Cooking up a Storm

This piece of flash fiction is in response to a writing dare from @StoryBandit, who said:

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COOKING UP A STORM

BT had been really second-guessing his choice of career lately. Yeah, sure, he'd fallen into it. And the money was great. But...

There was no rush anymore. No anticipation, no challenge. His wife said he needed a hobby. He snorted - like what? Gardening? Canoeing? Golf?

BT exhaled heavily and stared at the goods being baked, his mentor's voice always snarling in his head, "always oversee the work and don't overcook it!" BT never had. He took pride in that. On the counter behind him, the finished goods were prepped and ready, sitting in their plain packaging - all designed to look inconspicuous and to not be remarked upon. BT's mentor insisted that the good clients - the ones who paid on time - had to be catered to.

BT looked up suddenly, sixth sense screaming, the tedium of the day shredded. "When in doubt, run!" His mentor's voice again.

BT ran. His long-planned escape route worked.

That night, just before he sat down to dinner with his wife and their new neighbours, the news reported on police success in busting a huge drug lab. Unfortunately, the ringleaders had gotten away.

BT smiled to himself. The thrill was back. Time to start again.

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