Start Sentence – man in the gabardine mac
The man in the gabardine mac rose to leave seconds after I had exited the room; pushing his way through the crowded après-theatre luvvies and onto London’s glistening streets – freshly cleansed with rain a la mode – to find that I had spirited myself into thin air; causing him to stop two paces beyond the entryway, where he glanced right, left, and right again.
“All safe to cross.” I softly spoke – my gun poised the obligatory five feet away from his back to avoid a spinning kick. The safety was off and I had no need to ask any questions.
“Move forward and let’s head for that black van.”
He moved forwards and, ducking down, spun.
Quieter than even he could hear, I had gone.
He cursed; but, I wasn’t there to hear it.