Story Wormholes: My Sister the Spy, Part 3
The two guards stare at me. The big one who is clearly in charge has a thick scar running down his cheek just like every movie villain ever.
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Join us as we help Mitchell save his sister, Olivia, from the dreaded Tejuristan embassy. She might be the spy, but this barber is going to have to step up and save the day. Mitchell has been walking around in front of the embassy to try to watch for signs of Olivia, but it seems the guards might have noticed… Read Part 1 here.
“Hi,” I say weakly, trying to play it cool. “Can I help you with something?”
The two guards stare at me. The big one who is clearly in charge has a thick scar running down his cheek just like every movie villain ever. The other looks really young, his eyes darting all over the street like a monster might jump out of a street drain; I almost feel bad for the guy.
The big guard says through a thick Tejuristani accent, “What you do here?” He takes a step closer, practically standing on my toes glaring down at me from his considerable height.
I smile, attempting to look friendly rather than petrified. The guard does not smile back – Tejuristanis never smile. “Just getting some ice cream,” I say, gesturing lamely at my quickly melting cone.
“Why you go back and forth?” he asks.
So they had noticed – great… I think quickly. “Ice cream has a lot of calories, y’know. I was just getting some exercise. Don’t want to gain weight.”
I try smiling at the young guard, which seems to help him relax a bit. He murmurs something in Tejuristani to the head guard. They get into a heated discussion that I desperately try to follow. Finally, old scar face nods.
“You may go, but don’t do it again. We’ll be watching,” he says. They step back into the embassy and I take a deep breath before walking down the block and around the corner once again.
I duck into the alley behind the embassy and wonder what to do. Walking back down that street would be a decidedly horrible idea. Standing here in this alley all night covered in chocolate ice cream would probably be worse. Then, I remember that across the street from the embassy is a coffee shop that’s open late – a great place to wait and watch.
I drop the ice cream cone in the dumpster and wipe my hands on my wet jacket, cleaning them off as well as a I can. Then, I turn the jacket inside out so that the red lining shows rather than the black of the outside. Pulling the hood up, I hope it is enough of a disguise to throw off the guards.
I head back out to the street in front of the embassy, crossing over to the coffee shop side this time. I look determinedly at the shops on this side of the street, and as I do, I see that there is a flower shop. Perfect! I duck inside and buy a single rose. Now I have a reason to be sitting there for hours staring out the window – I’m waiting for a date, of course.
I scurry next door the coffee shop, gratefully order a steaming cup of coffee (much better than the cold ice cream on this rainy night), and grab a seat at the bar in front of the window. I get a few weird stares at my inside-out jacket, but I don’t dare take it off. I want to be able to rush back out in the rain at a moment’s notice. Besides, I probably have ice cream all over my shirt. I didn’t really think that one through.
After a couple of hours of too much coffee without a bathroom break, I see the door to the embassy open. A tall thin man and a beautiful woman with long dark hair step out. They say a few words to each other as they open their umbrellas. Then, the woman walks off to the left, and the man to the right. Oh, no! Which one should I follow?