Three Strangers and a Napkin
It was a rainy afternoon in Paris, and Marc was relaxing in his favorite coffee shop during his break. He was scrolling through his phone, not paying attention to anything else, numbing out the sound of glasses clinking and people chatting about the weather. He was sitting in the corner booth where nobody could see him unless they looked for him. It wasn’t until he looked up that he saw a woman with short blue hair approach him. Really big sunglasses framed her face and she wore a bright red trench coat. He didn't know her.
Marc watched her sit sown across from him and pull out a brown bulky envelope from her pocket. She opened the envelope and pulled out a picture of someone extremely familiar to him. At this point, Marc didn’t know if he should reach for his gun or not.
“I heard you were the guy to see,” the woman spoke in a whisper.
“For what?”
“Murder.”
You see, what was funny was that Marc was a detective trying to solve two murder cases at that moment. What was also funny is that the photo she had shown him was of his father.
Marc didn’t know what to say. He was trained in how to deal with someone offering you money to stay silent but not this. He knew how to hide nervousness well, and he kept his composure as the lady peered at him through his glasses.
He was about to say something when a waiter went up to him with a tray and left him his coffee and muffin. Marc didn’t dare look away from the woman once, scared that she’d disappear. It wasn’t until the waiter left that Marc shifted his attention to the right of him. He turned his head once he saw a man wearing the exact same black trench coat he was wearing. The woman's attention also shifted, and she quickly stood up.
"Shit," she angrily muttered in a hissy whisper, immediately shoving the envelope and photo back into her pocket. She ran out of the store and into the stopping rain, the other man just two steps behind her.
Marc knew he should have had followed them, but he had never been in a situation like that. He almost played the part to get as much information as he could, but he wasn’t really trained on how to ask calmly, “Why do you want to kill my father?!”
Marc leaned back in the booth seat and stared at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and ran both of his hands through his chestnut colored hair. He’s seen people split in half without being phased, but this was a weird hit to the chest. His father was always guarded by security, so he wasn’t worried as much as a regular person would be about their father’s safety. He was more concerned about why people were after his father and what shady business they were in.
Marc straightened up and looked down at his coffee for the first time. It wasn’t until he picked up his coffee that he noticed that the napkin below it. It was written on with messy writing in pen: Run. While you still can.