I forgot about my first flash fiction story that I wrote two years ago on May 1, 2013, and this evening over dinner when my husband gave me the word prompts, I remembered Joe and Carol, my professional thieves, and wondered what happened to them after the job they pulled. Today’s entry is a little shorter than I like, but being gone most of the day has the Boxer pup trying to put her toys on my laptop in an effort to thwart my writing attention. And when a 55 lb dog is climbing over you, it’s hard not to stop what you’re doing. Enjoy
May 8, 2015
Word prompts: blackberry, salmon, beer
“How’re the scallops?” asked Carol.
“Delicious. But I really want some salmon. How’s the pizza?” said Joe.
“You can’t beat this view,” she said.
“No.” He gave her a sideways glance. “You aren’t still mad about the catacombs, are you?”
Carol glared at him. Once they’d retrieved the ferret painting, dropped it with their contact, and got their ten percent, the pair of thieves took a trip down into the catacombs beneath Paris. Joe hid from her, sending her into a panic for fifteen minutes until he jumped out from a dark corner. She almost grabbed a piece of skeleton to beat him.
That had been the previous evening. Now they sat outside a café in Genoa, overlooking the Mediterranean. She sat up in her chair, reaching for her Blackberry Collins. “It wasn’t funny then and it’s not funny now, Joseph.”
“I thought it was hilarious.”
“You know, I haven’t been here in three years,” she mused. “Not since Caspar brought me.”
“The trip was a cover for a job he did,” Joe said.
She shrugged. “Didn’t matter. I knew why we came, even if I never told him. Besides, I ended up stealing those jewels from him.”
Joe held up his glass of gold-hued beer. “No honor among thieves.”
They clinked glasses. “At least we get paid by legitimate companies and people to retrieve their stolen treasures. It may not pay as much, but it keeps us out of prison.”
“I’ll drink to that any day,” said her partner. He drained the last of his beer and wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin. “Caspar will figure out that we stole the painting yesterday. There’s maybe two or three others who could break into his house in Paris, and none of them are half the safecracker you are.”
She stayed quiet, opting to watch the changing colors of sunset in the sky. So what if her ex-boyfriend figured it out? It wasn’t like she couldn’t keep him off their trail now that the stolen painting was in the hands of the insurance company and on the way back to its owner. Caspar Highforth could go to hell for all she cared.
“You’re thinking about him,” teased Joe.
“You have the look.”
Carol glared again. “I do not have a look.”
“Yes, you do,” said Joe, nodding and grinning. “It’s an adorable little scowl.”