Thursday, March 09, 2023

Micro Fiction March Day 9


Today's challenge was completed at 6am, but I then ended up being so busy throughout the rest of the day that it's only now at 9.20pm that I'm finally sitting down to post it. I'm quite a fan of cons (on a theoretical sense at least!), so I picked a variation on the pigeon drop for this particular story, which clocks in a measly 262 words.

Second Person Con

You're in a currency exchange holding money in your hands and you're acutely aware of the fact that you're a female tourist, you're partially sighted and you're standing in a public place with a large amount of money.

The well dressed man with the expensive cologne comes over while you're still trying to put it in your bag. He's concerned about you. This area isn't safe, he says. He shows you his briefcase with his own money. Put your money here with mine and I'll get you back to your hotel safely. You can carry it if it makes you feel better, he says.

You take him up on the kind offer. He is charming and makes conversation as you walk together. Until the robber with the knife emerges from an alley. Run, the man shouts at you as he struggles with the robber, and you do. You run all the way back to your hotel room. 

What you don't see is the men watching you run and laughing together as you disappear around the corner. They know that they switched the briefcase at the exchange for an identical one containing nothing but stacks of blank paper. They know that they now have their money and yours.

What they don't see is you taking off your glasses and tossing them on the dressing table with a smile. They don't see you open the briefcase and take out your money and theirs and lay it out on the bed. And they certainly didn't see that your sleight of hand was considerably better than theirs.

1 comment:

Andy Roberts said...

Right on cue, you open the front door and greet the two police officers standing on your doorstep. As they read the all-too familiar words to you – you have the right to remain silent, yada yada yada – you’re mildly hypnotised by the red and blue flashing lights as they cast ominous shadows down the tree-lined avenue.

You nod your head, turn slowly around, and allow them to place handcuffs on your wrists, before leading you to a nearby vehicle. The armoured transit seems a little like overkill, but to be fair, they’re making some startling assumptions about the threat level you present.

Your ever-loving spouse closes the front door and makes a strategic phone call, as planned.

In a dimly-lit room at Scotland Yard, you patiently answer their questions for what seems like an eternity, until their time is up. Graciously, you volunteer to stay longer and answer any further questions they might have, which takes the investigating officer completely by surprise.

After a short nap in a vacant cell, the interrogation resumes, only now there’s cups of tea and bacon sarnies and a plate of Hob Nobs.

Given the lack of evidence, the iron-clad alibi, and the validity of the eye-witness statements, it’s impossible to conclude that it was you, a respected pillar of the community, who would commit such a brutal murder two days prior, even if the end goal was some nine hundred and seventy four million pounds, give or take.

You step into the morning sunlight, free.

Right on cue a black cab pulls up, and you clamber inside.

Ten years in the future – give or take a couple of days – your future self emerges from the time portal with a backpack containing almost a billion pounds.

“Easy money,” you say to yourself with a grin.