Keen eyes and Monday Musings

You pull the signal cord of the bus and hold the metal rail fiercely as it halts, sputtering towards the curb. The briefcase in your left-hand swings lightly as you disembark, tipping your cap at the driver who meets your stare through the mirror with a knowing grin. 

Today felt like a good day. It had rained this weekend and the current Monday skies are cloudy but loose, allowing the sun to break free every few steps like a spotlight over your head and sticking in the gel you raked through your hair. You usually didn’t make such an effort but today was a special day, you had to look your best. 

Your father always said, “You never get a second chance at a first impression.” Second thought, maybe it wasn’t him. You think back to your visits across the plexiglass, your voice distorting through the phone and the quote doesn’t stick. 

Anyways, this isn't a real first impression, but a reintroduction of sorts. The last time you saw him you were on the same side of the table, but switching loyalty seems to paint people in a new light.

A woman struggles with her groceries near the road looking around urgently, as the bag rips from the bottom. In a second you’ve glanced at your watch and made the decision to stop, shooting a hand out to catch an orange before it hits the tarmac.

“Oh, dear! Thank you, these paper bags never seem to like me.” The woman blushes, cradling the bag at an awkward angle to try to save either her dignity or the produce, you don’t know.

“No trouble, if it were me I’d be in the same boat.” You laugh and it carries on the air along with the fall scents of cedar and smoke. The city was known for many things, but if more people spoke of the feeling of fall, how it clings desperately to the air, you fear the disease of tourism would become incurable. 

You and the mystery woman make your way down Claremont headed towards the bay area. When she speaks there are bells in your ears. Her voice is to words like the good feeling you’ve carried around since the alarm went off this morning. Like there are endless possibilities, all within grasp. 

The watch is heavy on your wrist and you glance down once more.

“I’m sorry am I keeping you, I never thought to ask.” She stutters looking up in concern. 

She stops outside a brownstone nestled in the middle of the row, between two lighter looking buildings. Ah, so she either lives with mom and dad or she’s using mom and dad's money. You don’t let yourself think of the other option, the artistic, smooth-talking chap draped over her on the sofa. 

“Not at all, I was headed this way anyways. Unfortunately, I do have to go. Work.” You share a knowing gaze that any working citizen would be able to identify. The trials and tribulations of Mondays.

“Ah, yes. I wouldn’t want to keep you. Though, in a suit like that, I pity the person standing next to you.” Her grin is lopsided but the dimples in her cheeks round it out.

“And why is that?” You ask.

“Because whoever you stand next to will look all but underdressed. It's sad but true. In a crowded room, every gaze is drawn to the most striking, like unopposed magnets.” She shrugs as if this were obvious.

“While I’ll take the compliment, wall street needn’t fear the interruption. My business lies elsewhere.” I return. 

Her gaze turns sour and she wrinkles her nose. It seems you must find a more subtle way to talk about business, can’t have every pretty face seeing right through you.

“Come now, what’s with the face?” 

“I will give you a chance to tell me your work won’t lead you to the wrong side of the city.” She says coldly, turning her nose up, trying to look unimpressed while still juggling the ripped bag. 

“Not at all, in fact, I’m headed around the next block.” You say gesturing down the road with the briefcase. 

She remains silent, looking between you and the door.

“If you gave me your number I could send you proof. Wouldn’t want you thinking the worst of me now would I.” The words are joking but your gaze is charming and true.

This wins you a giggle and a phone number.

“Wait, I never got your name?” She hollers as you make your way down the street.

“But I got yours.” You turn to grin at her.

She looks confused for a second. 

“Your lanyard. For a reporter you’re not very attentive,” the smirk turns to a smile as she laughs. 

“How highly you think of me. Really though I’m just the intern, the most pressing event I’ve dealt with is when the boss switched from whole milk to soy in his latte.”

You laugh as though she said something funny and she smiles fondly.

"I must be going but I hope I'll see you soon, Clara." You say deliberately holding her name in your mouth.

"You still haven't given me your name." She remarks at your back as you walk.

"Call it incentive. Now you have a reason to see me again, unravel all my mysteries." You say over your shoulder and her response is drowned out by the growing traffic as you pick up the pace eventually finding your destination.

The building before you shines like a second sun reflecting off the widows of the neighbouring complex. There is a bistro across the street, within view and you make your way to a table, watching the staff inside scrambling in a panic.

You glance down again at your watch and breathe in the smoky air once more. Perfectly late. 

Ash floats down onto the shoulders of your jacket. You brush it off, careful not to stain the suit. 

There is a choked gasp above the sound of the roaring fire and an easy smile melts onto your face.

“Ah, Lawrence. Sorry, I’m late it seems I’ve missed all the fun. I should have called, really my mistake.” You feign concern.

He stands in the road, his jaw bobbing as his finger points to you and back to the building. 

“Oh well, next time maybe.” I shrug. 

One of the three men he has brought, whispers something in his ear and it appears to wake him of his stupor. He stops his way towards but you just raise your hand, shaking your head disapprovingly at his guards.

“Lawrence I didn’t invite your friends. It’s quite rude to assume they are welcome.” There's a growing tightness in your smile. 

A thought passes your mind that you should have been more punctual. It might have cost your eyebrows in the blaze but at least then you would have had time to order a coffee. No caffeine to start your week is inhumane.

He sighs and motions his men away before coming to sit before you as you stand to shake his hand. 

As he sits his gaze turns to stone. 

“This is all a misunderstanding.” His tone is all business now, but you see through it clear as day.

“Is it? Because from where I’m sitting it seems you’re blowing smoke.” Your fingers tap the rhythm of the cracking fire onto the tabletop.

“All a coincidence. Good thing you were late. Sorry to say but I don’t think our meeting was important enough to warrant blood boiling.” He says lightly, cutting his gaze towards his men. 

“Don’t mistake me for a fool, Lawrence.” The pistol in your hand cools down deep into the bone. The gun is hidden beneath the table but it had the same effect as if it were pressed into his temple. You paint the surprise on his face on every version of him in your memory. This will never get old.

“Honestly dead or alive I couldn’t care less but you have to admit it's a hell of a message.” He bristles slightly but tries to compensate with the tone of his words.

The flames play through his eyes making them appear a glowing red.

The man in question seems exactly as dim as you predicted. Assuming the issue was dealt with the poor bastard didn’t even bring his revolver.

“The message might have been more threatening if it was successful. But take this as your own warning. You interfere with my work again and I promise you won’t live long enough to finish a breath let alone plan another light show.” You hiss, the words are garbled and heavy.

With a final knock of the gun against his leg, you get the satisfaction of seeing him jump as you rise, slyly pocketing the weapon while your back is turned to push in the chair. 

“See you, next week cousin. Next time we should do dinner, save us both the early morning.” You joke, walking away, the waves of heat from the fire causing sweat to bloom at your collar.

“Oh and send the missus my love, I miss her so terribly. How long has it been, three years?” You ask and he glares towards you a scalding rage to rival the building, now being tended by firefighters, the water from the hoses combining with the smog to make a grey mist that sticks in your throat. 

“Oh, how the years go by.” You sigh.

Ignoring Lawrence, you send a wave to the men before making your way back down the street towards the bus stop. After they are out of sight, you snap a picture of one of the smaller office spaces of the city, saving the picture to your album as the bus creaks to a stop before you, blowing your hair around your face. 

The familiar face greets you with a sly grin and you drop a wad of bills into the farebox with a wink.

There is a woman seated in the middle of the bus kicking a case between her feet before letting it rest on the floor beside her as she meets your stare.

The bus chugs to a start and you fall into the chair beside her as she starts to laugh in a daze. 

“I told you so.” She sing-songs. 

“Yes well, I listened now didn’t I. You really are a piece of work, some would say intolerable.” Your eyes roll of their own volition. 

“Some would also say wildly attractive and cunning but we both know you already know that.” Her eyelids bat towards you.

“Yes, and I’m sure your husband would agree.” Your grin is spiteful and she jabs at you with a bony elbow.

“Hey, now we both know you don’t care in the slightest about that idiot.” She looks inquisitive.

“I don’t. Just stating a fact.” Your gaze travels around the bus to see a group of teens chatting a ways away, giving no mind to your conversation.

“Anyways, not that I don’t love our chats, but don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Sadly yes, but this has been fun, though next time I say you owe me a proper date. Call it thanks for saving your arse.” She grins and you pull the cord for her. 

The bus crawls to a stop. 

“So this wasn’t simply the kindness of your heart? Really I’m at a loss for words.” You say pressing a hand to your heart, or at least where your heart would be. 

“Darling I can only save you so many times without charge. It seems you make it a habit of playing the damsel in distress.” She shrugs nodding towards you picking up the case and moving towards the doors.

“But I play it so well, you have to admit.” You say straightening your suit jacket. 

Her laughter carries long after she's gone, leaving only the sound and the smell of her perfume as the bus resumes its journey. 

Subtly, you pull the light case of the floor. Opening it you find a phone, with your next assignment no doubt, a nameless target with a story you will never know.

You better not have short-changed me, I know where you live -Rose

The message brings a smile to your lips. She is probably home by now, or possibly out to lunch with her idiot William. The smile falls and you grab for your own phone, hiding the other away back in the case. This assignment could wait, at least an hour. 

The picture sends slowly as you type a message, claiming your business rescheduled, to which she responds with an invitation for coffee. 

Morris raises an eyebrow through the mirror and you grin back.

“Mondays, amirite?” 

He laughs in response and you join with a light chuckle, throwing your gaze out the window. 

You were right. Even before noon, you can tell it was a good day.