Aikido pensioner

Jutta Dowdy heard the noise first and shook her husband out of his sleep. “You hear that Edwin?” She said.

Edwin, eighty-three a few days ago, rolled onto his back and listened a beat. “You leave the TV on?”

Jutta shook her head. She said, “Uh-uh. You going downstairs to have a look?”

Edwin pulled back the blanket and slipped his feet into his slippers. “I guess it’s my turn,” he said.

“You want me to help?”

“You think I can’t handle the punk myself?”

“There might be more than one.”

Edwin smiled, saying, “That’s my kinda odds.”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of 83 year old Aikido black belt –

Wheelchair getaway fails

John Champion thought he had it all worked out. He robbed the convenience store on Main St. and told the store clerk that the cops weren’t gonna bust a disabled man. “Jeez,” he said, “even if they did, there’s no cop gonna catch me if they tried.” A few minutes later, Deputy Graves was drumming his fingers over his holster saying, “You need some help there son?”

Champion, shaking his head, looked down at the sand thinking that he should have stuck to the street and kept his wheelchair on solid ground. He took a swig of his Bud Light.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of John Christopher Champion –

69-year-old with attitude

“You want to talk to me, then let’s talk,” McCormik said, pressing his index finger onto the officer’s nose. Yeah, he was feeling good right about now, on a cocaine merry-go-trip and wanting to duke it out with the officer. “Let’s fucking go, man,” he said, prodding the officer again, this time in the chest. “Touch me with that taser and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

Officer Faulkner said, “You finished with the attitude?”

“Uh huh, I’m just getting started here,” McCormik said, taking a glance at officer’s hand pulling the taser gun from his belt.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of John Sherman McCormick –

Bank robber to wait his turn

Samuel leant against the counter, kept his .44 flat on the counter-top and watched the bank clerk. She was telling him how it was. She had a queue of drive-through customers that needed serving first. ”I need you to wait?” she said, reading the note Samuel had scribbled down telling her that he had a handgun. Samuel watching her rotate towards the drive-through hatch, taking her time. Taking the note with her. Waiting. Twenty seconds and counting. Samuel thinking it through. Another ten and he’d walk. Now the bank manager was asking him if he needed help.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of failed robbery –

Deputy mocked over doughnut break

“What, anybody would think I just interrupted your doughnut break?” Matthew Murphy said. “I mean, you guys took your time getting here. You know what I’m saying?”

The Deputy waited a beat before he spoke. “Mr Murphy, do you still need assistance, ‘cause we can go if you want us to?”

“The guy has a fucking gun,” Murphy said. “Hell, he’s likely to shoot me the moment you start dipping into those doughnuts again. So, no I don’t want you to go until you’ve done something about my neighbour. Otherwise I’m likely to kill the son-of-a-bitch. You dig?”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Matthew Murphy –

A hundred words to tell a story

a.k.a Drabbles

The concept is simple

I take inspiration from a real life event and give it my own flavour. I write a one hundred word story, no more and no less, that’s raw and unpolished without the endless hours of trying to make it perfect.

And why do it?

This is a personal challenge to improve my writing skills, spark my imagination, and begin a journey of discovery that I freely, and unapologetically, open to public scrutiny.

Help spread the word

I hope you enjoy reading the Drabbles as much as I enjoy writing them. Please feel free to spread the word.

Vincent Holland

Deadly flowerpot

Detroit Police Officer Willie Soles was working security that day when the guy with the flowerpot strutted up the stairs and into the main lobby area. It was 12:45 Friday afternoon, one of the hottest summer days that Willie could remember. The guy with the flowerpot was wearing khaki shorts and a white shirt with rings of sweat under his armpits. Willie could see the guy’s eyes, calm, maybe a little tired as he tried to hand over the flowerpot, telling Willie that he’d found it in his mother’s garden. Willie seeing the hand-grenade dug into the dirt.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of the grenade in the flowerpot –

The restauranteur hit man

Brittany Martinez leaned against the counter in her local restaurant.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to kill your husband?” the restauranteur said.

Martinez nodded.

“You appreciate we only cook food?”

“I have cash and a picture of my husband,” she said taking out an envelope from her bag. “I don’t care who kills him, but it’s got to be done today. The cash is from our joint account. If my husband finds it missing, he’ll wanna know where it is.”

The restauranteur shrugged and took the envelope saying, “I can see where that can be kinda awkward.”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Brittany Martinez –

The gunman

Christopher Briggs clipped the semi-automatic .45 calibre handgun onto his belt: thirteen rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. He had a couple more magazines loaded with hollow-point ammunition and two hunting knives with serrated edges in his rucksack. He moved quickly between the crowd leaving the U.S. Secret Service police booth behind him and headed for the White House, keeping his head down and his hands in his Jeans’ pockets. Now he was thinking he should have worn that white shirt to conceal the .45. Attract less attention. But then that would’ve be too easy.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Christopher Biggs –

Blowing up the family Labrador

It seemed like a good idea at the time, Christopher W. Dillingham thought. But he hadn’t figured on the explosion being that bad. He was certain his dog had the devil inside of it. He watched the heavyset man sit down on the kitchen chair opposite. Neither of them smiled. Now the FBI man started shaking his head saying, “You said you were where when the bomb went off?”

“Behind the garden wall,” Christopher said. “On account that I didn’t want to get hit by any flying debris.”

“By debris, you mean your family’s pet Labrador?”

Christopher shrugged. “Cabella, yeah?”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Christopher W. Dillingham killing the family Labrador –

The deadly squirt gun

Renee Lynn Memije pulled her baseball cap’s large brim low over her eyes as she pushed the squirt gun into her jeans’ waistband. Thinking, sure that she’d mixed together the jalapenos, red peppers and salt into the water. She pressed hard on the buzzer, leant against the doorframe and waited for the owner of the house. It took a while, and then it happened all at once. The woman that answered was wearing an Adidas tracksuit and a blank expression on her face. Without hesitation, Renee pulled the trigger and squirted water into her eyes.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Renee Lynn Memije –

Prison break by suitcase

“You know, I think this is gonna work,” Ramirez said.

“You really think so?”

“Uh!” Ramirez said, tucking his knees up against his chest and squeezing into the suitcase.

“You want me to zip it up?” his girlfriend said.

Ramirez nodded and pressed his head inside and felt the suitcase tighten around him. Then he felt the bumps and cracks of the prison yard until they came to a stop by the prison gate. He could hear the guards talking about the suitcase and his girlfriend falter. He was beginning to think, that maybe, this wasn’t such a bright idea.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Juan Ramirez –

The naked attorney

Ronald D. Combs fell out of the lower level window and hit his head on the ground and lay there for a minute. He could hear the sound of the sirens getting closer. He looked down at his feet. At least he still had his running shoes on. If he could manage to drag himself out of the flowerbed he’d be able to make his way around the house. He’d made it to the front porch when he felt a sharp pain run through his body. Paralysed for a second. That’s when he saw the cop holding the taser gun.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Ronald D. Combs –

Boiled for four days

“I just slowly cooked it, and ended up cooking her for four days,” David Veins said.

“Let me get this straight. You cooked your wife’s body for four days?” Sgt. Richard Garcia said.

Veins rubbed his leg trying to loosen the muscle in his thigh. “That’s about it,” he said. “Before I mixed what remained with other waste and poured it into the grease pit where I work. Except for her scull.”

“You kept her scull… Where?”

“My mother’s attic,” Veins said. “It was the only thing I didn’t want to get rid of, in case I needed it sometime.”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of David Veins –

Life in the fast lane

At first it didn’t sound like much of a job. Now, the idea of shooting the three of them amused him. One of the white guys sitting up front kept tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Carlos was thinking about popping him first. Bring up the revolver nice-and-easy and shoot him in the back of the neck before picking off one of the other two. See which one would lunge at him first. He was betting on the black guy to his left, the one holding the briefcase open counting all the money. Carlos squeezed the trigger.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of a shooting outside the Manhattan School of Music –

Expect the unexpected

The Nissan SUV hopped the pavement and bounced to a standstill just short of the lamppost. Bryan Zuniga jumped out, darted across the street and hurdled a fence behind the St Peterburg’s water-treatment plant. Driving that SUV without a licence was the last thing he wanted to be sent back to prison for. He kept squatted in the dark and waited for that deputy to move on. That’s when he heard something rustle behind him. Turning. Seeing an alligator lunge at him with its mouth wide open. That’s how he told it to the nurse at the General Hospital.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Bryan Zuniga and the alligator – http://tampabay.com1

Jesus Christ, Brandon!

Brandon Vanwinkle was feeling pretty happy with himself. The judge had just sentenced him to another three years inside Kennewick prison for spitting at his Corrections Officer, that and the eight other felony convictions that caught up with him. “It don’t make no difference to me,” Brandon said, “I’m watching you; sixteen years undercover using methamphetamine just to watch how you all work.”

“Mr Vanwinkle?” the judge said.

“Brandon Van Winkle. You go saying my name as my father, Rip Van Winkle, gave to me. Maybe then I’ll go easy on you when I sentence you in Jesus Christ’s court.”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Brandon Vanwinkel –

Banana with an AK-47

It seemed like a good idea at the time, at least that’s what the owner of the store told him. Nineteen year-old Taylor stood on the street corner dressed in a banana costume with his AK-47 slung over his left shoulder when the Beaumont police pulled up alongside him. Yeah, he thought to himself, how the fuck do you work this one out. He held up his handwritten sign saying – Golden Triangle Tactical Grand Opening – and gave the cop stepping out of the patrol car that fucked up grin of his. Except, now he weren’t feeling that smart.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Golden Triangle Tactical’s promotion –

Merry marijuana and happy New Year

Sergeant Mesa wound down his window as his pulled the car over. “Oi, Santa!” he said.

Santa stopped and looked over. “Oh, it’s you sergeant. I didn’t recognise you.”

Mesa wiped his fingers over his mouth and the two day’s worth of stubble on his chin. “What’s in the sack Tony?” he said.

Tony shrugged.

Mesa said, “You still dealing drugs?”

“Uh huh, I’m just spreading some Christmas joy.”

Mesa thinking, said, “Yeah, like a proper little Santa. Except, I’m guessing you’ve packed a little extra something into the parcels. Am I right?”

Tony gave him that grin of his.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Santa’s marijuana –


Donald Ray Lee had trouble seeing clearly that day. The Chucky mask was obscuring his vision as he pointed his .22 Magnum at the bank clerk. “Sir,” the clerk said, “you have to take the halloween mask off.”

“Uh uh, you gotta give me all your money. And make sure you keep everything nice-n-easy, you hear?” Donald said, knowing he had missed something on the way in. Now seeing that sign on the wall by the entrance – Management recognises the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution – Then catching Thompson, the bank manager, pulling his Colt .380 onto him.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of the People’s bank robbery – http://kansascity.coml

You speaky English?

“What did he say?”

“How the fuck should I know,” Zachariah said. “The guy don’t make no sense.”

Howard pulled his Colt .44 from his waistband and pointed it at one of the Chinese waiters, the one that was no taller than he’d been himself when he’d started high school ten years back. “You speaky English?” he said, cracking a smile under his mask.

“You think he’s a faggot Howard?”

“Fuck you Zack, I said no using our names.”

“They don’t understand shit,” Zachariah said. “So it don’t matter none.”

“How do you know they don’t know shit, you fucking genius.”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of foiled robbery –

Pink poodle queer bashing

George Mason Jr. sat in his SUV thumping at the steering wheel as he caught his own reflection in the rear view mirror. He had that big grin going on thinking about the pink poodle he’d just seen when he had parked up at the intersection. Now he could see the couple with the pink poodle strolling along the side street a few meters back. Fucking queers, he thought. It ain’t fucking right. “It ain’t fucking American,” he shouted, whilst he wound down the passenger window. “Your poodle is a weird colour, and that’s just un-American, you fucks.”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of George Mason Jr –

Polaroids help convict serial killer

Inspector Faulkner rubbed his hand over his face saying, “Your son gets fifteen years for armed robbery and you’re looking at life for murder.”

Christian was listening but staring at his Polaroids spread across the table.

“Eleven previously unsolved murders now linked to your DNA,” Faulkner said. “If we had never arrested your son, we’d never have found you.” He tapped one of the Polaroids with his finger. “Photographs found hidden in a shoebox under your bed. You want to start naming the corpses?”

Christian shrugged as his lawyer whispered into his ear. He returned a smile but said nothing.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Lonnie David Franklin Jr (The Grim Sleeper) –

Dealer ties dope to his penis

Police Corporal Christopher Eiserman shook his head, kept the smirk going. “Uh-huh, I want you to pull your pants down.”

“Man,” Ray Woods said popping open his Jeans. “You gotta be kiddin me…? I told you, there ain’t nothing down there.”

Eiserman shrugged, thinking the guy is gonna tell him the bulge is all natural. Now, with his pants down, Eiserman could see the plastic bag tied to the guy’s penis was anything but. “You been holding out on us Ray?”

Ray Woods rubbed his jaw with his hand.

Eiserman said, “I guess you figured we wouldn’t check, huh?”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Ray Woods –

Fugitive busted in Florida

Homeland Security Officer Danny Faulkner paid the check and stood up from the table. This time last week he was in Tennessee, now he was on vacation with his family in Florida. His wife walked ahead of him with their daughter holding her hand. But he wasn’t thinking about them right now. He was thinking about Max Terhune being wanted by the DEA in Memphis State. The same Max Terhune that was sitting at the bar talking to the blond with the legs that went all the way up. Danny smiled and started thinking how his luck had just changed.

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of fugitive Max Terhune’s luck running out –

Manhattan ‘Afroduck’ speed freak

Tang, wearing a white T-shirt with a Jack Daniel’s logo on front, opened the front door to two NYPD detectives.

“Are you Christopher Tang, known online as Afroduck?” one of the detectives said.

“You could say that.”

“You posted a YouTube video called ‘around Manhattan in twenty-four minutes’. You want to tell me why you did that?”

Tang looked down with a tight smile. “I don’t know.”

The second detective said, “Reckless driving, speed violation and traffic device violation.”

“I tell you what,” Tang said. “Let’s go through the process. I’ll make comments when my lawyer turns up.”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of an Afroduck the speed freak –

Four years and your marriage licence

“And you’re sure you want to go ahead with this?” Judge Jerry D. Bass said.

“We’ve been together a long time,” Larry Austin said, adjusting his orange prison jumpsuit, pulling the sleeves over the handcuffs. “This is a chance for us to start our lives over.”

“You won’t be going on a honeymoon, you understand?”

Larry looked at his girlfriend, Dustie Dawn Trojack, standing in the courtroom behind him and nodded. Thinking. The four years the judge just handed him for a firearms violation meant he’d be out in three. “Yeah, I’m cool with that,” he said. “Are you baby?”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Larry Austin –

Released sixteen years too early

“But I keep telling you, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“I get it,” The prison guard said. “I take it you wanna stay in the cell a while longer, that it?”

Walter Dixon, thinking how this guard didn’t know shit about nothing, said, “No, you don’t get it. I’m meant to be going with the Marshal.”

“The Federal Marshal?”

Dixon smiled. Sixteen years handed down from the state judge and this prison guard was releasing him sixteen years too early. “I’m telling you man, you got the wrong guy. I’m meant to be going the Correctional Centre in downtown Chicago.”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of convicted criminal Walter Redawn Dixon –

Carjacking the wrong type of car

Marcus had pulled the old guy out from the bright, yellow Corvette’s driver side and jumped in. His partner, Daniel, had the guy on the ground with his Colt .44 against his head. Marcus looked blindly at the dashboard and at his feet. “How the fuck you start this thing?” he said.

Daniel cocked the .44 for effect saying, “Answer the man.”

Marcus tried to follow the guy’s instructions, with each attempt at twisting the key in the ignition the Corvette jerked forward. Again, he heard the guy telling him to press down the clutch. Marcus thinking, what the fuck!

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of attempted car jacking –

Elvis’ half orang-utan brother arrested

Sheriff Deputy Hayden leant against the car. Inside, fifty-one year old Mark Loescher was saying that he needed to call the Fusion Centre to ask about his monkey blood supply, on account that he was half orang-utan.

“Is that right?” the Sheriff Deputy said. “I still need you to exit the vehicle and place both hands on the hood.”

Loescher gave him that smile. “You know who I am,” he said, “Director of the FBI.”

“Uh huh, sure thing Mr. Hoover?””

“Man, you have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Loescher said. “Hell, I’m even Elvis’ half brother.”

By Vincent Holland

Inspired by the case of Mark Loescher –