Last week, a fellow blogger over on dmosmusings.com started a Wednesday Micro/Flash Fiction Writing Prompt. He posted the following picture, in response I wrote the story below it. I think it sounds like the middle of an action-packed espionage romance.
Four days on the run. Two borders and three bodies. If I told you much more than that, I’d have to kill you. So I won’t. The alleys are narrow here. Small. Enveloping. It’s a city that hides two well. Everything was fine until six minutes ago.
Six minutes ago four men climbed from an old Peugeot. I could see the grips of their pistols beneath their pressed Italian suits. Black sunglasses hid the stone-cold gaze of killers as they dipped beneath the canopy and into my apartment lobby. I knew they were professionals. I took what I needed – smokes, a lighter, my own weapon, and the reason I’d come this far – then I headed out the fire-escape. The street wasn’t any good, too obvious. I headed to the roof and played long-jump for two blocks, dragging my cargo over my shoulder.
We’ll wait them out here. Here in this hole in the wall coffee shop. What do they call them here? Cafes? Caffetterias? Tabernas? Whatever it’s called, this will do just fine. The people coming and going. The patrons. They won’t notice me, or her. They won’t ask any questions when I leave her here to go back and track them. They’ll give her back when I’m done.
Those bastards won’t make it the day. No one hunts me. This is what I do.