It wasn’t fair, Phillips knew, but he had given up any pretence of gentlemanly conduct long ago. Those that played fair ended up dead.
He had watched her enter the apartment and check for anything suspicious. She didn’t spot the concealed microphones planted behind the light fittings.
When he heard the shower turn on, he crossed the street.
Now he crept across the hallway, gun drawn.
A breath to steady himself. In one motion: door flung open; three shots fired through the shower curtain.
Something felt wrong. He pulled the curtain aside. Empty.
A breeze. He turned and saw the open window.
Written as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above).
To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.
Other stories featuring the character of the spy Phillips can be found HERE.
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