Friday Short Story #6: Milk and Honey

Prompt: Tragedy about a spy running into an ex at a grocery store and blowing their cover.

I hate hoodies, Ishmael thought to himself as the super market doors whooshed open with a ding. Witness Protection was always so one dimensional when they had to put someone in deep cover. Would it kill them to stock the safe house with something stylish? Not to mention a black man in a hoodie isn’t the most… discrete look in America now a days. Might as well have a big red “shoot me” sign on my back. Ishmael’s thoughts continued as he took a short cut to the back through the beer aisle. Insensitive and unsafe. That’s what it is. I’ll just have to buy some new clothes ASAP.

Noticing the pointed lack of attention he was getting today, Ishmael started humming the theme to “Cheers”, but in his head, the words were a bit altered, ♪Sometimes you want to go, where nobody knows your name! ♫

Rounding a Mayan ziggurat made from cases of Coke, Ishmael finally found the expansive cases of dairy products.

Why are there so many milks now?! He thought. Almond milk, rice milk, lactose free milk. Ugh, I got that stuff once by mistake. It was like the ghost of milk. They need to make the labels more noticeable. Where is the damn whole milk?

Checking each label with the care of someone who has been poisoned before, Ishmael slowly made his way from carton to carton until he found a collection of whole milk varieties. In front of the section stood a woman with short cropped platinum hair, holding the hand of a small girl with kinky blond hair. She couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 years old.

“S’cuse me.” Ishmael said the way people only say it in sit-coms. Elongating the “ooo” as he stretched to get his desired milk carton. Turning to flash the woman a quick grin as he claimed the milk, organic, he was met with eyes that had known murder. Familiar eyes.

Every bit of training in Ishmael’s body began to send signals to prepare for something. Equally fast, opposite training impulses took over to keep his composure calm and placid, despite his sudden alarm. Using everything he had to keep the motion smooth and natural, he pulled the milk close to his chest and put his other hand into his pocket where he kept a very small, but very sharp, knife.

“Looks like we are after the same thing.” Ishmael said, nodding to the full shelves. Managing to play it off pretty cool. He was no stranger to this game after all.

Slowly, the platinum woman turned her honey brown eyes to him. And smiled.

“Hello Ishmael.” She purred. “Fancy meeting you here.”

It was Clara. God damn it, it was Clara.

“Have you met my daughter? Say Hi Emily.”

The little girl immediately hid her face behind her mother’s legs, leaving only tiny hands and a mop of kinky blind hair visible.

“She’s cute.” Ishmael said. “Though anything you make is bound to be cute.”

“I don’t know, Ishy, you’ve seen me bring a lot of ugly things into this world.” Clara replied looking Ishmael up and down. “Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? Not very proper of you to get so excited with children around.”

With some sleight of hand, Ishmael folded up the knife and when his hand came from his pocket, it was holding a pen instead. Made entirely of stainless steel.

“Come on woman. I just wanted to cross something off my list.” He said, reaching around to his back pocket for a scrap of paper.

“You know,” Clara said, placing her hand on the top of the little girls head. “I was here to do the same thing.”

“So, uh,” Ishmael scratched on the paper scrap and placed it back in his back pocket. “Is running errands with Emily here your new main gig, or do you still have a ‘night job’”.

“Oh, you know, a girl has to stay busy. Emily takes a lot of my time, but I still find ways to keep other parts of me alive. That’s what it’s all about right? Staying alive.” Saying this, her eyes locked onto Ishmael’s. Letting a silence hang between them in the cold air of the dairy section.

After a moment, the silence was broken by Ishmael sputtering to hold in a laugh, covering his mouth with a hand.

“What is so funny?” The platinum woman asked cocking her head to the side. Her eyes did not smile.

“ha, ha, ha, ha!” Ishmael said. It came out sounding like a nervous high pitched laugh.

“I don’t get it.”

“Staying alive! Ha, ha, ha, ha, staying alive!” Ishmael sang winking at the little girl who had emerged from behind her mother. She hid again.

Looking suddenly exhausted at his humor, Clara shot back, “You know they use that song to train people in CPR. If you keep this cheesy stuff up, you’re going to need some triage.”

“Still funny as a rock I see.” Ishmael said, still trying to work out how Clara ended up in this supermarket. “Is there a Mr. Dull-as-a-rock to give you some free time now and then?”

“Its just me.” Cara said, looking distant and pensive for the first time Ishmael had seen. Her usual razor sharp attention turning inward. “I don’t have time for any of that.”

“You never did.”

The platinum woman turned to look at him again. The look on her face was unreadable but it hit Ishmael in the heart like when they had met all those years ago. Sometimes emotions bypass the face and leap directly into the soul.

“It was good to see you Clara.” Ishmael said after his heart stopped fluttering. “I’d say you should look me up, but we both know that is harder than it sounds.

“Well I found you here, didn’t I?” Clara said with a genuine smile this time.

“True enough. I have a lot of free time now, if you know what I mean. Won’t be getting out of the neighborhood much until a certain person is buried. Should you find me again, I wouldn’t mind babysitting to help you ‘stay alive’ as you say.”

“Thanks Ishy.” Clara said, still smiling. “But you know that’s a terrible idea. We split for a reason. Even if we could fix that… our jobs will always be our lives.”

This second silence was broken by Emily’s piping voice.

“Mommy, can we go now?” she said as she tugged on her mother’s hand. Still too shy to make eye contact with Ishmael.

“Yes, honey, its time.” Clara replied as she readjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Take care of yourself Ishy.”

Ishmael started to reply as she walked by, but Emily excitedly dashed down the aisle to be free of the store and boredom – spurring her mother to make a mad lunge to catch her daughter’s tiny hand before she got too far.

In the commotion, Clara slipped as she caught Emily’s hand, causing her to stumble and bump hard right into Ishmael. A spray of white obscured his vision as the milk carton exploded and Ishmael felt a hard punch in his chest right behind where he had been cradling the milk carton.

Saying nothing Clara shoved passed Ishmael with out a word, dragging her child by the hand in a fast clip to the exit of the store.

Looking down, Ishmael noticed the milk dripping from his hoody was coming out pink. Then red. The world started to spin and his legs gave out.

In a heartbeat he was flat on the floor, unable to even lift his head from sudden and severe blood loss. A pool of dark blood spreading from his chest to encompass his vision of the floor – a mottled mess of pink, white, and red.

His vision growing blurry, he could still see Clara dragging Emily full speed to the exit as the child craned her neck to stare at the man her mother had just stabbed.

As the world fell into red and black, Ishmael thought: Does that little girl have my eyes?