FLASH NOIR / THE CAPTURE

Fiction by Janus Pell--The Treviso sun spilled across the checkerboard plaza, warming the stone and the chrome tables of Caffè Libretto, a narrow-unmarked spot at the corner of Via Sile. 

 Tourists--some taking selfies and others on cellphones--thought they were enjoying an ordinary Italian lunch hour. 

 They weren’t. 

 A woman in a dark jacket crossed the piazza, casual in stride, eyes fixed on the caffe door. Her hand brushed the outline of her badge, then her pocket. She’d been waiting. 

 Then he appeared from inside the unmarked Caffè Libretto — the man in the pale blue shirt. He stepped into the sunlight, phone at his ear, confident, cautious, too big city for a local. 

 Nearby, a man in a green-and-white cap was talking quietly with a woman standing in front of him. To anyone else, they looked like a couple sharing gossip. In truth, she was feeding him live details, her gaze glanced off his shoulder. “Blue shirt just came out,” she murmured. “That’s him.” 

Green Cap gave a small nod, eyes never shifting toward the caffé. He wasn’t near the river; he was exactly where he needed to be — between the caffé’s patio and the narrow side lane that led back into the downtown Treviso. 

 To the suspect’s right, another man stood half-turned, savoring an espresso, calm as a priest before Mass. He stared directly at the man. 

 Four of them now: 

 --the woman crossing the plaza, 

 --the seated woman giving intel, 

 --the Green-Cap decoy, 

 --the espresso sentinel. 

 The net was already drawn. 

 The man in the blue shirt pocketed his phone. Something in the air changed — a silence under the noise of cups and chatter. He hesitated swamped by a chilling gut feeling. 

 The woman entering the plaza closed the distance--running. “Polizia,” she  shouted. “Fermo dove sei.” 

 The espresso cup touched the table without a sound. 

Green Cap shifted once, sealing the lane. 

The suspect turned and saw 9mm service weapons aimed in his direction. He froze in order hot to die. It ended for him--the geometry, the stillness, the inevitability. 

 The small Italian piazza kept its sunlight, its tourists, its calm, only the pigeons had abandoned the scene. 

 The capture was over before the coffee cooled. 

 A Paris cell awaited the jewel thief's return. 

*** 

Note: The action depicted in the photo accompanying this fiction is from a public domain travel image and has nothing to do with the fictional crime portrayed.