The following is a short story I wrote (very short; just over 1000 words) based on a prompt (which you will find at the end of the story).
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“I’ll just be a minute.”
“Okay.”
“There’s magazines on the table.”
“Exactly how long are you going to take?”
“Not long. I just feel bad my cable’s out. You could watch something.”
“Seriously, how long does it take to ‘finish getting ready’?”
“Five minutes. Tops.”
“I’ll be okay on my own for five minutes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. It’s no problem. Really.”
“There’s iced tea in the fridge.”
“I’m good. Go get ready.”
“Okay. Sorry. I’ll just be a minute.”
As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Charlie threw himself to the carpet and squinted under the sofa. It was one of those old-fashioned-looking kinds that sat high off the ground on four wooden legs with no duster. Apart from his date’s cat cowering and hissing at him in the corner and an old issue of US Weekly (how was Jennifer Anniston always on the cover?), it was completely clear.
Though they could be under the cat.
“Good kitty,” Charlie said softly, carefully reaching out one hand toward the cat.
Its fur stood on end as it hissed and it took a swipe at him before darting out from under the couch and disappearing into the kitchen.
They weren’t under the cat.
Unperturbed, Charlie checked under the armchair and all the cushions in the room (there were a lot of them). Still no sign of them. Nor were they behind the television, in any of the drawers or cabinets on the entertainment center the television stood on, or buried in the potpourri that stood on a bowl on the coffee table.
That left the bookcase. Charlie began systematically pulling books and DVD cases out, replacing them when he saw there was nothing behind them. He had to work fast; he didn’t know how long Jessica was going to take before she deemed herself ‘ready.’
He started to feel anxious as he began on the last shelf. Maybe they weren’t here at all. Or maybe he had missed them.
His anxiety made him clumsy, and he dropped a handful of books with a loud thud. He cursed under his breath and dropped to his knees and scrambled to pick them up before Jessica came out to see what was going on. Then he spotted a pair of shiny white aglets peeking out from the pages of a book lying pages-down on the floor.
“That’s a weird place to keep shoelaces.”
He dropped the books again and uncovered the shoelaces carefully.
There was no doubt in his mind that these were the very shoelaces he had been searching for. The pure white weave radiated power so strongly he was afraid to touch them with his bare hands. He dug around in his pockets, begrudging the fact that it wasn’t a hundred years ago when all men carried handkerchiefs. He found only the keys to his car and apartment, his phone, his wallet (containing one driver’s license, one work ID, one credit card, one bank card, one expired gym card, two dollars and fifty-seven cents in change, no cash), and some lint.
He loosened the knot of his tie and pulled it over his head, making one end of his shirt collar stand up and poke at his jaw. He ignored this and closed the tie over the shoelaces, careful to keep from touching them directly. He squeezed them between his fingers and slowly stood, wondering why he hadn’t brought something to carry them in. He didn’t really want them sitting in his pocket all night–
“Keep the shoelaces where I can see them, Charlie, and nobody has to get hurt.”
Charlie winced and turned around slowly. Jessica was standing in the doorway of the living room looking gorgeous. Her dark hair ran in waves over one shoulder, her blue eyes standing out dramatically against dark eyeshadow. The black dress hugged her curves tightly. He hadn’t heard her coming, though he probably should have. She was wearing black strappy heels at least three inches tall that probably ought to have clicked on the linoleum floor of the hallway.
Most importantly, she was pointing a sleek, black gun right at his head.
“Ah, Jessica,” Charlie said lightly. “I was beginning to worry we would miss our dinner reservations.”
“I want you to put those things on the coffee table. Nice and slow.”
“I can’t do that, Jessica.”
“You have no idea how important those shoelaces are. How dangerous. Now put them down before someone gets hurt.”
“I know more about these shoelaces than you could ever hope to know.”
“Yeah? What are the words of power?”
Charlie didn’t know them. And even if he did, it would be stupid to utter them unless he was really going to use the shoelaces. “Well, obviously . . .” His mind went blank. Think of something clever, he told himself. Don’t let her know you don’t know them. “I don’t know them.” Well done, Charlie. This is why you never get promoted.
Jessica smirked. “Who are you working for, Charlie?”
“I’m with the FBI.”
“Liar.”
“Well, it’s a subdivision of the FBI. Well, not really, but we get most of the same clearance. Well, not really, but I have a contact or two in the FBI and, well, it’s really only one. Her name is Clarice, she’s about sixty and she’s a darling. She knit me a pair of socks last Christmas.”
“You’re babbling, Charlie.”
“I’m with ASBAHO.”
“You work for the American Security Bureau Against Harmful Objects?”
“Yes . . .”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying! My ASBAHO ID’s in my wallet!”
“But I work for ASBAHO,” Jessica said, lowering her gun. “Why’d they send you after me?”
“They sent me after the shoelaces,” Charlie said, waving them at her. “I tracked the shoelaces to you.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “ASBAHO is the worst at communicating of any job I’ve ever had. I found the shoelaces weeks ago, and I was going to take them in, but ASBAHO said they were going to send someone out to collect them.”
“What? Why didn’t they just give me your address?”
“Beats me. Hey, you want something to carry those in?”
“Yeah. Do you have a bag or something?”
“I’ll go get it. You might want to do something about your collar.”
“Oh, right. Thanks. We’d better get moving or we’re going to be late for dinner.”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
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Sparked from the prompt: “Include this in a story: That’s a weird place to keep shoelaces.”
(c) 2011
