27 May 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day (3116) Part 2 | Prompt: garbage sandwich (bocadillo de basura)

Chapter 1: Recap

The fifth shot that rang out from the alley behind midtown's high-rise Malvern St. Condominiums didn't sound like a gunshot at all. It was more like a dull, wet thud that vibrated up through the floorboards of the ten-story building.

Below, the streetlights hummed with a sallow orange hue. The outline of a shape no taller than five and a half feet lay huddled against the brickwork of the stoop, a dark smudge against the gray concrete.

Absolute silence followed before the first scream tore through the night like a serrated blade. The ballet had begun.

On the sidewalk, shadows revealed curious residents spilling out from Duplex Habitat that stood just opposite the high-rise. Its residents' movements were erratic and panicked as a full-sized woman in a bathrobe appeared right before a patrol car skidded to a halt.

Across the street, wiser residents occupying the highrise, Malvern St. Condominiums, braced themselves.

In Apartment 1A, Bradley Buford refused to abandon his schedule inside his first-floor unit, having already locked down for the night to enjoy his soap opera and garbage sandwich. The night before, he'd witnessed a disturbance that promised to conclude a deal gone wrong. Nasty business that could possibly take him away from his Friday night routine.

In Apartment 2C, Charlie Edmond's walker rested in his restroom. Upon hearing the commotion, he didn't immediately rise to retrieve it and investigate. He simply sighed deeply, shook his head in disappointment, and slowly reached for the Classifieds laying on the coffee table next to his recliner. He grabbed a pencil and circled several listings for senior living accommodations away from Malvern Street.

In Apartment 3D, Rosalinda Torres froze, then strode over to the window and reached for its latch as the sirens arrived. A frantic, escalating chorus of red and blue lights bled through her blinds. From the curtains, she saw flashlights dancing over the victim.

All other tenants simply bolted their doors as usual once evening gave way to night. Better safe than sorry. If they could afford to move, they wouldn't have been subjected to the shots that rang out delivering the bullets that slaughtered the young man that evening.

That was the anatomy of a Friday night in Midtown where a once secure, family-oriented section of the city thrived. Now, you didn't questions. You didn't linger. You pulled the blinds. You locked the deadbolt, and you waited for the city to move on.

But it couldn't move on until authorities investigated yet another senseless killing of a young teen. So residents in both the Duplex Habitat and Malvern St. Condominiums were forced to confront yet again the violence on their doorsteps.

The police wasted no time in their "divide and conquer" strategy, invading both buildings to ascertain their residents' viability as witnesses. Someone, somewhere had to have seen or heard the commotion that turned deadly earlier that evening.

Veteran Officer Lindsey Hubert assigned himself to the first half of the high-rise. Apartment 1A. Bradley Buford, known to him from past interrogations. If Hubert could stomach the interview, it may just prove invaluable. The aroma of sauerkraut waffled through the air, hit him, and rushed up his nostrils the moment Bradley cracked his door. Hubert couldn't retreat. Nor could he hide his disgust. He held his breath, then stepped inside. From past experience, Bradley's statements were always critical to any crime scene involving Malvern Street.

But it all came down to whether the consumer of the garbage sandwich, or, as he proudly proclaimed, buffet for one, could separate fact from the fictional soap operas.

Now, Part 2: "Interrogating Malvern Street: High-Rise Ambitions"

Veteran Officer Lindsey Hubert had stood on the cracked sidewalk of Malvern Street observing a grim corridor of frayed high-rises and worn duplexes. A neighborhood full of secrets. He was now tasked with interrogating the quirky tenants connected to a fatal shooting of a teen.

Inside the high-rise building, he spotted Bradley Buford's first-floor apartment unit, knocked, then gained entrance. Between bites of his garbage sandwich, Bradley wasted no time filling Officer Hubert in on happenings since his last visit.

Officer Hubert's voice rose. "Bradley, I need you to focus on the fatal incident yesterday." He stifled the impulse to sneeze at the sauerkraut, then braced himself.

Bradley chuckled. "I've some donuts while you wait cause it's gonna be a long episode." Bradley paused between chews.

"Stop chewing and think. Yesterday afternoon. What did you see inside the high-rise, across the way at the duplexes, or down the alleyways?"

"Thursday nights are my usual grocery runs. I was rushing home because it was the season finale," Bradley mumbled, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for a camera crew. He continued slowly as if a suspicion of wire tapping was at play. "The dark-haired prince. He betrayed the family. I saw him take the briefcase of white powder. Then Victor stepped out from the shadows and delivered the final judgment. Boom. Cut to commercial."

Hubert leaned forward, his shadow swallowing Bradley whole. "Bradley, there is no Victor. There is no prince. You were walking from the supermarket when shots rang out all around you on Malvern Street, not sitting on your couch eating your garbage sandwich and watching Days of Our Lives.

Bradley shook his head violently as if waking from a nightmare. He stared at Hubert blankly.

"Did you see a real kid exit the high-rise and run toward the alley, then retreat because of someone chasing him? or are you giving me a plot summary from yesterday's TV guide?"

Bradley blinked, a sudden flash of lucid terror breaking through his delusion. He dropped the sandwich crust. Blustering, he uttered, if this shit didn't happen in real life, they'd have nothing to entertain us with on the big screen.

"The boy; he didn't have a briefcase. He had a backpack. It was torn. White powder was leaking out of the zipper. And it wasn't Victor who stepped out of the stairwell. It was Rosalinda Torres' kin."

Bradley paused as if out of breath from imparting that tibit, then pointed toward the ceiling.

"She lives on the third floor. The one with the big boobs. Oh, and I forgot, the neck tattoo. It wasn't a scene from the episode. The boy was running for his life trying to get home." Bradley then pointed toward the duplexes. But the boy fell and didn't get back up. I rushed toward my building, got inside, and deadbolt the door. Now, they're gonna come for me. Five of them shooting like crazy. Different outfits they wore. It's a miracle I wasn't gunned down myself. "I'm in trouble, right? Now, I'm their prime witness. Do you need to take down my information so that I can enter your witness protection program?"

Hubert just stared in disbelief. Bradley wouldn't make a credible witness in anybody's court of law. He didn't answer that question, just stated sternly, looking Bradley in the face before clearing his throat.

"I can guess which one possessed the big boobs. But Rosalinda or the teen with the neck tattoo?" Hubert then lowered his head and kept writing.

"Both. They're cousins you see." Bradley jumped up and strolled over to the fridge to get a soda. He turned and asked politely, although he hoped Hubert would refuse. "I'd share my sandwich, but it's advertised as a buffet for one."

Hubert declined. He'd no intention of eating anything from Bradley's refrigerator. He left Bradley glued to the television, watching the trashy evening soap opera, blurring the dramas with the grim realities of Malvern Street.

In the hallway, he shook his head and briefly wrote on the pad, noting Bradley’s erratic ramblings about backstabbing and secret heirs.

Next, Officer Hubert crossed the hall to catch the elevator up to Rosalinda Torres' unit. But before he could close the door, Juan approached. He interrupted the elevator with his hand and foot.

"I see you've taken a trip to the twilight zone, officer." Juan smiled as his eyes directed Hubert to Bradley's apartment. "Some helpful advice. You'll find all you need on the third floor. DON'T listen to her."

Juan nodded good day, released the elevator door, and walked off as in a rush as Officer Hubert's ride to the third floor was filled with another twist.

[to be continued]

For my theme, I was inspired by and utilized the Hive account@daily.prompt's publishing of 27 May 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3116: garbage sandwich, together with:

12 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3132: buffet for one'

26 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3146: I’m in trouble; and

25 June 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3145: listen to her!