Chris P. Raven: Spectacular Tales

Chris P. Raven: Spectacular Tales: The Indie Collaboration Presents     Spectacular Tales A thrilling anthology of short stories by some of the rising stars in i...

Launch into 2015 with your own copy of Spectacular Tales

Chris P. Raven: Yuletide Tales: A FestiveCollective by theIndie Co...

It was a week before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring...

To busy reading Yuletide Tales!

Chris P. Raven: Yuletide Tales: A FestiveCollective by theIndie Co...: Yuletide Tales: A Festive Collective by the Indie Collective (Pub: 01/12/2013). Available at Goodreads , Smashwords.com , & Amazon...

Start Writing Fiction

I'm enrolled on a free Open University Course, Start Writing Fiction. I am using this post so my fellow students can read the assignment we are working on - Editing a short story. Here is the final version after that stage of the course:

The Amateur
by Chris Raven

The idiot seems anxious as he fidgets uncomfortably on the bus shelter's slanted half-seat. A strange man in a light blue puffer coat, that stupid long red scarf and the ludicrous black trilby. Surely he can't be from the Agency, he’s too obvious, clumsy even. It isn't even cold today so that coat's only drawing attention to him. He must be sweltering, the stupid cretin.

**********

There he is, my quarry, the man I am going to kill. My disguise is perfect; I can’t be missed, obvious in this bright puffy coat. The hat and red scarf just draws more attention to me. I stand out, in this heat, dressed like a social misfit. And the master stroke, an afterthought, those large clunky glasses. They say look at me, I’m in disguise. And that is my disguise.

I can see him look at me, stealing sideways glances. If he studied me straight on, even for a few seconds, he would recognise me, the man who taught him all he knows, about spy craft anyway. Maybe I taught him something else, about life, to the young angry court-martial soldier otherwise headed to military prison. We thought we could harness his aggression, mould him into an efficient weapon. Huh! I even thought I could reach out to him, adopt him even. Arrogant of me, that I thought I had gotten somewhere with him. Stupid. I convinced myself there was trust between us. First rule broken – never trust a dog bred for fighting.

**********

I will sit on this bench and watch him from the corner of my eye. I can see him make furtive glances in my direction, from behind that newspaper. He sees me see him, but he continues to hop back and forth on his bench like a deranged pigeon. He looks like a mental patient, this middle aged man in horn rimmed glasses. I can see the sweat glistening off his forehead, he’s nervous, afraid even. He should be if he intends to take me on.

**********

I know now that I was just projecting my feelings. For a son I would have had if he had survived to that age. That was why it hurt when my quarry defected. I am aware that this is personal now, he betrayed my trust, wasted my time, exposed my incompetence, but most of all, he made me care about him.

I know now that this was all false. He wanted to avoid military prison, he wanted to learn how to kill more efficiently, he wanted to earn the big money as a freelancer and he knowingly played on my loss to win my trust. I am so angry at him for that, so training take over while I channel that anger into focus and purpose.

**********

Who is this idiot? Clearly not a professional. A relative of some prior contract? Unlikely. Either way I cannot continue my journey with this useless amateur following me.

I'll jump on this bus and hope he joins me.

**********

I instructed him too well; he was a natural, the best I had ever taught, far surpassing me in surveillance and combat skills, and he has the edge of youth. A traditional approach would be pointless, he would spot me in no time, he knows my techniques as well as I know his – they are the same. My only hope is to hide in plain sight. That is how I hide. I pretend anxiety and I am clumsy and obvious in my exaggerated attempts to sneak clandestine looks at him. I can almost smell is curiosity. They say it takes an accomplished pianist to convincingly play the piano badly.

**********

He's taken the bait, following me upstairs like the fool he obviously is. We now sit and I can see his reflection from my window, staring at me with dark piercing eyes. He clearly hates me. One more passenger to leave the top deck, then I'll find out why he is here.

**********

Yes I have him; he is on my hook, and now to reel him in. Trying to lead me upstairs onto an almost deserted double-decker bus? So confident considering the time of day, I’m almost proud of him.

I follow, sit across from him. I watch him watch me through the reflection of a window. He will hesitate. He will want to know who I am, this harmless eccentric amateur. He could never resist a puzzle. One more passenger to leave and then we will be alone.

He will hesitate.

I will not.

The End (Copyright Chris Raven 2015).

Dead Medium By Peter John

Yuletide Tales. A Festive Collective