Fictional Friday: The Return of SpySistah - Chapter 7
Back by popular request, Ladies and Gentlemen: SpySistah!Fictional Friday, as you are undoubtedly aware, is all about telling a story in 1,000 words using Silk's three pictures as inspiration. This week's story is below. New readers can find the links to Chapters 1-6 in the sidebar. Let me know what you think in the comments. As always, I will post an update with links to the other participant's stories when I get them.
He was tense and making it look like he was relaxed was only making him tenser. He stood at
the mirror of the seedy Berlin club that was attached to the hotel, looking down into the grime-encrusted sink. His hair was getting too long. He liked to shave it off, but for this mission, a longer look had been necessary. He tried not to think about it, but he really missed her. He didn’t like the idea of not being there for her.He shook himself out of maudlin reverie and eased back into the quiet brood with the dangerous and violent undertone. Mask back on, he washed his hands and walked back out to the neon blue lights and stale smoke of the club.
As he walked back to the table of his so-called friends, he thought about the hypocrisy of it all. Not on his part. Somehow his hypocrisy was understandable. Theirs, though, was not. They preached and prattled about the jihad and Allah, but then they went out boozing and seeking debauchery. Initially it was this inequity that made him wonder if they weren’t poseurs pretending to be jihadists. Who knew, he had thought, maybe it was ‘cool’ in their culture.
After a time though, he had become convinced of their villainy. They had given him a test, a serious test, of his convictions and dedication to the cause. He had done murder for them, spilled the blood of the infidel, and now they trusted him.
He sat down in his spot in their corner booth, noticing that Abu was once again stroking the thigh of some young Asian girl in a blond wig and black go-go boots. Abu was perhaps the least serious of their group, considering himself a real playboy, but he was also the deadliest. Too many of those young girls ended up maimed in the morning from his pleasure-taking.
Sayeed was the youngest, but a pivotal member of their group. He was the one whose father was financing the fun, like sending your 14-year-olds to Boy Scout Camp. Mohammed, Sayeed’s older cousin, was their leader. He was savvy and had excellent instincts, but like his friends, only saw things through his own kaleidoscope of black and white.
A leggy brunette in a mini skirt and silver spangled tank top came up to their table and rubbed her derriere against Mark’s arm. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into his lap, and gestured to a waitress for another round.
The men continued talking around the table about inconsequential things. Football was often central to their discussions, pointing out to Mark, yet again, how almost normal these young men were. If only, he thought, he wasn’t aware of their pathological bloodlust, he could almost call them friends. But he knew better.
The brunette fidgeted on his lap and he knew that the time was fast approaching. He ran his hand up her leg to her tight thigh, then under her skirt, reaching for the power that was there. He gripped it and the twin warring emotions of calm and excitement took him again. He loved that feeling. There was nothing like it. This was how it was supposed to be: all of the power in the world, cradled in his capable hand, an extension of his being. He slid the 9 mm out of Samantha’s high-thigh holster and silently flicked the safety to firing position.
Two more minutes. That’s all he needed. The raid at the apartment would have started earlier, but as soon as they had the go-ahead, they would do it.
Samantha stood up, signaling the start of things. She turned away from the table, as though to walk away, but quickly turned back toward them, gun extended.
“Nobody move.” She held them immobile in their shock.
“What the fuck…” Mohammed began. Samantha automatically turned her gun on him, giving Abu the opportunity to pull a knife and press it forcefully to the windpipe of the young woman on his lap.
Mark jumped out of his seat, extending his own 9 mm in the process. “Look, nobody has to get hurt.”
“You traitor of the faith! You pig! How dare you?” The recriminations and accusations came fast and furious from each of the men.
Abu, however, was not to be ignored. “I’ll kill her!” He spat the words violently at Mark, spittle landing on the cheek of his hostage and on the table. “You know I’ll do it! Back off! Drop your guns!”
Mark and Samantha shared a brief look, then both carefully bent down and placed their weapons on the floor.
“Now, kick them away,” Abu shouted.
They made to do so, Mark sending both into the farthest corner. A flurry of activity arrested everyone’s attention.
The blonde woman, Abu’s hostage, had fired a round point-blank into Abu’s chest. Abu’s surprise registered on his face. Spittle was bubbling in his mouth and creeping out one corner.
Joan stood up, pointing her weapon at the assemblage. “Look, I wasn’t about to let this thing go south,” she said to Samantha. “Besides, he spit on me! Eww! And, he was a pincher! Do you have any idea how hard it was to sit there while he pinched me in places nice girls don’t talk about? He was an asshole!”
“Joan, it’s okay. Chill out.” Samantha suddenly noticed that two of the men were missing. Mohammed must have bolted during the excitement, and Mark had followed him. She knew his only weapon was still under the table, so she barked out the orders.
“Joan. If any of them move, do what you must. I’m going to help Mark.” She ran toward the
exit, dodging the scared patrons in her way. She called for backup to close in and help Joan.The door let out on the service side of the hotel pool. In the pool, Mohammed and Mark struggled in a fight to the death. When it was over, one body floated lifelessly.
Update:
The very lovely Silk has a creepy tale we can all relate to, except for maybe the shock at the end...
Rina has a disturbing tale in her Sugarbowl that is quite powerful and raw.
Jeffers has a Golden tale that left me saying only "Holy Crap!" when I finished it.
Check them all out.
Labels: Fiction
