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Ray Johnson

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2026

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8 Stories

55 karma pts

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I’m no narc

I'm Not a NarcI pulled up, turned off the pickup, and stepped out.The front door opened before I reached the porch.Out charged a Rottweiler, barking, foam hanging from the sides of his mouth.“Thor, sit!”He stopped, stared at me, and let out a low growl.Then Bruce Riegner stepped into the doorway. His hair looked like it hadn't seen a comb in days. A couple of days' growth covered his face, and one hand stayed noticeably behind his back.I stopped.Looked at Bruce.“What, are you going to shoot me?”“Should I?”“Relax. What the fuck? I came here t...

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I’m no narc

Weekly Contest #367

I'm Not a NarcI pulled up, turned off the pickup, and stepped out.The front door opened before I reached the porch.Out charged a Rottweiler, barking, foam hanging from the sides of his mouth.“Thor, sit!”He stopped, stared at me, and let out a low growl.Then Bruce Riegner stepped into the doorway. His hair looked like it hadn't seen a comb in days. A couple of days' growth covered his face, and one hand stayed noticeably behind his back.I stopped.Looked at Bruce.“What, are you going to shoot me?”“Should I?”“Relax. What the fuck? I came here t...

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Hello Its Me

Weekly Contest #366

Hello, It's MeShe lays there sleeping.She's always been the one person you could count on to fall asleep once she sees her pillow. Purrs like a kitten, curled in a little ball, covers pulled to her chin.I've loved this woman for over forty years.Forty years filled with her art, her stained glass, her unlimited talents. I learned early it was best not to engage before the tea and prayers. She needed time to greet the day. An early riser, not uncommon for her to be up at 5 or 6 a.m.Devout Catholic convert. Daily Mass when she can manage it. Th...

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"Did I Say It Was a Small World?"

DID I SAY IT WAS A SMALL WORLD I should have known better.I knew it was only a dream, but the panic stayed wedged in my chest. Even as I write this, I have to draw air just to finish a sentence. The fear of being buried alive felt completely real.The dream came the night before a meeting arranged by a guy named Terry, a Native I jokingly called Buck when I didn't think he could hear me. That became his nickname between us, a private joke. I'd met him in Victoria in a strange set of circumstances talked about elsewhere in this book.He had tw...

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The Man You Still Think I Am

Weekly Contest #365

The Man Some of You Still Think I AmRick's Mustang was already howling down Highway 90, the four of us barreling toward Barrie like we owned the night. Rick at the wheel, Mousseau and Purdy amped for trouble, me in the backseat lighting a joint—same setup almost every weekend.Rick was short and barrel-chested, smooth with superiors, like he already understood how the game worked. That '68 Mustang wasn't officially a Mach 1, but it came close enough, and Rick drove it like every road belonged to him. Mousseau had a black belt in something and...

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My Lucky Day

Weekly Contest #365

My Lucky DayI never liked the cocksucker. Tony Bracco. We'd been going at each other since high school—over money, over women, over a truck he wrecked and never paid me back for. Fifteen years of small-time bullshit between us. But I was desperate, and desperate men don't get to pick who they sit across the table with.He called me on a Tuesday. Said he had something. Said it was easy money. I almost hung up on him twice before he said the word "Brinks."That got my attention.Turned out Tony's cousin worked dispatch for a private security outf...

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Two Explosions, One Grudge

Weekly Contest #365

Two Explosions, One GrudgeI got the call at eleven at night, and by the time I hung up I already knew who I needed.Brian Mason. Best demo man I've ever worked with. But a job like this, he'd need a right hand, and there was only one guy good enough — Mike Kilbreath.Only problem was Brian and Mike couldn't stand each other. They hadn't spoken in years, and if one of them said the sky was blue, the other would swear it was green just to be contrary.There wasn't time to go looking for options. I called them both. Didn't tell either one who they...

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Not just another wild man

Not Just Another Wild ManFalling forty or fifty feet to your death is no way for an eighteen-year-old to die. It’s no way for anyone.Before I joined the service, I used to hang around a tight group of guys I’ve mentioned in other stories—and probably will again, depending on where this one ends up. I could never get enough of that crowd, but I didn’t stick to them exclusively. There was always spillover time, and that’s when I wound up running with other wild men. One of them was wilder than all the rest.Henry “Hank” Price was a world-class ...

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