Chapter 1
He sat at an old desk. Once upon a time it may have been quite grand, but today in the candlelight it was devoid of varnish, tarnished with coffee cup rings, screwed up pieces of paper and cigarette butts. The dark shape hunched over the tired desk was James Keats, a tall, complex man, with a very mysterious persona, it was these intense thoughts that could be seen in his eyes. They were swimming in many emotions, none of which are very pleasant.
He hunts for his box of Mayfair to find it empty. "Typical" he mutters. He picks up a long tan coloured coat, and a wallet, puts on the coat and slips out of the flat. The weather was pretty representative of James' mood. It was pouring with rain, and eerily cold with it. (I believe they call that pathetic fallacy) He jogs softly to his car. Its a simple Japanese number, built for its purpose-to get you from A to B in relative comfort and ease. There's no pretence in the little green car-unlike Mr Keats. He's far from simple, but in time all shall be revealed about him. He climbs into the vehicle, with a slight struggle, he isn't a large man, but long of limb, he pulls out his keys from his trouser pockets with some effort and starts up.
"Might as well get some more wine while I'm out." ten minutes later he arrives outside a bar, again with no pretence about it. It's almost as if the whole city has nothing to hide, but appearances aren't everything. From the windows the sound of clinking glasses and banter can be heard. He enters. the banter and clinking subsides to a murmur
"Nice of you to join us Jimbo" a strong, dominant voice addresses James.
"Hunt" he states simply.
The man James named as Hunt, stares at him for a few seconds, it is only broken by a small man with a moustache handing Hunt a drink, it appears to be a scotch-minus the rocks.
"Sensitive teeth Hunt?" James questions.
Another look of utter loathing from the man named Hunt, then he swivels on his heel, back to the table where four other men sat smoking and playing cards.
"You bastards best not have looked at my hand, or I'll have you're knackers in my dogs bowl by morning."
"Guv? You aint got a dog."
"It can be arranged"
Jim looks back at the bar
"Your usual sir?" A delicate Italian accent comes from the small man with a moustache.
"Thanks Luigi, and a couple packets of Mayfair"
"Wouldn't you like something... smoother? Marlboro..." Jim gently interrupts Luigi's sales pitch.
"Mayfair will be fine, I like the sharpness"
"As you wish sir" Luigi wraps the bottle in a paper bag
"Not going to be much use is it?" he looks out of the window into the torrent of rain.
"I guess not" Luigi replies softly "sorry Sir."
Jim smiles, puts the note on the table and thanks the Italian again.
"I'll see you again soon enough" As he steps outside into the cold he pulls his coat collar around him, the whispering wind gently swiping the breath out of him. He walks to his car to see a dark figure leaning on it.
"Hunt. How pleasant to see you again... And so soon!" he says brightly.
"Jimbo, I know exactly what you are, what I want to know is what you're doing here. There's no-one left for you to woo with that smarmy charm of yours"
"All will become apparent soon Gene, your own clock is loosing momentum, you're gettin' old, whereas I…" he smiles, his teeth glinting menacingly in the moonlight "Am just reaching my prime" he opens the car door "Goodnight Hunt."