Mo Tong Lai Cha 無糖奶茶

Thank you, Brenda for a wonderful picture of the variety of street food. I can recall the smells and the atmosphere. It is a lovely photo-prompt posted by Rochelle to challenge our writing for Friday-Fictioneers. More stories are ready to be read HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Brenda Cox

Mo Tong Lai Cha 無糖奶茶
(Tea, Milk No Sugar)

My shirt clung to my skin as I weaved down Yau San Street, and I knocked against a basket of squirming snakes. The warm aroma of peanut oil drifted among whiffs of cooking chicken; salivating, I ignored my hungry protests.
First the deal.

I saw her. Mai Ling sucking noodles, and she nodded.
‘Lai cha mo tong.’ She ordered for me. ‘Milk in tea, so British.’

I covertly slipped the passports into her bag, as a loose noodle struck her nose. 

I twitched towards the observers.
‘My bankers,’ she said. ‘Drink your tea.’

A smile, a gold tooth. Money transferred.

Poisoned at Dawn

This week’s prompt shows a gloomy picture of dark clouds gathering, perhaps reflecting the mood of higher cost of living and possibilities of a renewed Cold War. Thanks to Na’ama Yehuda.

More exciting stories by Friday Fictioneers can be found by this link: CLICK HERE

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

Poisoned at Dawn

At dusk, Albert walked the alleys and paths around Battersea.
Although the bombing blitz of WW2 seemed a long time ago, he felt duty bound.
He wore a fedora now instead of the Warden’s helmet and had a George Medal pinned to his blazer.

He opened the Times and spluttered into his morning tea.

Everyone called him Daft Old Albert–but he was Sergey Makarov, a KGB Officer and sentenced to death.

The envoy in the newspaper photograph was his warning. 
How close were they? He must keep his nerve and maintain the cover.

Has the MI5 mole exposed him?

Ice Cream in Tel Aviv-Yafo

Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers, https://fresh.inlinkz.com/party/5caf3cef9d814e28babc281a38c8590d

Photo from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Ice Cream in Tel Aviv-Yafo

‘Let’s have an ice cream,’ Carolyn said, ‘and stop talking politics.’
We were here to visit her grandmother and not to solve the Middle East’s problems.
Having refused my money, she sold her Breitling to pay for our flights, but I insisted on booking the best hotel.
She wasn’t pleased and mumbled something about expenses.

Next morning, she disappeared for the day. Where?
That evening she burst into the hotel room.
‘Get packing, we are leaving. Now!’
‘What?’
Her clothes were dirty with a smell of gun oil; a fresh gash on her head. 
‘Now!’
We dashed to the airport.

Cold Fever

Where are you 007?
Self-isolated with man flu, Mam.
Don’t be ridiculous Bond. I want you in London tonight.
M, is that an invitation?
Don’t be flippant, this is serious Bond. Miss Corona de Ville needs to be stopped.
The Queen of Oral Pharmacies?
Bond, I want you inside her organisation and get to the bottom of her plans.
My pleasure.
Oh, Bond have you seen Miss Moneypenny? She’s missing.