“Why do they call it a safehouse if they kill their victims?” asked the rookie. “Maybe because they manage to getaway safely” replied his partner. “Well not anymore,” he replied as a car pulled in.
It wasn’t long before the men who got out of the car were lying on the ground, blood oozing from their chests. The rookie and his partner dashed into the safehouse. It was empty except for a table.
“Aha!” exclaimed the partner as he rummaged through the things on the table and pulled out a half-burnt piece of paper from the ashtray. “It’s a map or Blueprint of some sort” said the rookie, squinting at the markings.
The photo prompt has been given by Yvette Prior at the Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Bernadette Braganza 
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