by Cynthia Adams1
was terrible with stick-shifts.
Screw Jeff for making
“Honey, I told you I needed the van for work today,” she whined, mimicking him. She glared back at the house. Whatever...
She’d been twirling her sandy blonde hair without realizing it and had to brush strands off her
black wool coat.
“If you keep pulling your hair, you’ll go bald, Hon.“
She could hear Jeff chiding as if he were there.
Exactly when had she started hating her husband?
Redirecting her thoughts, Sarah opened her bag, popped out the recorder
and listened to her assignment.
It's a tough language, she thought but do-able.
Could she handle the job by herself? Maybe she shouldn't have accepted it.
But if she refused, they might cut her loose.
Mr. Olson (as he liked to be called )
scowled in the mirror … the blonde dye he'd put on his hair
was turning a bit brassy. He looked like Dolph Lundgren
without the dimples (or the aging six pack.)
Olson scrunched his face in displeasure as he went into the living room
to finish getting ready.
He packed more carefully than usual...pricey cargo always made him nervous.
He knew he wasn’t exactly cut out for this kind of work but a guy had to jump on opportunities when they came, right?
He could get out of this dump and set himself up real good.
Just takes balls, a steady hand and a little luck.
He felt loaded in all those departments.
hoped this day would never come but had prepared just in case:
hitting the shooting range, stashing a go-bag, learning Farsi
(Jeez, what a bitch that was.)
Now that it was here, she just wanted it over.
She pulled the honey blonde pixie wig over her buzz cut.
Men ogle blondes far more than brunettes. It’s a shitty fact but the predictability
of men’s behavior was going to make the job easier.
She checked her weapon one last time, wiped down all surfaces
and locked the door.
This is Fox 5 News in New York City,
cutting into your regularly scheduled programming...
Twelve minutes ago, at 9:36 a.m. Eastern time, there was an attack outside the United Nations Secretariat Building. Three are confirmed dead, one is wounded and in serious condition. A hostage, identity unknown, was taken from the scene.
We have film.
Names are being withheld pending family notification. It is reported that the Iranian delegation had just left the building and sustained fire. One of the deceased, a caucasian was killed as his late-model van, stopped at the light in front of the United Nations, was hijacked by the assassin. The bumper sticker reads “Translation Time.” Preliminary reports indicate the lone assassin is blond and dressed in black attire;
the gender is unknown.
Constance: “Damn It... It was my job to protect them.”
Sarah: “He took my car today. It could have been me.”
Mr. Olson: "That went slick as shit.”