This is one of my stories from Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

A disgruntled employee robs the boss’s embezzled funds and attempts to escape. Will he succeed? Or will his getaway plans be as lackluster as his work performance over the last few years?

—

I elbowed through crowds and public washrooms. I tried to keep an eye on my carry-on while I bought a sandwich that cost a small fortune.

I hated every second of it.

Now if I could slip through airport security without getting caught, my tropical getaway would be guaranteed: a distant island with sandy beaches, ocean breezes, and whispering palm trees.

No more performance reviews.

No more long hours in a hot cubicle.

No more bootlicking and jumping every time Pixley barked.

Cleaning out his safe had been easy. Old codger used his date of birth for the combination. You’d think a boss bright enough to embezzle from the company for thirty-eight years would be smarter about his combo code, never mind keeping his stash of coke in there: good stuff, the best.

I smiled as I reminisced. Then, I remembered where I was.

Keep calm. Don’t look suspicious.

A voice boomed behind me. “Sir, step over here, please.”

My fake ID and passport were perfect, and my carry-on should have cleared the scanner. I had put the bills in hollowed out books so they’d be undetectable to all except the closest scrutiny. Pixley was too stupid to have put an electronic tracker in the cash … wasn’t he?

I grinned and attempted to conceal the nervous tremor in my hands. “Anything wrong, officer?”

The officious jerk didn’t reply. Instead, he dragged me and my suitcase aside.

I protested, “Hey, watch it, buster. You hurt my arm.”

His face clouded with a scowl. A K-9 sniffer came out of nowhere. Another officer cut off the suitcase lock. I cringed and hoped they wouldn’t try to open any of the books. My gaze roamed everywhere except my suitcase.

I tried to look nonchalant when a couple of flight attendants stopped to lean in and stare. Someone’s overpowering body spray made me sneeze. The K-9 barked. My insides knotted like a hangman’s noose, and hot beads of sweat trickled down my nose.

One of the officers chortled. “Look at all the little blue pills. I s’ppose he intended to make some girl happy. And what’s this? A firearm? Tsk. Tsk.”

I gasped as I gawked at the porn magazines, leather chaps, and handcuffs. “That’s not my stuff, honest.” My voice squeaked like a little girl’s. “Someone must have switched suitcases with me.”

“Hmph. Likely story.”

As they marched me away, I spotted Pixley clearing security. He wore a smirk wide enough to swallow his face.

And he was towing my carry-on.

—

You’ll find more short fiction like this in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

---