Flash Fiction: Assassin’s Game

As a part of all the fun over on Chuck Wendig’s blog, this is my rendering of a recent FF challenge… I hope you enjoy it.

Assassin’s Game

This is why real assassins don’t get their orders via a game of Telephone.

When Daria arrived at the mansion, it was obvious that the guests were completely unknown to one another. Some one had called them all in for their own sick pleasure.

She strolled straight to the punch bowl and helped herself. Her black attire, complete with slick leather gloves was outrageously out of place.

She slugged down the first cup and peered around at the group. The nearest man wore deck shoes and had a patch over his eye. She named him Pirate. He had a British actor like ole what’s his name in the pirate movies of recent years.

Daria grinned at the thought of how she would love to hang him on his own sail.

Pirate spoke to a woman who was dressed a little like Catwoman. She almost matched Daria for the goth look. Daria called her Spy. She frowned at the couple of kids who pranced by. Daria overheard her say, “Shouldn’t they be in bed?”

children
Cia de Foto / Foter / Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0)

But Pirate and Spy couldn’t outshine Three-Piece. The businessman stuck out like a greasy banana peel in the middle of a dance floor. He had “money” on every surface. His watch, his keys, his phone, his clothing, and oh yeah, his voice. Cultured. Smooth. Daria wanted to see him undressed and shivering in a cold place.

Finally, in the corner, watching all the guests as they milled about, Daria spotted the host. It couldn’t be anyone else. No one else would find pleasure in the uncomfortableness of the gathered throng.

None other than Bailey Blaide, heir to the Blaide fortune and totally at home peering out from behind the heavy drapes. His eyes twinkled and he seemed so amused at the awkward situation he had borne.

Well, Daria had something to give him. It was long and sharp and no one would know he’d been playing with it until he sprawled out into the floor bleeding all over his own million dollar hand-crafted oriental rug.

She headed his way.

“Come to Mama,” she whispered.

But before she could make it to him, Pirate stepped in front of her and pointed at her with his highball. “I say, aren’t you Daniel’s daughter? Yes, Daniel, the theater master?”

Daria scowled at him and backed away. She couldn’t off Blaide with everyone staring at her. Now that Pirate had made her the pinnacle of attention, she might not be able to pull it off at all.

Great.

So much for accomplishing her personal challenge. Maybe next time, if there was one. She grabbed another cup of punch and headed toward Spy. If she couldn’t be invisible then maybe she’d just have to blend in with the other weirdoes at the party.

She watched The businessman as he schlepped toward her. Oh no. She was going to be asked to dance or something equally as lame. She cringed and grasped her pocketknife. He’d get it in the throat if he even so much as smiled.

About master

Kim Smith is the author of Disk of Death, The Dread Room, Love Inn, and An Unexpected Performance.

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