Follow That Car

morguefile-september-1394493599vs5e4

Sam sat in his taxi as the raindrops pattered against the windscreen, looking up at the dim stars battling to be seen in an expanse of grey. The day had been as dull as any other.

A woman leapt into the street, black coat flailing around her, her hand stuck out. He pulled over and she darted in, her bright eyes flashing.

“Follow that car,” she said, pointing to another cab.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Is this is a joke?”

“Is this?” She threw a hundred-dollar bill at him. “It’s yours. Just follow the car.”

Sam slammed pedal to floor and his cab sped off in pursuit of the other. Through winding streets they travelled, one after the other. At last, the cab ahead pulled up at its destination: the gleaming glass and warm lights of a hotel. The passenger got out: an old man with a crooked nose, the collar of his heavy coat turned up.

“So what is this?” Sam asked as he pulled over. “You a detective or something?”

There was a sharp pain in his neck, then nothing at all.

She smiled. “Not exactly.”

Sam sat in the raindrops pattered against the windscreen, looking at nothing.


Word Count: 200

This is for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Thanks to rogershipp for running the challenge!

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