She sat in her cherry red Maserati carefully watching the parking lot of the quiet Palm Coast Lounge. Her information said that this evening's target came to this nightclub every Friday night promptly at sunset. And with dusk fading behind her, she spared just a moment to glance at the stars appearing in the darkening sky over the inter-coastal waterway, it was almost time.
Then it appeared. A bright orange 1962 Volkswagen Beetle pulled into the parking lot and turned into a space opposite her. A bumper sticker that said "My other car is the Millennium Falcon" was the confirmation that she needed for the identity of her target.
The occupant of the car got out and crossed to the entrance of the club. He was short with light, sandy brown hair and a very faint paunch. He wore a light button down shirt tucked into a pair of khaki pants and a pair of large framed glasses; a bulky cell phone case was clipped to his belt and one shoe was untied. Before she made her move, she reviewed the data she had one last time. Her records identified him as James Wayne, an aerospace engineer who worked across the river at the Kennedy Space Center. While he might not have the physical requirements necessary for her project, he did possess the raw intellectual potential. When those traits were combined with more aesthetic attributes from other subjects, she knew she would be able to offer some superior material to the ultimate agenda.
She patiently waited a couple of minutes before getting out of her car to follow him inside. She was tall and blonde, and wore a sleeveless baby blue outfit that straddled the boundary between short skirt and long blouse. That was topped off with a pair of high heels that would guarantee her ability to see and be seen above the crowd.
Inside the club it was darker and louder than you'd expect from the quiet exterior. Looking over the partiers that mingled through thumping beats and flashing lights, she pushed past the doorman, handing over her entrance fee without looking at him. Instead she scanned the crowd for her target; with no success. A variety of locals and tourists milled about, only a handful of them were actually dancing. But there was no sign of Mr. Wayne.
The tall blonde fought down a moment of anxiety and crossed to the bar. She couldn't have lost him. He couldn't have known what she was after. Could he?
Fortunately, before she let the fear overwhelm her, she made contact. Sitting in the shadows at the far end of the bar, her target watched the crowd while sucking a fruity looking daiquiri through the straw of a large glass. A small, predatory smile crossed her face as she ordered a Manhattan from the bartender and circling to the seat next to him.
She waited a moment for him to notice her before taking the initiative.
"What are you doing way back here?" She leaned in and spoke up to be heard over the music. The sharp voice in his ear startled him enough to jostle the umbrella in his drink.
"Oh, hi," He smiled back at her, "Just enjoying a little people watching."
"Just watching?" She cooed, "Why aren't you out there yourself?"
"I'm not really a dancer."
"Who says you need to be dancing? You could mingle. Maybe meet someone?" This seemed to catch the little man's attention and he turned to face her.
"I'm meeting someone now, aren't I?" He smiled and held out his hand, "My name's James, James Wayne."
"Hi James," she said as she took his hand. "My name's Callai."
"'Callai'?" James asked, "That's not a local name is it? Where are you from?"
"Uh, no, it's a name from the old country." She looked down into her glass as she swirled the ice.
YOU ARE READING
Nerd Knight Short Stories
Science FictionThey are here. They walk among us. They have been with us since the beginning of civilization. Most people don't notice. Most people just pass them by. But those that notice, those that look closely can see that they're just a little bit... gee...
