The dance lessons were not working. First of all, he hated to dance. Of all the things he was good at, dancing wasn’t one of them, in spite of the fact that he was at least adequate at several sports.
Secondly, she hadn’t noticed him. Hardly surprising since he was one of the worst students in their jazz dance class. He only joined so he could observe her without arousing suspicion, but he needed to get closer, and that meant interacting with her.
Their instructor Raoul could be bought, which was how Edison managed to land a spot in an already full class to begin with. Each student was supposed to choose a partner next week and he needed to be hers. A little more flirting with teacher and a stronger hint that he might be interested in some “personal tutelage” after hours would probably do the trick (he’d have to convince the little French tight ass that he was “bi”).
They were sitting on a mat facing each other, legs open, soles of their feet touching as they stretched.
“With a ‘C’, yes. Can’t you stretch more than this? You’re not really flexible.”
Oh, terrific. She’s snobby and critical. He’d hoped she’d be the type to take pity on one of the less accomplished dancers and offer a few pointers.
“I know. I need to work on it. Name’s Edison.”
© A Mixed Bag 2010
He was sitting at a table nursing one of the ales for which Blakes of Dover is noted when she walked in. The young Japanese woman was immediately drawn to him, walked over, and took a seat at his table.
“I thought we might have a bit of lunch before you take me in, Mikiko.” Timothy nodded and a server came immediately over.
He looked at the woman, “What will you be having?”
“Order for both of us.”
He ordered Beef with Chips and two more ales.
“I knew it was only a matter of time. I won’t bother asking how you found me. I’m glad you came alone.”
“They’re waiting outside to arrest you, Timothy. It’s either us or Mzimu.”
“It’s either prison or a shallow grave in a field somewhere.”
“At least you chose a pleasant venue for your last meal.”
The ales quietly arrived and the international assassin known as Hellspite proposed a toast to the one person in the world who had finally captured him. His career was finally over and he trusted her to finish what he started by bringing down the gang of human traffickers that had started it all.
I wrote this for the Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge of January 7th 2018. The idea is to take the image above and use it to prompt the creation of a piece of flash fiction no more than 200 words long. My word count is 198.
I’m obviously leveraging characters from my Mikiko Jahn SciFi/Adventure series. I’m thankful the photo included a very recognizable sign for Blakes of Dover and I discovered that Dover is less than twenty miles from Dymchurch where the latter part of my larger story takes place.
These events occur after my most recent chapter in the series and I’m not sure yet if this wee tale will become part of the canon. I guess it depends on whether or not I want Fleming (AKA Hellspite) to escape or not.
Oh, this scene is set specifically in the cellar bar which is perfect for a quiet drink and a small lunch.
To read other stories inspired by the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.