Sorry to say so, but this is the final Steffie story for the year. Thanks, Dan, for metaphorically goosing me into action. It’s felt good to crank out stories again.
Steffie At The Auto Shop
Ah, Steffie thought as she approached the auto shop. Another Dutch door. But, unlike any door she had ever seen, this one seemed to have its bottom half fixed in place by pipes, one going in and one split coming out. When she got closer, she saw the outgoing split was labeled Fire Department Connection. The irony of the partially smoked cigarette resting atop it did not go unnoticed or unappreciated.
But she wasn’t here to contemplate an unintended (probably) public art installation; she was here to stop an assassin. Same old same old. She smoothed the hair of her short red wig and adjusted her face mask. Fortunately, this store still mandated masks, making it more difficult for her to be recognized.
Her sources had assured her El Tigre was lying low in this shop and that he had no idea he had been made. She believed the first part of their information, but had learned to distrust any claim that she would have an easy time of any assignment.
The apparently abandoned door was right next to the shop’s entrance; a perfect spot for an ambush. She stepped away from the pipe-ridden door and reached out to open the shop’s clear one.
The exit door, at a 45-degree angle from the entrance, opened and Steffie knew she had missed El Tigre lurking behind the jawbreaker dispenser.
He threw something long and thin around her head and pulled the ends apart, tightening it around her neck.
Fortunately, Steffie made it a point to always be prepared. It wasn’t a Boy Scout knife she drew, though; it was a folding karambit she always kept up her sleeve. She kept one up each sleeve, actually. That gave her one to cut the thing El Tigre was trying to throttle her with, and one to rip El Tigre a new one. Several new ones.
By the time the next auto shop customer tried to leave and found the exit blocked by a corpse, Steffie had shed her coat, her wig, her sunglasses, and her mask, and was in her car on the way to the highway.
She would have to have an impromptu – and, preferably, private — meeting with that source of hers.
Thursday doors is under the direction of Dan Antion, photographer extraordinaire and critter daddy. Visit his site, enjoy his wonderful photographs, follow his directions, and enter a world of doors.
A WRITING PROMPT FROM ME TO YOU: Someone is given bad intel.