by Krys Janae
“You said my name.” He was very reserved on the outside for the level of rage he had boiling beneath the surface.
James was shaking in his seat as he realized the mistake. He had closed his eyes, and winced, bracing himself to the side, as if he expected a hit to the face. Yet, no such blow came. “I d-did.”
“You know how I feel about that, James.”
After a beat, James mustered enough courage to peel his eyes open. Once he’d glanced around the room and had a minute to process that everything stopped, it took another second for him to see his hand flat on the table, his fingers spread. He couldn’t lift it. It felt like it had been anchored to the table somehow, but nothing was pressing on him. James gasped sharply when he discovered an open pocket knife his other hand, blade out and down, ready to drop. “What the hell—is this…did you do this to e-everyone? Oh, God no—please don’t hurt me…please. I didn’t mean to say it, Mr. Dmitri, I swear!”
Christophe was standing now, on the side of the table beside James. He was facing the door, staring out of the lenses of his spectacles. So far, he was unmoved by James’ blubbering. Christophe hadn’t even looked toward the sobbing, stammering idiot, but he knew had him right where he wanted him. “And yet, you say it again.” He smirked and flicked out his finger, and James screamed as the knife came down by his own hand, out of his control. It had a speed and accuracy that made James cringe, and made loud thud as the tip of the blade hit the wood, landing between his forefinger and middle finger. He looked at Dmitri with hysteria in his eyes.
“L-listen! You want me to find someone, you want me to find three, five, ten people? I’ll do it! F-for the original price. I’ll do it for half—no, free! I take it back, just please! Please leave my family out of this!”
“Atta boy.” Christophe laughed, heartily. He finished off the now-cold espresso, and set the cup down, patting James’ cheek with some weight behind his palm. Once, then a second time, and James whimpered as his fingers moved again toward the sharp blade still between his fingers. A sweaty residue attached to Christophe’s hand from the older man’s face. He cringed in disgust and decided to wipe it on another gentleman’s shoulder who was sitting at the table nearby. “You forget that I don’t harm children, James. What kind of person do you take me for?” Another flick of the wrist, and James’ hand rose and fell, at the same pace as the last strike, this time the knife stuck between his middle and ring fingers.
“Please…” He begged, still crying; the mumbling slurred words of a pathetic little man. He was trying to pull his hand away, spread his thick, sausage-like fingers as far as the webbing would give, but Christophe didn’t let up.
The point needed to be made clearly.
“Allow me to emphasize. We have eyes everywhere. Words in the right ears. Hands in the right pockets. Rest assured, we will reward you accordingly as we originally agreed. I know that you’re thinking I’m a monster, but I’d like to believe I’m a good man, mostly.”
James’ eyes were wide at the accusation, because they were the very words he’d been thinking then, as he watched him carefully.
“I’m a good man who will help you, if I have your word that you’ll help me.”
“Yes, yes of course. Of course!” he mewled.
“Good.” Christophe smiled again, inducing the same chills as before. “I’ll return in one week to learn your findings. Do not try to find me. Do not try to ask for me. If it’s an emergency, you know the signal, and someone will be there to assist you. Understood?”
Christophe was staring into him with such cold, unforgiving eyes. James hesitated at first, but he nodded.
“One week, right here. Not a moment before.”
“Very good.” Christophe nodded and prepped to leave, and even set a couple of dollars on the table for the help and perhaps the cleanup from the mess that was about to happen. He tucked his money clip back into his jacket and started for the door. Before James could breathe again, Christophe stopped just before making his exit, casting a sideways glance at his informant. “Oh, and James? Give Gemma my regards.”
James exhaled. He bit his lip but had to pull back in fear that he would just bite right through. Christophe hadn’t let him up yet, and he still had the knife in his hand. The sweat on his worried brow had started to drip into his eyes, stinging them. He would need to call his wife after this. They had left things unfinished this morning, a quarrel that was considered trivial now, and he desperately needed to make sure the kids were safe. How did Dmitri know all this about them? He wondered, but let the curiosity dwindle into oblivion because he knew better than to ask questions. Informants don’t ask too many questions, that was more than clear now.
“Carry on.” When Dmitri released his hold on the rest of the room, everything moved on as he’d commanded, back into its natural flow from before their candid interruption. The bell on the door rang, and just like that, Christophe Dmitri was gone.
James watched in awe. No one knew what had just went down over the last few minutes—even though it felt like an eternity of torture to him. Laughter ensued, chit-chat about a newborn niece, and some imbecile who needed an ego boost by shouting out the name of his new boat on the marina. Everything went back to normal, except James, because no one had the recollection of their exchange except him.
“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
Whispers from the nearby patrons started to pick up and James could clearly see it was because the blade was still there, the cutting edge had touched the line just above his knuckle on his middle finger and blood was seeping from the nick. “Sure. Sorry.” He retrieved the knife and folded it, putting it into his back pocket. There was a napkin on his table beside his coffee, so he decided to abandon the sugary concoction and take the napkin to wrap around his cut to stop the bleeding. “Just, here.” He offered a few more dollars as a tip for their troubles and did the courtesy of cleaning up the drips of coffee and blood that had hit the table.
The barista looked disgusted, casting a glance over to her co-worker who already had the disinfectant on hand.
James bashfully smiled to dismiss himself and tucked the envelopes into his jacket before walking out, intent on taking the intel straight home. He knew that whatever work errand he’d been sent on by one of King’s men, would be best accomplished after he’d had time to look over the information. Most importantly, he just needed to go home to kiss his wife and hug his children.
No one would believe him if he explained the truth, anyway.
Table of Contents
(Untitled)
~*~
Welcome Home
On Your Guard
Return to Sender
You Again
Under the Radar
A New Contender
Look the Devil in the Eye
Stay Alive
Paved with Good Intentions
The Truth Will Set You Free
Blowback
Assets & Allies
Dangerous Game
Catch and Release
Are you with us?
~*~
The Man in Blue
