People Watching

As he fastened his jeans and slipped into a freshly ironed button-up, Frank’s joints sang out in protest. The chorus had been growing louder over the years; he wasn’t the same agile young man who dodged bullets in Kandahar and leapt from airplanes like the ground was made out of marshmallows. (It wasn’t, as he abruptly found out once or twice after some equipment malfunctions.) The human skeleton isn’t meant to endure quite so much trauma, his doctor told him on many occasions. But it was all he knew and more importantly, it was what he was good at. A life outside of the job seemed unfeasible, like a distant dream. 

He tried once, right after he got out of the military, before he got picked up by The Company. There was a small diner outside of a small, no name town where he got a job as a line cook. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was an honest job. He kept his head down and went home smelling of old, burnt grease at night and it was peaceful. But he had grown so used to war that he was no longer able to tell the difference between peace and boredom. A month after he started, he turned in his apron and hit the road, ending up right where he needed to be.

His little apartment was bare. There were no pictures on the walls of family or paintings of generic landscapes and all of his possessions fit into a duffel bag. Always prepared that way; material things just got in the way. If something went south, and things always seemed to go south, he had a quick exit and no loose ends. The simplest plan was often the best. He locked up behind him and made his way to the parking garage, effortlessly avoiding the security cameras throughout the building. He tossed his bag in the trunk and climbed into the leather seat of his Company-bought Audi, a perk the military never afforded him. The engine roared to life and he glanced at his watch. Early, as usual. He had enough time to stop for a cup of coffee before his next job and a little people watching was the one leisure activity he allowed himself. 

It was a beautiful morning. A storm was rolling in off the coast and the air was crisp and clean; the smell of snow lingered on the updraft. He had been all over the world in all manner of weather, but nothing quite compared to New York in the winter. A waitress shivered as she brought out his steaming cup of black coffee.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come inside? There’s a few open tables in the back!” She said as her teeth chattered together. 

“Thank you, but I like the cold.” 

The waitress glanced at the dark tattoo peeking out from the end of the sleeve of his wool peacoat and she hurried back inside. He often forgot they were there, but he enjoyed the reaction they got out of people. 

A young couple walked by arm in arm, talking about getting out of town before the snow started to fall. 

“Let’s go to my parent’s beach house for the month,” the girl whined.

“We were just there, babe. I’m sick of the beach,” her boyfriend replied, fixing his man-bun. 

Frank laughed to himself as he took a sip from the large, bowl-shaped mug.

Two police officers exited the cafe, coffee and donuts in hand. 

“She never called you back?” One exclaimed, spitting donut crumbs at his partner.

“Shut up, man! We can’t all be in perfect relationships like you and Candy,” the second officer retorted. 

A young woman brushed past him and took a seat at a table on the other side of the patio. She frantically tugged a backpack from her arms and plopped it down on the empty chair next to her. There was something off about her behavior; her eyes darted around and every sound the noisy townscape made, she jumped in her seat and pulled her backpack close to her. Her long, thick, brown hair whipped around in the wind untamed. 

“Are you alright?” Frank asked just loud enough for her to hear. She looked around to see if there was anyone else to whom he could be talking.

“Me?” Her voice was like velvet. 

“Yes.”

“I’m fine.” A car door slammed across the street and again she jumped. 

“You sure?” 

Her eyes were still scanning the sidewalk, as though she was expecting someone. 

“Yeah. Thanks, though.”

Frank was far from convinced, but he didn’t want to pry. Instead, he took another sip from his coffee and pulled his phone out of his breast pocket to triple check his itinerary. There was a new email from his handler changing some last minute details about his target.

Frank,

Don’t kill the messenger. You’ll be meeting up with Dale at the hotel. He’s going to assist you on this one. Pick up the package left for you at the front desk—it’ll have everything you need. Just keep an eye on the kid, okay? He doesn’t have to do anything, Boss just wants him learning the ropes. 

Call when it’s done.

xoxo,

Lyla

“I’m too old for this shit,” he said to himself as he put his phone back in his jacket. 

“What was that?” The young woman asked, rubbing her hands together in front of her mouth, using her hot breath to warm them up.

“Oh, I was just saying it’s time for me to retire.”

“You’re not that old,” she cautiously flirted, finally glancing in his direction. She forced a grin, her full, Spanish lips curving slightly upwards. 

“I’m a lot older than I look. At least, I feel like I am.” The watch on his wrist beeped loudly. Frank took the last sip of his coffee and pushed his chair out to leave. “Are you sure you’re okay, Miss?”

“I always am.” 

A blind man could see how hard she was trying to seem tough and Frank hesitated. He didn’t feel right leaving, but he was on the clock. He shot her a comforting grin and her shoulders seemed to relax just a little bit. As he climbed back into his car, which was parked conveniently a few feet away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in trouble, so he watched for a moment longer. His car idled and the clouds began to shed the first snow of the year.

The world seemed to stop moving. Everything went quiet; the birds stopped chirping, the traffic disappeared, even the wind seemed to halt to witness the spectacle, like all life looked up to the sky to welcome winter’s delicate offerings. The girl closed her eyes, allowing the snowflakes to kiss her rosy cheeks. 

Just as Frank shifted his car from neutral to first gear, an unmarked van pulled up at the curb and the sliding door opened abruptly. Two very large men jumped out and the girl panicked, grabbed her backpack and looked around for an escape. They hurried towards her and she kicked her chair at one, taking out his legs. He fell to the cold ground like a giant tree. The other man reached for her, but she spun around to avoid his giant Russian paws and took off running around the corner. The men pulled guns from their jackets and began pursuit. 

“Too old for this shit,” Frank muttered and he stepped on the gas, tearing off in the same direction. He turned the corner just as girl was crossing the street, so he slammed on the breaks and she braced her hands on the hood of his car. Without hesitation, Frank hit the unlock button and nodded towards the passenger door and she obliged just as quickly. “Still okay?” He said sarcastically. A bullet whizzed by, ripping the driver’s side mirror off and the girl ducked.

“Drive!” She shouted. 

“Gladly.” Another bullet pierced through the back windshield, but within seconds, they were out of the line of fire. The girl was still hugging her backpack, hiding beneath the dashboard. “We lost them,” Frank assured her and she slowly straightened up. 

“Th—thank you.” Her voice shook as she choked back tears. From her reaction, Frank assumed it wasn’t normally how she spent her mornings and knew all too well how quickly high adrenaline situations can turn into shock.

“What’s your name?” He tried to ask as calmly and comfortingly as possible. 

“It’s…Erm…Rose,” she drawled.

“Mmm, what’s your real name?” 

She looked out of the window in defeat.

“Ava.” 

“I’m Frank.” 

“Is Frank your real name?” She quipped. 

“Only one I’ve ever known.” 

Ava quickly became aware of her surroundings and the panic returned. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“I figured I’d save you from being gunned down in the street and take you somewhere secluded so I can kill you myself.” Of all the skills he had acquired over the years, humor was not one of them, but it didn’t stop him from trying. He spoke with such unwavering stoicism, Ava stared at him, waiting for some indication that he was really going to kill her. He glanced to see if she enjoyed his levity, but he was met with abject terror. “That was a joke.” 

“Jokes are usually funny,” she criticized warily. 

“Fair point.”

The car glided over the snowy ground, weaving through slower moving cars as they left Manhattan behind. He wanted to put as much distance between them and the behemoths as possible and he couldn’t just drop her off anywhere. There was a safe-house upstate that he set up years before, so he figured that would at least give them time to figure out what to do. He had already missed his first check-in with his handler, so there was no turning back. From the moment he drove to Ava’s aid instead of going to the hotel to meet Dale, he was in as much trouble as she was.