Room Service

Roger woke to a pair of boots hanging down over the hotel window.

Before he could rise, the window shattered as said boots crashed straight through. Their wearer landed at the foot of his bed, holding a small pistol.

She frowned.

“This isn’t the Ambassador’s suite, is it?”

He shook his head.

“Don’t tell anyone you saw me.”

He nodded mutely.

She grabbed hold of a rope, gave it a tug, and was carried up out of sight.

A moment later, he heard a crash of shattered glass and a muffled, “Sorry! Wrong room again, Herbert!”

Word Count: 96

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and providing the prompt photo! Click here to go to the InLinkz!

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