Flash Fic Month '11. July 16th

I slip into the red plasticy seat of a booth in some diner on a lonely stretch of desert highway. Normally I wouldn't be in a lousy place like this, but it's where my targets are, and where they go, I must follow.

The woman across from me arches an eyebrow as she looks up from her coffee and short stack, and I look back with my best and most winning smile, peering at her over the top of the shades hanging from the end of my nose.

"Hey, sweetheart." I greet smoothly, always slick with the ladies. She looks at me, amused.

"Hello."

"I'm a spy for the American government," I tell her, "And I need your help."

She looks even more amused and I can tell she doesn't believe me yet, but I know I can trust her – I can read people.

"Reeeally."

"Yeah. D'you see the couple sitting a couple of booths behind me?"

She surreptitiously glances over at my targets; she's good and the look isn't obvious.

"Yes." She says, still smiling.

"They're my targets." I tell her, "I've gotta find out where they're going. It's a matter of national security."

She puts a hand to her mouth, probably realising that this is serious.

"What do you need me to do?"

"I can't let them know I'm on to them, so I need you to tell me what they're doing so they won't realise it's me that's following them."

"Alright, so, you want to know what they're doing right now?"

"Yeah."

"The woman's looking around, as though searching for someone." She reports, then looks quickly at me, smiling in what is most likely hysterical terror. "The man's looking this way… he's got up, he's coming over!"

I sink into my seat, trying to remain invisible, but it's no use, my male target is standing by the table, looking between me and the lady.

"I'm sorry, is he bothering you?" He asks. I look at the woman pleadingly, and she smiles from me, to my target.

"No, of course not. We were having a nice chat, actually." I grin at her gratefully.

"Come on, Devon," says my target, "You're pancakes will be going cold."

With a resigned sigh, I bid my brief spy partner goodbye and follow my captor to the booth where he and his female partner were sitting. Though I'm careful to keep my expression defeated as I slowly eat the pancakes, I'm already planning my next escape attempt, confident that next time, I'll get away.

After all, I'm America's best 10-year-old spy.