One of our stories in development:
Tom Brogan wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t ‘made.’ Wasn’t feared. Just a foot soldier—a Drop Man—who did what he was told until the day he disappeared from the Irish mob.
An easy man to forget.
In an irony not lost on him, he found work tending graves in a small-town cemetery. Quiet years passed. He grew old, lived alone, and was buried in memory, haunted by the consequences of a violent life and the weight of bad choices.
But when he returns to Boston for his mother’s funeral and witnesses a mob hit gone wrong, he does the one thing he never did before: He remembers that once, he’d been a good man—and saves someone.
Now, with a boy in tow and the past closing in, Tom faces a fight he was never prepared for.
He wasn’t respected.
Wasn’t feared.
The mob forgot him.
Until now.
He’s an old man standing between a kid and a bullet.
But redemption has a price.
And the mob always collects.
Analysis of The Story Idea:
Emotional Weight and Human Realism
By choosing a man who was never fully in—the forgotten cog in the machine, the disposable affiliate—the story positions Tom as someone readers can immediately relate to. He’s not a monster trying to become a man again. He’s a man who tried to survive in a monstrous world, escaped it, and never lost the awareness of his inadequacy. That humility, born from decades of regret and fear, becomes one of his most compelling traits.
- He wasn’t respected, so he’s driven by the deep ache of never having been enough.
- He wasn’t ambitious; he learned to stay small and survive by not fighting to climb the ladder, not positioning to move higher in the Family.
- He wasn’t brutal, so the violent world he once inhabited left scars instead of trophies.
This gives him depth and vulnerability, which makes his eventual steps toward courage and protective violence earned, and thus, profoundly satisfying to the reader.
Subverting the ‘Former Killer‘ Trope
Crime and Thriller fiction is saturated with cold-eyed ex-assassins, bruised but deadly ex-cons, ex-cops, and stone-faced, flawed or damaged ex-soldiers trying to live quiet lives. But a character who wasn’t that guy, yet must become a version of them out of desperation, is far more relatable and terrifying in his transformation.
- Tom’s the one who slipped through, not the man who ruled the underworld, held a high place within it, or commanded its respect. He was barely acknowledged.
- His unremarkable past becomes his only protection—nobody’s looking for him because nobody expected anything of him… or from him.
- That anonymity saved him and condemned him to irrelevance… so it had been… so it was… until the day he acted to save someone else.
Echo and Inversion through the Boy
Having the protagonist see himself in the boy adds resonance and symmetry to the narrative. The boy becomes both his second chance and his haunting mirror. Protecting the boy is not just an act of survival; it’s an act of atonement.
- Tom doesn’t want the boy to become what he became—lost… only to turn the wrong way trying to find himself and his place in the world.
- He knows what it’s like to have no one show up to save you.
- He’s not saving the boy because he can but because he must.
That distinction elevates the story from action thriller to moral fable.
Opportunity for Organic Growth and Tension
Since Tom isn’t a killer or fighter, every decision to act—every punch thrown, every gun picked up—feels earned. It injects real suspense because the reader knows he’s not equipped to handle violence well. When violence comes, it’s clumsy, desperate, messy, precisely what makes it authentic.
His journey isn’t about rediscovering past glory; there’s none to re-live. It’s about becoming something he never believed he could be, not for status, but for someone else’s survival.
Narrative Devices to Support This Arc
To emphasize and deepen this character path, we’ll incorporate:
- Flashbacks where real mobsters overlook or humiliate him, showing his insignificance.
- Small moments of personal failure hinting at why he never fit in—he couldn’t kill when ordered, hesitated, or helped someone, and was quietly punished.
- Internal monologues rich in self-doubt, not cynicism, but honest reckoning.
- Symbolic actions—digging graves that mirror his buried conscience or watching the boy sleep while remembering what it was like to be innocent… and unprotected.
ONCE I WAS A GOOD MAN is a story of buried sins and reluctant redemption. Tom Brogan, who was never meant to be a hero, is forced to become one for the only thing he found mattered: a young boy’s life. A gritty, emotional journey into the long shadow of crime, memories, regrets, and the quiet strength it takes to do what’s right… even when you’ve spent your life doing wrong.
Is It A Story Worth Telling?
Yes.
This approach gives the story moral gravity, a slow-burn character arc, and room for powerful emotional moments. Tom Brogan isn’t a lion in winter; he’s a beaten dog who suddenly turns to protect something, someone, innocent. That is far more interesting and moving than a killer seeking redemption.
It also offers a fresh take on the true crime and noir tradition: a story not about the big names, the skilled, deadly, and feared men, but about the quiet ones in the margins—the ones who disappeared not because they were too dangerous but because they never mattered.
- Central Themes: Redemption, moral ambiguity, confronting past sins, protecting innocence, and the inevitability of the past catching up.
- Potential Strengths: Strong emotional depth, a relatable antihero protagonist, layered morality, and tension-driven narrative.
- Character Potential: The old caretaker figure, embodying guilt, wisdom, and sorrow, is inherently fascinating. His internal struggle between regret and responsibility can provide excellent narrative depth.
- Narrative Tension: Persistent Irish mob threats and suspenseful cat-and-mouse dynamics offer sustained reader engagement.
More on this story to come as work progresses.