Scene 1 of a thing I discovery wrote one evening. I might develop the idea a bit later on, but for now it’s just a fun experiment type thing.
I stood in the rain opposite the coffee shop with my overcoat’s collar pulled up around my neck as I hunkered forward against the cold. I hoped I was being inconspicuous, but it was a quiet night and anyone who saw me probably thought I was waiting to pick up or maybe that I was selling.
I wasn’t, of course. I was there to meet someone for a job. I pulled the note out of my pocket to double check the details.
Starbucks. Main street. 10am. You’ll know the man.
Of course I would, I thought.
I’d been stood there for a little over an hour already. I hadn’t spotted anyone who looked interested in the shit that I was slinging, so I continued to loiter. The rain water began seeping through my coat, but then a man approached the door.
Jeans. T-Shirt. Jacket. Short brown hair. Pretty normal looking guy all in all, but what struck me was a slight stretching on the back of his jacket as he pulled his hand out of a pocket to open the door. This man was carrying. Just the kind of person I’d like to have a chat with.
I gave him a couple of minutes to order before I wandered over the road and entered the shop. It was a cookie-cutter Starbucks inside. Punters got their drinks from the counter at the front where two baristas were firing out coffee at an ungodly rate. I joined the queue.
I couldn’t see my guy, so I guessed he must have gone upstairs. It was an odd decision for a man with a weapon, it felt like he was digging himself into a trap.
I got my black coffee – gave them a fake name of course – thanked them and headed upstairs. It was the same spread out tables up here too, but with fewer people. My guy was sitting at the far side of the room, facing the stairs, a newspaper spread out on the table before him.
I make like I’m surprised, and with a big grin on my face I approach him directly.
“John?” I say, jovially. “Is that you? It’s been a good few years, mate, how’s it going?” I’d like to thank the academy.
He cottons on instantly. “Steve! Bloody hell mate, didn’t expect to see you in a place like this. I’m doing good mate, just about keeping things ticking over, you know.” He gestured at the empty seat and cleared away his newspaper.
I sat down, shit-eating grin still on my face. He was smiling too but it was the kind of soulless smile that sends shivers down your spine. He was surveying me just as I was surveying him. He had a plain face and could probably blend into any crowd around here, but a small scar across his left cheek betrayed him. I kept his gaze and lowered my voice. “I’ve heard you might have some work?”
He nodded. “Aye, usual kind of job, for a usual kind of fee.”
Perfect. I didn’t want anything too complicated; I’d been out of work for a while. I sipped my coffee for a taste of the bland and generic blend.
“Who’s the mark?” I said.
“Who do you want?” He replied and retrieved a small notebook out of his inside jacket pocket, revealing a flash of pistol grip. I’m not sure if that was intentional but I kept his gaze as if I hadn’t seen it.
“I’ve got a nurse, a police officer, and a house husband.” He flicked through a handful of pages. “I have others, but you’re not getting any of those until I have some confidence in your skills.” I was a bit put out by that.
“C’mon mate, honestly I’m good for the work. You’ve gotta have something better than those three?” I said.
“First off, I am not your mate, I am not your friend. We’re not about to make some cocoa and braid each other’s hair. Get that shit out of your head right now. You come to me and I give you a job, pure and simple. Or you can fuck off and I can give it to the next of my punters.” He said, with a dismissive wave behind me.
I turn to look back towards the stairs. The room is still half full of customers but a man and woman were looking over at us.
“You come to me without any references,” he continued, “just someone told you I’m here and I’m supposed to think you’re billy big-bollocks? Nah. I’ll give you a job and see what happens, because quite frankly, mate, you are nothing to me.”
Fair enough. “I’ll take the husband,” I said.
He pulls a page out of his notebook and hands it to me. “Come back here when it’s done. Office hours are ten-thirty ‘til four. Now fuck off.”
I stuffed the note into my overcoat, stood up and I’m back in the smily Oscar winning long-lost-friend persona. “Good to see you, mate, maybe I’ll see you around.” He smiles and shakes my hand.
I leave the shop and wander back over the road to my original spot. The rain has abated a little but I still had to pop my collar to stop it from dribbling down my neck. I got the note out of my coat and, shielding it from the rain, I began to read.
Jonathan Ponting, 35, 9 Blackbird Av. 300 lb/d
Christ, this guy was a mover. I could see why they wanted him. I stuffed the note back in my pocket and made my way home.