so no one else was around, it was just me, this accident scene, and the guy slumped over the steering wheel. After the shock of what just happened passed, I dropped my coffee, and ran over to see if the guy needed help.
By Robert Peirson Jr.5 years ago in Criminal
The Harvest
‘FINAL NOTICE’. The large red letters stamped on the outside of the envelope made it easy for Eddie McBride to deduce what it contained. The bank was going to foreclose on his farm. He had been struggling to keep the farm afloat ever since his wife developed cancer. As the disease had taken a larger and larger toll on the love of his life’s body, so too had it taken its toll on the life of his farm. He was dedicating more and more of his time to caring for her and more and more of their savings was going to pay for the medical bills. By the time she lost her battle, he was all but destitute and it had forced him to let his farm hands go long before. To make matters worse, the growing season for the past few years had been awful. What little time he had dedicated to tending to the corn had not been enough to counter the effects of drought and blight. He missed payments. From there it was a relentless downhill path to this moment. Looking at this envelope.
By Steven Kleckner5 years ago in Criminal
What would you do for $20,000?
What would you do for $20,000? I mean, it’s not a million dollars so you still have to go to work in the morning. But it’s not chump change, you could buy that new TV you wanted and still have some cash leftover to maybe buy some stock and hope that those guys from Reddit will drive it up and you can triple it. Or go on that vacation you always wanted with the girl that always shut you down. Whatever you like. It’s all there, in 10 $2,000 straps of 20 dollar bills waiting for you. Untraceable.
By Jonathan Cochran5 years ago in Criminal
20K and a Little Black Notebook
I woke up with blood dripping down my face in what looked like my 19meter square apartment. The head ached, the lip was swollen and the vision- blurry. The memories were barely there and the only reason why I thought I was actually in my own apartment was because if I was kidnapped or hostage, I can only assume I would be tied to something and I wouldn’t have a bag with money in my hand. Wait, what? There is a bag with money in my hand? Not only that but inside the bag, there is also a little black notebook. I go through it. “Weed $30, cocaine $80, MD $120” these are drugs. This is drug money, this is blood money. If I could move I would panic, but anyone that ever has had a hangover knows time goes really slow and really fast simultaneously, so one is stuck in a quantum realm where you should be able to get an Oscar for the best performance just by being able to stand up. And yet, is it a hangover? I am shaking a lot that’s for sure. I have never given birth but I can only assume this is how women feel afterwards. Worried about their child, relief something is over and your body is just in a shock-state; again, I wasn’t pregnant tho so I guess I am hangover. I look at the pillow and there is only blood, maybe I gave birth to this bag of drug money? I stand up and go to the toilet, an automatic motion makes my hand grab my toothbrush which puts me at ease, this IS my apartment. And yet, why do I live like this? There are books and clothes on the floor, wrappings of food everywhere and the toilet looks like the swamp where a Disney villain character would live in- this is disgusting. Let's list the stuff we know. Right, I can’t have given birth because I have a girlfriend, I am gay, maybe we wanted to have children? I don´t know. When is it a right time to have children? How old am I? I pee and then I look for my computer-nada. Phone? Great-all the names in it are code names. “Sweetie bear” “Blue eyes white dragon” “Don Quijote”. No message history, no apps, no nada. Is this my phone? Might as well come with the bag of drugs. I don’t do drugs, this is not my money, this is not my phone, this is my apartment, this is my face. WOW. My face. Whatever age I am I look 30 years older, I am wrecked, if I saw myself on the street I would stay away from me. I am beyond the point of getting help. I must… mmmm…. shower? Yes, a shower sounds nice. Up next, the shower thought of the day- do I leave the drug things or take them with me on the search of my identity and probably breakfast? Should a nice MA student who pays her bills go walk around with 20K worth of drugs in her bag? Or better yet, leave them in her apartment? Mmmmm… Mcdonald's sounds nice. I think I will go with Mcdonald's for breakfast. I dress up and take the money, I couldn’t find a wallet so it becomes a no-brainer, I need money for breakfast so I will walk into Mcdonalds with 20K in my bag. I leave the apartment looking like a clown- makeup can’t hide a swollen eye. Right, I live in Stoke Newington- London. Where am I going? What should I do? Of course MacDonalds but first, where does one head when you don’t know who you are? Police? Police sound good, I am a good civilian that pays her taxes and studies a master's degree. In what? I don’t remember. Nice, money well spent. I go to the corner shop and ask for a police station. Who even does that? I would have gotten less judgy looks by just buying a burner phone and calling an emergency number. Funnily enough, the guy says is right around the corner and a adds a kind “Are you alright? Do you need to call somebody?” I reply with- “I don’t know who to call darling, but if I don’t find my way, I´ll come back here and take your word on it. Thanks” He doesn’t look relieved, but kinda does. I walk to the police station, which is literally 2 blocks away when suddenly, I see her! My girlfriend! Steph! I shout her name! “STEPH!” She finds me! She comes rushing to me! I am so excited! It feels like I am a child at Christmas! Weird, she is raising her hand as she comes rushing to me? BANG, I am on the floor, again. “I told you never come to my apartment again! You made a copy key didn’t you? You fucking asshole you’re even wearing my clothes- who are you hiding from now?” For what it's worth, the floor is nice, the floor is cold. I get up. What do you mean? Aren't we together anymore?. No. Obviously not. These are crazy people's questions. And yet, she is still my only shot… “Steph, I am so sorry, I will leave you alone but you have to tell me what happened since we broke up, I woke up in your apartment and I can’t remember anything but, but you really!” She took a look at me like I am an animal, a sucking vampire coming to suck from her life again, she looked up and down at me the same way that you look at a picture of a toxic ex, with no sympathy, hurt, and too frustrated to even speak. I might be a good civilian who has a masters degree who pays taxes but I clearly fucked with her life. And yet… “We used to live in that apartment when we were both doing our masters, you and I were together for 4 years until you got into drug dealing. You used to be amazing, very active, and fun, it's worth noting you got into drug dealing because you needed the money, but then you started smoking, snorting, and what's worse, you got ambitious about it. I haven’t seen you in 3 years, but with that lifestyle of yours and that look on your face, I am not surprise you don’t remember any of it and quite frankly, even if I wanted to help you I don’t know who you are, what do you do or where do you live. I don’t pity you, so don’t come near me ever again. You’re on your own.” And just like that, she leaves me on the street. I am trying to understand everything she just said. It made sense, the guy from the corner shop didn’t recognize me which is just not natural for anyone that lives above one. Gross, that was not my toothbrush. Shame, I actually don’t know where I left her keys. This IS my phone and most importantly, this IS my money. My money. My little black notebook. Mine. I can go anywhere, it's my money, I can buy anything, all mine. Ha! Fuck taxes. I am good. Sundown is on the horizon, the cellphone starts pinging. All I gotta do is find a hotel to take a nap. Then? back to work.
By Pilar Malo5 years ago in Criminal
Supermarket Sweep
Hi! My name is Jamie Thompson. I’m a 28-year old, average run of the mill guy living in Nacogdoches , TX...never heard of it? --- Yea, me neither! Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that at 28 I’d be living in a podunk town like this. The air reeks of crisp, clean oxygen and hard work. Not my kind of place at all! Give me the drab, smog filled monotony of the city any day. I’m talking about the fast paced, lively, get out of the way action of Columbus, Ohio!
By Adryan Moorefield5 years ago in Criminal
The Punishment
Levi liked the sweater he was wearing today, he felt it hugged his profile nicely, but he was struggling with how the collars of his dress shirt were laying out of the neck hole unevenly. Through the morning he kept pinching and adjusting them only for them to relentlessly fall back into place, sloppy and uneven. Every time he glanced to Sonya he imagined he might catch her eye, and maybe she'd be seduced by his fashion sense. He wasn't bold enough to actually engage her, and always hoped she would approach him. He hoped she might notice his beautiful food at lunch or the book he was reading and he'd have her attention fleetingly before fading into the background.
By Kevin Beard5 years ago in Criminal
A Shift in the Fabric
Aia opens the door of Sunset Manor Personal Care at a quarter to midnight. A gust of icy air pushes in behind her as she pulls off her blue knitted beanie, releasing an explosion of curly hair. Her large brown eyes scan the lobby: an empty, cluttered receptionist’s desk, a faded yellow couch. It smells of soup and mothballs.
By Jenna Cartusciello5 years ago in Criminal
Silverfish
I could not see the faces, so I followed the tics and tells of their fingers, picking out the passionate from those feigning to care less. Bruised notes of money flashed across the table, flowing like shoals of fish towards the winner. Two arms would spread out to engulf the spoils. Then, scraping chair legs, howls of laughter, coarse goodbyes and the door out slamming shut. This ritual took place every Saturday night, with the hands the same - though they could move position. I began to recognise the individual pairs distinctly. I could even name the owner.
By Juliet Fergus5 years ago in Criminal
The Last Known Flight of Emma-Jean
As Jimmy K lowered the lever and got even closer to the water, he could smell the salty spray as he swung the door open. “C’mon Emma Jean, don’t fail me now” he muttered under his breath. The searing annoyance ate at him like fleet of hell bent wasps. For the first time in his career he knew he was in trouble and would have to think fast. Out of habit he pulled the black leather bound book out of his pocket before looking at the dash in front of him. It wouldn’t really matter if he documented the coordinates now; he was a dead man regardless. Leaning back he pushed several matte black buckets out of the plane door. Sweat dripped down his face as he began to think of which direction he wanted to head. The sky was the limit; this might be his best feat yet. Gazing down at the gas gauge he pulled up before putting the plane into auto-pilot mode.
By K.H. Obergfoll5 years ago in Criminal
Marked
Marked Jared stood smuggly on the platform at the doctor’s window. This was his favorite part - watching his marks notice their missing articles and his waving it as they are whisked to the next stop. He waited for the doctor to wake when they announced the stop for the second time...nothing. If he didn’t wake up soon, Jared would miss his chance. A minute later, the last call was announced and the doctor lay with his head pressed against the window, mouth open and eyes shut. Jared jumped back onto the train just as the doors were closing. He walked to the seat and kicked his foot as he pretended to sit - nothing. The train jerked violently and his mark fell over, lifeless. It was then that Jared noticed the small blushed area under the doctor’s right ear. “Tickets!” yelled the conductor as he walked down the aisle. Jared leaned over to see the puncture wound and sat back abruptly. This man wasn’t asleep - he was dead. “Tickets!” Not just dead - he was killed….murdered…..offed….. There was a murderer on this train and whoever it was murdered his mark. In all his years of lifting, Jared had never come across anything like this. The job was simple - get close, lift, gloat and leave. It kept him eating, clothed and sheltered for 4 years. This, however, was a completely different level of illegal. “Tickets!” He would have to make a run for it. He turned to dash to the restroom and stood eye to eye with the conductor. “Your ticket, sir.” Thinking quickly, he pulled the wallet and the little black Moleskine notebook he lifted from his pocket and opened them to reveal his mark’s ticket. “Dr. Worley?” Jared answered in the affirmative. “You seem a little young to be a doctor.” The conductor looked at him sideways. “I get that all the time. Sometimes it gets me out of meetings!” His laugh seemed too contrived, even for him, but he took back the ticket and stuffed it into the notebook and put it and the wallet in his pocket. The conductor’s eyes followed. He then asked about the “sleepy-head”. “My assistant - first time on a business trip and he can’t hack it. I may have to fire him. If it's all the same to you, I”ll not fish for his ticket in his pants pocket while he sleeps - seems suspiciously inappropriate.” The conductor gave an unsure nod but proceeded down the aisle.
By A Rose Williams5 years ago in Criminal
