The target

“Target is crossing street. Following.”
“Love that swaying little ass of hers.”
“Shut up, Jeremy.”
“Wonder what she’s done that we’re going after her.”
“Target keeps looking back, seems nervous.”
“Reminds me of Diana. Lady Di.”
“Don’t need your puerile phantasies, Jeremy.”
“Just saying. She’s definitely cute.”
“Target turned left into 10th Street. Staying behind.”
“Are the Russians after her?”
“What Russians? You been watching too many stupid movies.”
“The Russian mafia. Maybe her boyfriend’s involved.”
“Target is walking faster, keeps looking around. Not at us, I don’t think.”
“Or the IRS. But she doesn’t look like big fish.”
“Black Audi, Jersey license plates. Target looking to cross street.”
“Feel completely superfluous, John. Just following you, taking orders. Complete waste.”
“Shut the fuck up, Jeremy. We’re on a job.”
“I’ll bet you anything she’s on to us.”
“Target crossing.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Audi speeds up. Target hit!”
“What the fuck!”
“Audi speeds off. Target motionless on ground.”

– James Steerforth (© 2016)

About James Steerforth

I am an author of poetry and fiction, translator and painter who loves to have fun with borrowed feathers.
This entry was posted in Cinema, Creative writing, Enigma, Film, Flash fiction, Life, Literature, Novel, Sweet dreams and nightmares, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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