I was standing outside the rugby stadium with two of my friends. It was somewhere around 7 o’clock in the evening, but it was winter and the air was already growing a bite. A strong breeze blew across my face, prompting me to shrink further into my winter coat. The queue and surrounding groups were full of big men with haggard voices and faces. And as I usually push pencils I was unfamiliar with such men, and took great comfort in my companions.
Chatter and drunken laughter were everywhere. The cover was perfect. Even if I wanted to hear the conversation next to me I couldn't, and my target knew that. The man in question was 20 feet in front of me give or take, unkempt hair and wearing clothes that barely fit him, he was inconspicuous in the crowd. Nicotine stained hands were twitching without rhythm. Battered white shoes tapped the similarly grey pavement. The uninformed would assume this was a display of nervousness, a sign of weakness. But he was in his element here. It was merely habit. A crash sounded loudly from somewhere in the stadium, making me shudder - I've never been good around loud noises. The clunk-clunk of machines rose. Stadium staff started to line up next to turnstiles. Then it was really loud. People began cheering and singing and wooping, drowning out the conversation around me. People walked past to enter the match. I was cut off from my target.
The crowd was thick, fast, strong and I couldn't hold against it. My friends stood either side of me, a dam blocking the tide. We were close to the entrance, so the people came thick and fast around us. With a nod and a look we started easing our way through, I couldn't watch a man I couldn't see.
It took several minutes of shoving before we spanned the distance, me and my friends doing our best not to antagonise the riled up crowd with forceful contact. We could fight, but we didn't want to.
Scanning the immediate area, I couldn't find him. I suppose a man worth a million learns to hide himself when needed. But I had been cautious, there was no reason to suspect. He was probably in the toilets. Stepping back I felt something soft, moist, like walking into a sweaty sponge. My elbow as buried in it, the surprising prison knocking me off balance. I was vulnerable. I hated being vulnerable.
'Sorry, I - ' The apology escaped without permission. A life of spying from a distance scantly prepared me for the unexpected - I usually saw it coming. Spinning around to mutter something subservient, I met my target in the eyes. Up close he was more sweat than man, with bin bags under his eyes and a rough stubble on his chin - he hadn't shaved in days.
I stood there helpless, caught like a deer in the headlights. To the side of me my mates tensed, ready for a fight, and his did the same. Eyes stared into eyes stared into eyes. The man to his right reached for something in his inner coat pocket. The ebb and flow of people ceased somewhat. Civilians nearby hushed.
'No worries, bud, just watch where ya step next time. But now that you're 'ere... don't 'appen to 'ave a ciggie do ya?' His voice was sort of like a wolf's, guttural and hoarse but with a whine behind it. Up close he looked flabby and fatigued, his 6'2'' stretching a wide frame into a strange amalgamation of limbs and fat. He was large but flimsy.
'Uh, y-yeah, sure mate n-no problem' I said, it was lucky that I some one on me. I'd found that a smoker trusts another smoker faster than a regular man. I still spluttered and spat when I had one, but people still believed the act. I reached into my coat pocket. Then I opened my cigarette packet and held it towards him. A gangly arm greeted it. Spindly fingers with gold rings on them took a cigarette and held it to a lighter I hadn't seen him reveal. Slowly he took it to his lips. It was a power play, showing me that my time didn't matter to him. When he had taken a drag he looked at me, he had brown eyes as common as dirt. They glistened in the floodlights, almost crying.
'Ta mate, I won't forget this' he said. His mates parted behind him, and he lumbered away towards the gates. I let out a breathe I didn't realise I was holding. Any attempts at tailing him were now ruined. He said his goodbye with a sort of malice in his voice, like he knew why I was there. He was known for taking out potential threats preemptively, which now made me concerned for my safety. I thought I threw him off my scent by feigning fear, but he is very good at his job. I paused, giving him a moment to leave. Then I turned towards the direction he left in. Dazzling lights and grey gates were in front of me, the entrance to the stadium. My friends were silent at the sides of me. Silent. If I had trained them, payed them, they would be obedient. But they just knew me. Knew when I needed to think. To plan. I once again felt comforted by their proximity.
It took several minutes of shoving before we spanned the distance, me and my friends doing our best not to antagonise the riled up crowd with forceful contact. We could fight, but we didn't want to.
Scanning the immediate area, I couldn't find him. I suppose a man worth a million learns to hide himself when needed. But I had been cautious, there was no reason to suspect. He was probably in the toilets. Stepping back I felt something soft, moist, like walking into a sweaty sponge. My elbow as buried in it, the surprising prison knocking me off balance. I was vulnerable. I hated being vulnerable.
'Sorry, I - ' The apology escaped without permission. A life of spying from a distance scantly prepared me for the unexpected - I usually saw it coming. Spinning around to mutter something subservient, I met my target in the eyes. Up close he was more sweat than man, with bin bags under his eyes and a rough stubble on his chin - he hadn't shaved in days.
I stood there helpless, caught like a deer in the headlights. To the side of me my mates tensed, ready for a fight, and his did the same. Eyes stared into eyes stared into eyes. The man to his right reached for something in his inner coat pocket. The ebb and flow of people ceased somewhat. Civilians nearby hushed.
'No worries, bud, just watch where ya step next time. But now that you're 'ere... don't 'appen to 'ave a ciggie do ya?' His voice was sort of like a wolf's, guttural and hoarse but with a whine behind it. Up close he looked flabby and fatigued, his 6'2'' stretching a wide frame into a strange amalgamation of limbs and fat. He was large but flimsy.
'Uh, y-yeah, sure mate n-no problem' I said, it was lucky that I some one on me. I'd found that a smoker trusts another smoker faster than a regular man. I still spluttered and spat when I had one, but people still believed the act. I reached into my coat pocket. Then I opened my cigarette packet and held it towards him. A gangly arm greeted it. Spindly fingers with gold rings on them took a cigarette and held it to a lighter I hadn't seen him reveal. Slowly he took it to his lips. It was a power play, showing me that my time didn't matter to him. When he had taken a drag he looked at me, he had brown eyes as common as dirt. They glistened in the floodlights, almost crying.
'Ta mate, I won't forget this' he said. His mates parted behind him, and he lumbered away towards the gates. I let out a breathe I didn't realise I was holding. Any attempts at tailing him were now ruined. He said his goodbye with a sort of malice in his voice, like he knew why I was there. He was known for taking out potential threats preemptively, which now made me concerned for my safety. I thought I threw him off my scent by feigning fear, but he is very good at his job. I paused, giving him a moment to leave. Then I turned towards the direction he left in. Dazzling lights and grey gates were in front of me, the entrance to the stadium. My friends were silent at the sides of me. Silent. If I had trained them, payed them, they would be obedient. But they just knew me. Knew when I needed to think. To plan. I once again felt comforted by their proximity.
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