Daily Post One Word Prompt – Yellow (Gone, Pt 3) 1-29-2017

Yellow

Gone, Part 3

Yellow. As in piss poor. Rubber ducks. The sun. Lemonade. Flowers. And dead if the man heading into the bank didn’t perform up to snuff. He’d wanted to kill the bait before, had argued for it, but had been overridden. Nobody wanted to listen. Nobody wanted to believe.

Yellow.

It was dangerous to use one piece of bait too long. Too dangerous, not only to the bait – which didn’t matter to him – but to the job. There was always more bait. There wouldn’t be another mission should this one fail.

He drew in a long breath, not looking at the asshole beside him or the rest of the team watching from above; strategically placed around the street corner on which the bank was situated.

“Good afternoon, Mr Marshall. I hope for a productive meeting.”

“I am sure it will be, Mr. Jenkins. I am sure.”

Listened to the sound of walking. The rustle of clothes. The almost silent breath. Checking the bait’s vitals on the machine beside him, he cursed. The bait was going to panic; he’d been waiting for this to happen. You don’t pluck bait from the street and expect them to function in the high-stress situation of a mission. This one had lasted longer than the others. He’d almost believed things would work out this time.

More fool, he.

The sound of a door opening and closing.

“This will be suitable for your review, I hope?”

“Yes, fine.”

More rustling. The thump of a briefcase laid upon the table.

“I will call you when I am done.”

“Very well,” the bank manager replied, clearly reluctant to leave. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” the bait said a moment later. “I’ll give you a call.”

Rustle of clothing and the squeak of door hinges opening and closing.

Now, the fun began.

Gone, Part 1

Gone, Part 2

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner – Week 1 – January 3, 2017

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Thursday morning, December 29th. Allow the prompt to take you anywhere you want to go! (Limit your stories to 200 words.)

This challenge is open until 11:00 pm Wednesday night, January 4th, 2017.

FFfPP

wine

 

“Wine? Cheese cracker?”

“Later, thanks.” If she didn’t find the chip soon, bad things were going to happen. She did not relish being the bringer of bad things. Bearers of bad things rarely came out well in the end.

If she was a power-mad dictator, where would she hide a computer chip capable of toppling her fiefdom? He would have been smart to do destroy it, but his ego wouldn’t have let him. So where could it be?

Her gaze swept the crowded ballroom before focusing back on the table to her right. Wine. Cheese. Grapes. Crackers and Dip. Something seemed wrong. The table just didn’t look right.

Fishing a finger into the dip, she touched something which was not sliced cucumber or tomato. Square. Tiny. Metal. Pulling the chip out, she wiped it quickly on a napkin and dropped it into her bra.

A quick look showed him coming her way.

Get out. Thirty feet and she’d be free.

A hand cupped her elbow. “Leaving so soon?”

Felt a pin-prick on her arm.

Now she knew. Too late.

 

 

 

Friday Fictioneers 5-6-2016

grey-day-with-pigeons-roger-bultot

The signals came in through the satellite dish, buzzing down the line to the tiny receiver tucked in the back of his closet. No matter how much tech he brought, it only worked as fast as the world he was in. This one was tech challenged, one might say. They had the telephone, if you called the old rotary dial a real phone.

He didn’t. Obviously.

The message blinked up. “Today. Midnight.”

Inspirational, that. Clicking off the receiver, he broke it down, tucking important components into his bag and tossing the rest out various windows. The Dishes, he broke down and discarded.  He’d not need them here again.

Midnight. One shot. And then, lickety-split,  home again.