Her silk cloak marked her as wealthy, the confident stride and raised chin only furthered the gap between her and the beggars that littered the French streets. The man walking in front of her had no inkling of her presence, his mind on his heavy breast pocket, where no less than three illegally obtained documents were stashed. His hat pulled low over his face, but even from her vantage point behind him the woman knew who he was.
Keeping the silk cloth gathered over her hands she quickened her steps, until she was shoulder to shoulder with the man. Ignoring a starving child’s desperate wail for charity, the woman stuck out a single heeled shoe, soundly tripping the man. With a grunt of surprise he fell, caught in the surprisingly strong arms of his assailant. To any passerby it looked as if he had only stumbled and been saved from an embarrassing fall.
The only indication of what had actually occurred was the millimeter of steel poking out of his jacket and the red spittle falling from his mouth. Extracting herself from the man, the woman continued on, ignoring the crumpled heap she had left behind her. She knew soon enough someone would scream and police would eventually arrive to clear away the body. Patting the skirt pocket where the documents now lay, the woman couldn’t help but smile serenely as a terrified scream ripped apart the silent city of lights.