ONE
“This is ironic,” mused Cindy, sprinting past the CrossFit gym.
Well, in fairness, only ironic to the degree she could spare the thought. Most of her focus was on the two of the original three black-clad assassins in pursuit and her one remaining shoe for self-defense.
It had _seemed_ like one of her simpler missions: disguise, infiltrate the gala, seduce the Prince, extraction before midnight. Hell, if she had known His Highness was so ...good on the dance floor...she might have tried this on her own, just to spice up the weekend.
At least she had the hair sample. What was the rationale? “Somethingsomething biometric encryption yada yada CRISPR etc.” Honestly, she had to start paying better attention to missions briefs. Now she was down one driver, one transport, and one half of a gorgeous pair of Valentinos.
On the other hand, the first goon was down one working instep, so it had been a good trade. Now she just needed to take out the other two, retrieve the shoe and catch the Yellow Line in time to clock in for her cubicle farm cover-job.
But when she saw Blue later tonight, the GDMTHR handler was going to get an EAR FULL.
***
TWO
Mike Zutt exited the gym into the early morning chill. Except this was D.C. in July, and the “chill” was more of a pre-humidity. Not exactly hot, but enough not-chill to keep a sheen of sweat going, with the promise of the full, swampy miasma by afternoon.
The shoe caught his eye immediately, its color a dramatic contrast to the acres of surrounding concrete. Mike knew crap-all about shoes, but this seemed distinct from the more common early morning detritus. It looked barely worn, aside from some scuff around the heel.
The neighborhood wasn’t exactly known as an entertainment destination. Well, okay, yeah, if you expanded your definition a bit, then sure, it was a happenin’ place. But even given the occasional excesses that spilled into this street, the shoe just didn’t belong.
If anything, it belonged far less than the small trail of blood leading away. That barely registered in Mike’s brain. “No,” he thought as he picked it up, “someone will be missing this.” He zipped it into his gym bag, giving himself a solid Boy Scout point. “Happy to help.”
***
Author note: I didn’t exactly come through with an essay this week, but I’m going to try to release something fictional every Friday. Time will tell whether or not people will subscribe for this feature versus pay a premium to avoid it.
This one has its own backstory. It started as a lark on Twitter. Twitter user REDACTED posted a question, and I took it as a writing prompt. From this humble beginning, the Adventures of Cindy was born. The first few chapters were originally released as tweets. It…grew…from there. I hope you have fun reading it. I sure had fun writing.
Happy Friday.
Cheers, y’all.
David