Wrong table.

I watched in my balcony as the wind blew the clothes from my neighbours clothesline away, the sky had gone dark grey. I shut the window barely missing him cursing the wind. The radio blasted out a warning to stay indoors in Spanish. I grabbed the keys to my house, switched off the lights in my room, grabbed my jacket of the coat hook and stepped outside as the wind ravaged the town, strewing the vegetables from the farmer market littering the tiny cobblestone paths. Which wound and crossed like a stitch in a complex yet harmonious pattern. I locked the door and set off down the paths into the never-ending town.

***

The little shack-restaurant stood in its haphazard shape dangling off the side of the cliff into oblivion where the waves violently crashed against the rock, sending bits tumbling into the malevolent sea. The restaurant, if you could call it that had four neatly placed tables placed in front. I looked at the watch on my hand, an antique, supposed to be made by a certain famed German watch maker in the 17'th century. they were late. I sighed and looked around; no-one was in sight. I walked over to the first table and pulled myself a seat. John, the owner of the shack, a stubby old man waddled over to my table. "Waiting for someone young chap?" he asked me, I looked at him perplexed, John was the last person who would ever start conversation. He seemed nervous, his muscles tensed and even though he seemed to try to have a conversation with me, darting around looking for any movement on the street. "Well yes, I suppose I am" I told him, he looked at me studying me carefully, "well, what will you have for now? Any starters?" he asked me, "I told you I have 'friends'-" but before I could complete, he interrupted abruptly - "the fox hunts in the evening" and walked away back into the shack. I thought to myself "why did it HAVE to be today" I looked around at the town the never-ending inconspicuous town in the middle of no-where, and treachery had breached its shores as well. I sighed to myself, and went back to carefully examining to street, but this time I was looking for more than just 'friends'.

***

I waited five minutes a long silhouette of a shadow appeared and slowly paced towards the restaurant, the figure became clearer his pace became quicker as he approached me, he held a single napkin in his hand, he pretended to toss it away and walked away without pausing as it gently landed in my lap. I picked up the napkin with tiny numbers scrawled across. It was basic binary code; I translated the numbers into letters... scrawling the tiny letters under... Damien Parkin... . I felt movement and I looked up to see my 'friends' arrive. Out of the three - as fit as an army officer, Jason was farthest back next was Nathan a normal guy shirt and pant, not much you could make out about him, and the third was the man in the lead walked with confidence along with a flashy jacket and an even flashier smile, his name was Damien Parkinson.

***

Everyone sat at the table silent and unmoving as the wind blew fiercely. Damien smiled and said "What's your name again?" pointing his head towards Jason, Humph! He grunted "names Jason you numbskull" he said, clearly hating having to re-introduce himself. "Yeah, Yeah... you're Jason, and he's... who are you again Kindra or something?" he asked me. "Kendri, Hilary Kendri" I told him, blatantly lying to his face. Jason stared at me suspiciously while Nathan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yes, Yes... Kendri, Jason and uhh... Nathan, right?" He asked. "Yes" I informed him, which led to another awkward moment of silence. I called the John over to our table "What would you guys like to have?" I asked them, "I suppose mushrooms for you Jason?" "What, I hate mushrooms!" he informed me. "I'll have a fresh vegetable salad along with your best pasta." He told John. Nathan declared "We will all have watermelon ice smoothies" he declared, " I do not drink watermelon, I read in a fashion magazine that it’s bad for your skin, besides I told you last time we met." Damien said flustered by the word watermelon, "I'll have a chicken sandwich please". "I'll have a coffee" I told John, who nodded pointing his head towards a man two seats from us.

I glanced over and thought to myself "must be the target". John said "it'll be here before you know it " and walked past behind me dropping a chit onto my hair. I carefully made sure no-one noticed as I opened and read it - "His name is Alan David; he has info on the organisation. He is the target; weapon is in the left pocket." I closed the note and slid it into my back pocket. Damien started boasting of his seven Lamborghinis and how his mansion had a private underground swimming pool, but he eventually tired when no-one bothered to respond to him. Nathan made a few attempts at starting conversations which never really picked up. The silence lasted a few minutes until the food arrived... Everyone dug into their food, hungry and battered by the elements outside. Damien rested back in his chair, "I haven't had myself such a delight in ages you know? he said, "All the fashion jazz doesn't give you that freedom...." reaching down into his left pocket. I dived towards Damien tackling him to the ground and grabbing his hands so he couldn't reach for the weapon. Then I heard the gunshot, Nathan lay dead on the ground, his blood soaking the grimy stained floor. The man in the table beside us got up and ran as a getaway car appeared with perfect timing. He dived into the backseat, just as I heard John murmur to himself "wrong table."

***