Not a month and two rough cases later, Patrick found himself on a 9 A.M. flight to Bromley, where he would take a train to London. The distance between the two towns was only twelve and a half miles, so he wasn't that worried about the train ride. After all, he'd taken that ride a million times. It was planes he hated…
It was a long morning, to say the least. He was very thankful he'd brought his iPod with him for the trip. An old woman next to him just wouldn't shut her trap. He honestly considered putting a napkin to her face and knocking her out. Finally, she fell asleep and all was well.
Upon arriving in the terminal of southeast London, he tried his best to ignore the jet lag and bought himself a coffee, then went to grab his bag. He hated the hustle and bustle of airports. There were too many people with their damn families. He could handle large crowds of people, but on his list of things to avoid, there was most certainly large groups of people that consisted of family members. "Annoying as hell," he concluded, finally stepping out of the doors of the airport. "Glad that's over."
He walked down the street to the Bromley North Railway Station. A lovely elderly fellow was outside, playing his saxophone. The notes were sweet to Patrick's ears and he couldn't help but stop and listen to him for a few. "Hope this make your day better, old man," Patrick said with a genuine smile as he slipped some cash into his hat. "Obliged," the man replied with a toothy smile and a nod of the head. His long black hair fell over his shoulders as he did so.
Once he was on the train he managed to find an empty seat, over near a kid who couldn't have been more than twenty years old. He had a guitar case and a pile of books with him. He reminded Patrick a lot of himself back in the old days, after he'd run away from the circus, and he smiled softly. With a deep breath, he began to walk over to his aisle.
"Hello," he said in greeting as he took a seat. The kid nodded a hello and fixed his glass. "Hey there. American?" he asked in a thick brag, his deep blue eyes meeting Patrick's. "Yes, yes I am. And you're Scottish?" The kid nodded excitedly and offered him his hand. "Damien's the name, don't wear it out." Patrick laughed gently and took his hand, giving it good shake. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Damien. I'm Patrick." He took in the kid's face, a very handsome face, with a beard, and those deep denim blue eyes. 'The ladies must love him,' he thought.
On the train ride they spoke of all sorts of things, anything from college, to their mutual music talent, to the deduction and observation skills Patrick so often used. It was an interesting ride, if anything. They ended up exchanging emails when they got off at the Central London Railway Station.
"Good luck at your gig tonight. I'm sure you'll do wonderful," Patrick told Damien in a light tone. He smiled brightly and threw his overnight bag over his shoulder. "Thanks, mate. Good to know you. Keep in touch, eh? We should jam together some time." Patrick nodded, struggling to hold his bag a little so he dropped it. "Will do, my friend. I'll send you an email later on this week. That sure would be wonderful. I'll be in town for a month, maybe longer."
When the two parted ways, he hailed a cab to take him to the closest bank that would exchange currency. The cabby nodded and drove off. "There's a currency office down the street a piece, no worries," the cabby told him over his shoulder as he turned a corner. "Alright," he replied and shook his head in understanding. "Thanks, I guess I'll go there." On the ride he'd taken off his jacket, unbuttoned his dark grey vest and rolled up his sleeves. He was always hot, even in the cold city of London, he found himself getting sweaty.
It took them about ten minutes to get there, and Patrick gave the man a nice tip. "Have a great day," the cabby told him and Patrick smiled. "You too, buddy." He threw his bag over his shoulder as he walked up the old brick steps to the bank. Little did he know, this was the worst decision he'd made yet.
As he pushed open the door to the bank, someone shouted at him. He looked up from his phone to see that he'd walked right into a god damned bank robbery.
"Get your bloody ass on the ground!" came the yell of a lanky looking man with a mask on. He pointed his gun at Patrick and the blonde consultant immediately dropped his bag, but much to his own amazement, managed to slipped his phone into his pocket before they could notice he'd had it on his person. "Okay," he said calmly and made to get on his knees and lay down. "I'm on the ground, see? Sorry to have… Interrupted."