The Chameleon

Green set her coffee down, pushing it aside. “We’re the only ones in the café.”

“What?” Singleton said, looking around the venue. It was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the city bustling wildly outside.

“The barista’s gone, too,” Palmer added. “Wait here. I want to check something.” He went to the door and, without opening it, looked out. A man and woman were walking toward the café. As they approached, a man, who was smoking a cigarette outside the café, said something to them. The couple turned and walked away.

Palmer stepped outside. He had taken no more than a few steps toward the man smoking the cigarette when he was spotted. The man threw down the cigarette hurried across the street. Palmer returned to their table.

“Let’s go,” Palmer said. “Call the driver.”

Singleton was already doing just that, but after a minute of the phone ringing without any response, his face went pale. “No answer.”

“Let’s go out the back,” Palmer pressed.

As they stood up from the table, a car screeched to a halt in the middle of the street in front of the café. They looked out the window and saw a black sedan. The car’s passenger side and back doors flew open. Two men got out. They pulled a body out of the car and flung it facedown onto the street. The men stepped over the body and walked toward the café. Each was openly carrying a pistol.