Khan ran a lean pale hand through his waving black hair; in his other hand he held a drink, the glass now dripping with condensation. He placed it on the counter; carefully he studied the melting ice, a slowly dying creature, as it begged for its life again the raging heat of the Vodka. He waited a moment while the ice slowly depleted to nothing but a minimal lump at the bottom of his glass, drowning in the alcohol. Rolling his tongue over his lips, he picked it up and raised it to them. With a flick of his rise, the ice swirled around the bottom of the glass and made the vodka swish. Tipping his head back, the sharp liquid gurgled quickly down his throat as he finished it off and then set it down a little harder than planned.
The bar tender, a scruffy bull of a man, eyed him with suspicion. Kahn's or "John Harrison's" chuckle came out in a quiet hiss as he shook his head and slapped a tenner down on the counter. 'If that poor man only knew' he thought as he turned to leave. 'If he knew what I was capable of…he wouldn't be so quick to judge at a glance.' As his hand felt for the door knob, a smarmy smile spread like a rancid jelly over his features. His presumptuous demeanor faltered as stepping out of the door he ran promptly into a tall blonde woman, clothed in a simple blue dress with a tan overcoat tied at the waist. The unsuspecting woman, who was holding a hot coffee and balanced a portfolio over one arm, dropped both with a loud, brief shriek.
"John" moved to brush past the woman, rolling his eyes in distaste.
"Where the heck do you think you're going!?" she stood in indignation, chasing him with an angry glare.
He turned back to her, looking over his shoulder with an air of superiority, "Downtown…to my flat, and away from you." he turned away again. "Good day!" he called over his shoulder as he began to leave.
Before he was too far out of reach, she grasped him by the arm. Her grip was firmer than John expected and it stayed him for a moment, a moment just long enough for her to ask "You don't suppose an apology is appropriate in this situation, hmm?"
"Oh…yes. I am quite sorry," his voice dripped with sarcasm, "Truly, I am filled with remorse." He scoffed and pulled his arm free. The woman, the hem of her tan coat splashed with coffee, turned cross. Before she had the time to utter a word, John had sped off down the street leaving her with nothing but anger lingering on her lips.
She huffed in frustration, proceeding to pick up the mess he had made of her things. A couple feet down the sidewalk, her identification papers were strewn over the concrete. She hurried over them, snatching them up before people could step on them. Carol Marcus, weapons specialist stood out in big bold letters. She shoved them back into her folder, standing and straightening her clothes, she hailed a cab to south London.
