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Plan:
At first make the character appear like he's just waiting in the crowd, but the reason for his analysis of the situation becomes clear as its revealed he's following/staking out his target
Slowly reveal the type of protagonist he is through his analysis and response to his finding - intelligent, perhaps too intelligent, incapable of defending himself but his aptitude at reading situations and detective sensibilities protect him - and his two friends also help
Don't be coy with information about the case - reveal how much, who, the reason (or lack thereof) but do it in section, building on each section before revealing the next
Storyboard (rough)
Set scene - WWWWWH
Info 1 - Who he's following, then learn something about surroundings
Info 2 - Why he's following them + why his mates are there
Info 3 - Expanding more into the backstory of the case - hinting at money without saying how much, possible by explaining the client
Raymond Chandler Style Model
Inky night blanketed the area, smothering the crowd of coats and hats, pushing them down towards the pavement. Funny, how the absence of the sun instantly creates feelings of oppression, like the stars are wardens preventing the redeeming light of the sun from giving the people happiness and safety.
But despite the looming malevolence of the sky baring down on the car park I’m currently standing in, men and women and children are laughing and cheering and chanting, bringing happiness to the bleak black boulevard. Could it be the feelings of unity, brought to this spot by the shared love of a team, or purely the joy of togetherness that made the hum of voices and the shuffling of feet welcome not malicious. Even the others, people the same as me and you but dressed in different patterns and colours, can be seen sharing a drink and a joke with ones sworn to be at least their opposition and at worst their enemy.
‘Right’
Declared the figure next to me, Declan. Two years my senior but at least half a foot shorter than me, he spoke quick and often with a punch, like he was desperate to be heard even though he was easily the loudest in the group.
‘I’m sick of this line and even sicker of yous lots glum faces, who’s comin’ scalpin’?’ said Dec, way too loud, intentionally I don’t doubt, I eyed the police officer nearby cautiously as I answered.
‘Quiet down, Dec, you don’t want us to thrown out, do you?
‘Pfft, good luck kickin’ us out, there’s three of us and none of these pigs are under 40. They try anythin’ and I’ll get us some bacon’ While the sentiment was obviously meant to show off, all bark and no bite as it were, there was an unmistakeable malice hidden in it. A ratty kid most of his life, with a nose that was too long and eyes too small, Declan wasn’t one to pass up a confrontation if it meant he could prove himself. In fact, if it wasn’t for Rob stopping him from going too far, he could easily be in jail right now, or worse.
‘Hey, listen to him mate, Joe’s the brains here int ‘e, if he thinks it’s a bad idea it’s a bad idea, don’t make me bail you out again’ Interjected Rob, the wall of fat and muscle next to me. I’m fairly sure the term ‘gentle giant’ is based on Rob. Me and him go all the way back to childhood, the classic small and weedy me paired with the lumbering titan which was him. But fortunately for him, that’s where the stereotype left him. I’m the thinker, but Rob could go toe-to-toe with the fastest mouthed man around, his wit was more than useful in defusing the situation any time me or Dec got into trouble, adding to his intimidating appearance while also meaning he didn’t have to hurt anybody – as a matter of fact, I don’t believe he has ever got into a fight with anyone.
Brown eyes hid even more than usual as Declan squinted at Rob in protest, like a mouse squaring up to a bear. To the uninitiated it might seem like a brawl was about to break out, but this was standard fare in our little group, not a conversation went by without some quip or lashing statement, but despite this Rob and Dec were close friends, best friends in fact. And besides, the warm glow or conversation continues around us, laughter interjecting the showdown, and with that the confrontation in the air flew away, back to the deep night sky where it belonged.
Shifting reddy-brown locks, like clay, from his brow, Rob pierced the silence.
‘Ay, Joe, what you reckon the odds are on Saracens winnin’?’ He knew I favoured the Harlequins, call it foolish loyalty, and this was meant as a little rag. A friendly joke reminding me of the inevitable ribbing I’ll receive after the match.
‘Ha, the Saracens? Win something? Don’t embarrass yourself mate, I would rather throw my money in the rubbish than bet it on them’ I complied with the joke. Banter may not be my strong suit, especially when caught off guard as I was, but the smirk on Rob’s face told me I didn’t perform too badly.
‘Aah you lot are out o’ your mind, it’s Wasps or nothin’ right now’ Declan piled in.
‘This year maybe, but it was all us last season. And weren’t you a Saracen fan around the same time, Dec?’ Rob said, deflected the boast. The habitual ‘glory supporting’ Dec did with every new season was a common point of debate with the group, me and Rob being loyal life-long to our teams didn’t help the matter.
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