Flaming Pygmies

Maynard checked his phone. This was it – a tiny sliver in a humdrum strip mall. The sign blazed “Flaming Pygmies” in human-sized letters. No indication of its business.

Checking his sidearm, Maynard thought: didn’t matter if the target was here.

Getting out his car, he pulled open the door. The narrow room was dark, lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled with blob-shaped objects, a doorway at the right back. Maynard stood in the middle of the room, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

The door opened. A slight figure walked out, stopped, and spoke one word.

 “Dad?”

Maynard drew his gun.

“Sorry.”