The Commission

First Woman Jury, Los Angeles, Nov 1911. PD photo by Library of Congress.

He always looked about him after neutralising a target to make sure there were no surprises; a bounty hunter could make enemies easily.

The parking lot was empty save for a few cars, silent bar the chirrup of one or two birds. A plastic carrier bag skittered across the sun-baked tarmac, bounded into the air, performed a somersault in the warm breeze before sliding up to an elderly Ford and snuggling up under the wheel arch.

Rasputin allowed his thoughts dissolve into quietude, took a deep breath, exhaled and relaxed his muscles…

…which tensed instantly to rock-hardness as somebody tapped him on the shoulder. He dashed forwards into a lunge, turning as his feet slid across the ground, drew his blade in one fluid motion before settling into a stance.

A group of stern-faced women stood before him, dressed in late 19th century attire, the edges of their petticoats undulating beneath their pinafores.

“Rasputin, the bounty hunter?” asked a tall woman in a plain black dress.

“Yes.”

“We are the Commission. You will come with us. Now.”

Smirking, Rasputin disappeared….

…reappeared in a 19th century court room, saw the women already sat before him on rows of benches.

“You cannot escape justice Rasputin, any more than you can escape yourself.”

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About TheImaginator

35 year old sciolist living in Tokyo. I like swing dancing, Twitter word games, writing, using Stumbleupon.com, reading, and watching movies. I write stuff on my blog occasionally.
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