The Spy Who Could Not Dance
By Tracey Delaplain
Sara, no longer sensible and bland, teetered towards the Pink Pussycat in her stiletto boots and leather miniskirt. Her spy instructor had assured her in his best mafioso voice that the mission would be, “A piece of cake sweetheart, just deliver the mouse”.
Spotting her target over a sea of dancers, Sara calculated the most direct route. Once on stage, how was she to know that her dance moves would leave her sprawled on her belly, skirt above her ears, with the mouse no longer full of white powder, shattered beneath her?
In hindsight perhaps the man wasn’t imitating a mob boss.
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