Day 363

Writing exercise … Between a rock and a hard place…

…

It was the very definition of being between a rock and a hard place.

What were the odds that Helena would be the one who got stuck with the one client for whom things would go sideways?

Not that anything was assured in any of the scenarios that were supposed to have been carefully constructed so that the clients got the full experience.

The biggest problem was that the client never read the fine print and realised that people were playing roles and those roles didn’t include certain services, and then complained bitterly.

She did not offer full service.  She was not expected to.  That costs more, and other employees would.

This gig was an accompanying role, leading to the next phase, and providing assistance.  As an agent’s contact would be in a foreign country.

It wasn’t about the nursing of what was quite obviously someone who had either been drugged or was on drugs, though her initial thought was that he had been affected by someone who slipped him a tainted drink.

Certainly, during her initial observation, he had arrived at the bar after being dropped off by a taxi, the usual method, and came in. 

He’d stopped just inside the doorway and ran his eyes over the layout, as any spy would, checking the clientele and the exits in a scan that might be interpreted by anyone watching as looking for his blind date.

Scan over, exits covered, he selected a table that had a complete view of everyone coming and going and sitting.  A waitress came over and asked what he wanted, and went back to the bar.

Among the instructions for this phase, he was to order two glasses of Scotch on ice.

He did not look like he might have after taking the serum, or that he was in any difficulty.

Five minutes passed before the waitress returned with the two glasses and put them on the table.  He paid the waitress, and she walked over to another table where a man was sitting, cap low over his eyes, and fur-lined coat still zipped up.

People usually took their coats and hats off before sitting.  This guy didn’t.  Why?

He finished his drink and then glanced over at the new arrival.  He was waiting.  Again why?

The new arrival picked up one of the glasses and swirled the liquid around in the bottom of the glass.  She could hear the tinkle of the ice against the glass from where she was sitting.

Satisfied, perhaps, he downed the contents and put the glass back on the table.

That’s when the man in the cap and zipped-up coat left.

For her, it was time to meet the target.

After half an hour, where the introduction had gone to script, they talked like two people had just met in a bar, then they left.

Then it happened. 

Whatever had caused the problem wasn’t the serum going wrong.  That was a lie.  Whatever happened, happened because they took that drink, the drink brought by the waitress, a waitress who had disappeared after the man she visited left.

And the man she visited was obviously involved with what just happened.  And what just happened wasn’t part of the scenario.  And what her supervisors were telling her was not exactly the truth either.

Something was very, very wrong.

Walking back into the room, letting the door close, and noticing him missing was concerning.

Until she realised that the balcony window was open.

“Robert?”

A second later, there was a very loud bang, something cracking into the wall outside on the balcony.

That was followed by another loud bang, then a lesser bang, followed almost immediately by another.

She heard him yell, “Don’t come out.”

“What is…” She was cut off by the sound of exploding glass as the glass panel beside the sliding door shattered.

“Call the police and tell them to hurry,” he yelled.

She had been walking towards the sliding door as the panel beside it exploded, and she felt the passing projectile that just missed hitting her.  Some glass fragments did not, and she could feel the cut on the side of her head stinging.

“Are you.. “

“Alive, for now.  Call.”

She picked up his cell phone and pressed the emergency button that flashed up when she swiped the screen, then seconds later got an operator who took the details.

A minute later, sirens filled the area, and by the time she stumbled onto the balcony, a car had pulled up at the bottom of the street.

Sitting against the wall, blood leaking from a wound in his upper arm, the target was ashen and starting to slump sideways.

What else could go wrong?

It was time to run.  This, whatever this was, was not what she signed up for.  This was not the scenario she had been briefed on.

There was nothing she could do for him.  She was not trained in first aid, and whatever his problem was, first aid wouldn’t fix it.

He needed a battlefield medic.

A glance over the balcony, the last thing she should have done, showed a policeman directing officers all over the place, and worst of all, he was looking up, and she looked down.

She cursed under her breath.

“Run, now.”  She muttered to herself.

Into the room, a quick look.  What had she touched?  No time to think.  She headed straight for the door, opened it, and ran into a huge policeman who gathered her up in a bear hug.

She kicked and screamed and clawed, but it was of no use.  Another policeman arrived, along with an ambulance crew and a SWAT team, the first to help the bear, and the others into the room. 

…

©  Charles Heath  2025