Hello. I'm back, with TBC. Hope you enjoy.
The bar was a smoky, oil place. Flickering lights cast shadows and sprits danced on the walls. Dark stains and broken chairs and shattered glass was the only proof of a fight that had happened hours before. Alex said in a corner. When the fight had started, he had left for the bathroom. After he had come out, he headed for the nearest corner and waited it out. Police had come, arresting those who ran or fought or were stone drunk. Alex sipped his water, and waited. He was not noticed. It was time to leave. He left a few notes on the table. They wouldn't cover the damage.
Rain smashed down on those foolish enough to remain outside in the weather. The wind caused trees to bash on the windows. Leaves hurtled down the pavement. Alex was looking for a motel, a seedy establishment that asked no questions and required little in the way of payment. His money was running low. He slipped through the door, walking up the cracked concrete stairs. A lone uncover bulb illumined the flight. The harsh yellow light could been seen in his lodging, but Alex didn't mind. He turned on the tap. A thick brown sludge poured out. No water. He wouldn't bother trying the shower. After trying all the electronics in the place, nothing worked besides the lights. Alex sighed. It wasn't too hard to hide. And you didn't need the worst conditions possible. Only, if you went with the best of the best, you needed money and contacts. Preferably a lot of both. He brushed his teeth with a finger, and collapsed into bed. He promised himself he would shave in the morning, as he drifted off to sleep.
The morning sunlight filtered through thick layers of grime. Sunlight brightened a small kitchen, an empty bowl with a spoon resting inside. Alex was already out. He walked among the shops; not pausing to stare at all there was to purchase. He hurried until he came to the right man. The beggar huddled behind his sign. "Please have a heart" written in blocky markered lettered on tattered cardboard. Alex dropped in the proper amount.
The beggar looked up.
"Thank you, sir. I…"
"Get to the point."
The beggar looked startled. Alex had a fleeting moment of panic. Was this the wrong man?
"45th and Broadway."
"Thanks." Alex dropped another note in the can.
The CIA headquarters look bland. Not a bank, but a lawyer firm. It was slightly less noticeable. Alex thought it sounded better to be a "lawyer" than a "banker" anyhow.
He pushed open the revolving door, into the busy lobby. It was exactly the same as the Royal and General. What the hell was he thinking? The Americans would turn him over for the reward. He was sure of it. Alex sat on the couch anyhow. He picked up an uninteresting article and examined his surroundings. The lifts would lead all the way to the highest floor. Stairs would go up to the roof. Each level had a flight on each corner and there was a connected car park on the left-hand side.
Alex looked up when his name was called. He hadn't heard that name in almost a year. The year when he found Tom alive, Jack working for the "bank", re-living hell with the SAS. Alex pushed that from his mind. The only thing he regretted was Meg. Poor girl. That was the past though.
Alex stood and walked toward the desk.