Short,
Hat, and the Leader sat on a bench overlooking the bay. Autumn at
this point had taken its full form and transformed the bay into a
serene notion of both the warmth of summer and the cold of winter.
Short ate out of a potato chip bag, while the rest calmly watched the
tide of the bay rise and fall.
“So,
who are we supposed to meet up with again?” Hat finally blurted
out. As the question was naturally directed to the Leader, the Leader
took a sigh before answering Hat's question.
“Some
Russian guy. Blonde hair, sunglasses. He'll be wearing some stripped
blue t-shirt.”
“We're
in California, there's going to be a fuck-ton of people wearing
stripped shirts.” Short muttered out between his chip munching.
“If
that's true than answer me how we've been here for about two hours
now, and STILL haven't seen anyone.” Hat naturally took the
defensive on Short while the Leader drowned out the arguing of the
two lackeys to focus on what he spied in the distance.
Down
the hill from where they sat, right next to the bay, was a coffee
shop, and that coffee shop had a very noticeable outdoor seating
area. This seating area was mostly filled with kids who had just got
out of college and were just now starting their life, and up until
now the Leader only wished he was over there; with the combined
scents of sea breeze and mocha filling his nostrils as the wind hit
at his back. But while he focused on this pleasant wasted space he
saw Waldo sticking his head out among the crowd.
Yes
– a young blond man wearing a stripped blue t-shirt, casually
sitting and drinking a coffee by the many who, at a distance, seemed
just like him. From here it seemed impossible that the man was a
trained killer, yet the Leader knew very well that looks are deceit
and grinned to himself as his attention focused back to the two
colleagues with him.
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