The September wind blew gently against Stan. He turned, cupping his hand in front of his cigarette as he lit it. The flame created shadows across his arm as it touched the cigarette’s tip. No one would be watching at 12:30 in the morning. The lone exception might see him, but whoever that potential person might be, it was likely their wakefulness stemmed from their own vices. “Nothing good happens after 9,” his grandfather told him at least a hundred times.

The nasty smoking habit allowed him to disappear from work more frequently than his coworkers. As well as to stand around watching without being noticed. Most of his coworkers needed a break more frequently than they enjoyed them. Some of them undoubtedly needed shock therapy. Their nerves were more frayed than a forgotten sailor’s rope. He knew that nicotine inflamed his nervous system. His IQ told him that much.

Stan stood at least ten yards from the back of the shopping center. The canopy of the trees still held its crest of leaves. Anyone exiting the rear door would need to stand for several seconds to even attempt to see a solitary figure standing under the trees against the property’s edge. Stan wore black pants and a grey T-shirt. The clothes blended in with the unmaintained wood fence behind the trees. At this hour, no vehicles park behind the shopping center.

Waiting didn’t bother him. Like most creative people, he could sit for hours, apparently bored. Nothing was further from the truth. Unimaginative people fail to observe the million interdependent moving parts of the people and world around them. Stan’s curse was that he learned human behavior by being raised by his grandfather Quinn. He’d spent a career as a detective and a follow-up career as a private investigator that carried him until the day he died.

At 12:45, the door opened. An average-size male stepped outside. He winced against the ridiculously bright security light bathing the door. It was Sebastian, the person Stan anticipated.

Sebastian froze as Stan spoke.

“Hey, don’t make any sudden moves. It’ll take you longer to swipe your access badge and open the door than it will for me to make you regret it. You can run if you want. I need the exercise.” Stan’s voice carried well in the quiet of the night.

Stan flicked his third cigarette away but didn’t move closer.

“Who are you? Surely you know who operates this business?” Sebastian attempted to make his voice sound confident. He failed.

“Yeah, I know. Big whoop. He’s not here. You’re by yourself.” Stan laughed. Laughing in such situations caused amateurs to become scared and legitimate players to understand when they didn’t have the upper hand.

“We’ll figure out who you are. No one messes around with us.” Sebastian sounded more assertive this time as he spoke.

“Maybe. But you must explain to your boss why you broke the rules and went out alone. And out the back unprotected, no less. I could take your badge and burn down the place.”

There was silence for ten seconds as Sebastian thought about his predicament. “Can I smoke at least?”

“Of course. Just get your cigarettes from your right pocket and avoid going to your left side where you keep your gun, and maybe we’ll both be okay.”

“Damn! Who ARE you?” Sebastian said in surprise. As he spoke, he moved to slowly extricate his pack of cigarettes. Sebastian pulled the lighter from inside the pack and lit one. Though Stan just finished smoking, he craved another one. That was the problem with smoking; the habit needed constant affirmation and practice. Even when recently begun, the habit had a way of taking control.

Sebastian pulled hard on the cigarette as he smoked, one giant gulp after another. “You’re not going to shoot me, that’s for certain, or you’d done it already. What’s your game?”

Stan laughed. “Believe it or not, I want a job, Sebastian. Just a job and nothing more. And I need you to help me get it.”

Sebastian snorted. “A job? You’re joking, right? You hold me up in the middle of the night and then want a job?”

“Yeah. I could rob you, but then you’d have to attempt to hunt me down. Your line of work doesn’t exactly advertise.” Stan grinned, although he knew Sebastian couldn’t see his face.

“You think I’m going to trust you after this?” Sebastian’s confidence grew with each question.

“Yeah, I do. Think of this as my interview. I got the drop on you because you got lazy. You all are convinced that no one knows what you’re doing in the back of the two storefronts you use to camouflage your real business.”

“You’re crazy. I don’t hire people. If you’ve been watching, you know who does.”

Stan laughed and stepped out from underneath the overhanging tree limbs. He continued to walk calmly toward Sebastian. Sebastian threw his cigarette on the ground and ground it out with his right foot.

“Well, now I recognize you. I’ve seen you around.”

Stan continued to grin. “Anonymity isn’t what I’m here for. I’m showing you my face to let you know that you could come for me easily. To give you an edge.”

“You’re definitely crazy. I don’t see a gun. That doesn’t mean you don’t have one. Or an accomplice watching from several vantage points.”

Stan nodded in agreement. He stopped less than ten feet from Sebastian.

“I’m intrigued by your craziness. If I agree to introduce you to my boss, what makes you think he won’t just close your mouth and be done with you.”

“That’s where you come in, Sebastian. Tell him you recruited me without divulging any of the business secrets. I’ll earn my keep.”

Sebastian laughed at the absurdity of being in a holdup-turned-job-application. He finally replied, “Tell you what. Either you’ll end up in a creek somewhere, or we’ll let you know. How’s that?”

“Agreed. You know I work at the rented office space on the opposite side of your storefronts. I’ll be outside smoking a few times a day. If I hear gunshots, I’ll take it as a “no” for my job application.” Stan laughed again.

Sebastian laughed. “You’re cold-blooded or stupid. We could use either one. But it’s not my decision. I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Sebastian.” Stan nodded.

“What’s your name? Creepy-AF-Guy won’t work well as a name if I bring you up.” Sebastian relaxed his arms, indicating that he’d decided no one would get shot tonight.

“Stan. Just Stan.”

“Okay, Stan. Please eff off for tonight, would you? I limit myself to one potentially fatal encounter per night.”

They both smiled.

Stan didn’t wait for further interaction. He turned and walked the length of the building. His instincts told me he didn’t need to fear a gunshot in the back. He had struck just the right nerve of surprise and curiosity. Work tomorrow might be another story. He walked to his Honda parked a few rows from where he worked. He drove a couple of miles before pulling into a McDonalds near the main highway. No one followed him.

Stan leaned over, opened the glove compartment, and pushed twice on the upper inside edge. A click sounded as the hidden section opened. He pulled out a modified cell phone and its battery. Clicking the battery into place, he powered the phone on and dialed the number.

“Section four. ID, please.” The voice carried all the enthusiasm of someone reading baseball statistics.

“Six, one, six, four, six. Pink cotton candy ice cream.” He laughed. He was told he could pick any passphrase he wanted.

“Confirmed. Nice password, by the way. Report, please.” Even less enthusiasm. Secret covert government organizations hired nothing but the most boring people to staff the operations that maintained them.

“Contact acquired. Expect secondary contact within twelve hours.”

There was a pause. “First contact already? It’s only been five days.”

“You’re paying me an exorbitant salary that could easily allow me to retire in ninety years. I saw no need to overthink the situation.” Stan smiled, knowing unseen functionaries would later review each word spoken during his call-in report.

“Report in by 1 p.m. Otherwise, the assumption of failure will occur.”

Stan thought those few words were an interesting way to express that he might be dead within those twelve hours.

“See you for supper, then. Out.” He didn’t wait for a response. He removed the battery from the cell phone and returned to its hidden compartment. Lucky for him, the McDonalds was open twenty-hours a day. He went through the drive-thru and ordered a basket of fries with thirty packets of ketchup. He amused himself by attempting to elicit the greatest number of condiments each time he ordered food.

Tomorrow would be a long day. He almost regretted the idea that he would soon leave his cover job, one way or another. If he got shot, at least his burnt-out coworkers would have something to brighten their day. Nothing invigorates office work like tragedy or drama.

To be continued…