London, 2020, an August night so hot the roads are soft underfoot and even the feral dogs are staying at home. The decoy stalks the meanest streets, wearing thigh-high needle-heeled boots and a whitish trenchcoat. The puddles underfoot are dirty and scummed with fuel oil, as she steps in them her feet fracture the rainbow reflections into millions of shards of light.
Above her, Jack looks down and his mouth spreads into a rictus grin.
“Such a naughty girl,” he mouths as his hand fidgets with the ten-inch blade he is holding. “Just a little closer. Please.”
The woman keeps on coming and the coat swings open exposing her bare flesh to his heated gaze. For a moment he wonders that she cannot feel his glance, but soon loses interest in that thought as the prostitute, for that is what she must be, steps into the pool of sulphurous light under his streetlamp.
He jumps, meaning to land on her back and bear her to the ground, but he misjudges his leap and lands beside her. She turns and he aims a slash at her unprotected throat. Only she isn’t there. She’s behind him.
“You are under arrest on suspicion…”
Before she can get out another word he leaps screaming wordlessly.
A straight-arm jab to the larynx kills him instantly.
The golem removes its mask and wig and its red eyes glow briefly before it reports.
“Suspect apprehended. Unfortunately he didn’t come quietly.”
© jane jago 2017