There's a Killer on the Street

[Jonathan Paxton]

Prompt List

• Out Cold
• Blood
• Lie
• Words
• Glitter
• Can You Hear Me?
• Foreign
• Toy Store
• Fire
• Snow

[Jonathan Paxton]

F O R E I G N

The part of Marrakesh Jonathan was in smelled like shit and sweet orange blossom - and one was winning. It was leather, though not shit, actually; the tanneries permeated the air with their putrid smell, and Jonathan actually had to get used to it because otherwise he couldn't go outside without gagging. He coped with it, though, eventually, despite being called a bitch by everyone else on his team. There were four of them there, just to grab a target and get the fuck out, but the timing had to be absolutely right, and so they planned to stay two weeks. Since it would be weird if 4 American men just stayed in their hotel rooms the entire time they were there, Jonathan felt it only right to go out and experience the city.

He ventured into the city and wandered through the souks, eyes catching every movement around him. The trouble was, there was so much movement, it made him a little dizzy. He realized after wandering through the maze for several minutes that he was turned around, and unfortunately it was incredibly easy to become lost in them, especially with how busy it was becoming. He felt a bump behind him, and whipped around, ready to absolutely wallop a pick-pocket, but he found himself face to face with a woman - a blonde woman, from what hair he could see peaking out from under her covering anyways. Some tourists refused to adhere to Arabic custom, and it made a lot of trouble for them.

"Parlez vous anglais?" she asked, blinking her eyes rapidly.

"Yeah," he said, feeling a little dumbstruck. Her eyes were so blue.

"Good, because I'm lost," she confessed. "Do you know the way out?"

"Not at all," he laughed. "But I think I've passed that same stall about three times now, so I'm feeling less and less confident every pass."

She made a face. "Well, guess I'll treat it like a maze and only follow the right side until I get lead out of here. Thanks anyways," she added.

Jonathan stood there for a minute, and then called after her. "Wait up! I'll go with you - if that's okay."

There were multiple reasons for this - the first of which NOT being that she was gorgeous. It was easier to blend in if you looked like a tourist, and what ensemble wasn't complete without the typical American husband-wife duo? The second reason was that she was gorgeous, though. He wondered why she was even there.

"Sure," she said. As they walk, she introduced herself. "Chase."

"Jonathan," he replied.

"Not John?" she asked, giving him a sideways glance.

"Ah, no. It's not my thing." He paused. He was about to tell her that he usually only heard his last name, but honestly, that made him sound military, and then he'd have to explain more, and in a public setting that was not happening. Nor was it happening with a complete stranger.

"Fair enough," she laughed.

The two walked for another ten minutes or so, doing exactly what Chase said she was going to do, and eventually found a break in the souk that opened into the rest of the city.

"Thank fucking god," Jonathan muttered. He glanced down at his watch and realized that he had been gone way longer than he'd originally said, and his buddies were probably wondering where the fuck he was. He hadn't even bothered to look at the little burner phone he'd gotten; he'd been too occupied looking at - well, Chase.

"Well, it was nice to meet you," she said, holding out her hand to shake his. As he took her hand, she started for a second, her grip tightening on his own as she gasped. She released it - more like dropped it, pulling her own back like she'd been burned.

"Chase?" he asked, giving a cursory glance at his hand to see if there was like, a bee in it or something.

"In the cafe - don't take the back exit. The door will be rigged as an IED. Take your man and walk out the front. There will be two men waiting to your right, but you can handle them," she sputtered, like she was describing something that she was seeing. She looked at him, focusing her eyes on his, and reached out, grabbing his arm forcefully.

"Don't use the back door, Jonathan. You, and your men, will die."

Jonathan stared at her, hard, and then nodded. "I don't know what you're talking about, but if I go into any cafes, we'll be good little boys and won't try to skip out the back," he assured her.

She fixed him with a frown, then let go of him. "I'll see you around,"  she said, offering no other explanation, and turned to walk away.

"I mean, probably not - we're two Americans meeting randomly in Morocco," he called after her, thoroughly shaken by what she'd said - and a little irritated, if he was honest with himself, because he really didn't need someone spouting his plans on the surface streets like that.

Without glancing over her shoulder, she said, "No, we will. Pretty sure about that one, too."

Jonathan stood there, utterly mystified, then felt his phone going crazy in the folds of his clothing. "Oh fuck," he muttered, trying to answer it before it stopped. "Yeah Shaun, what's up?"

"Dude where ARE you? We just got pushed up to tomorrow. Get back here, NOW."