Chapter 2 Coffee For Two

The gun swayed slightly, but he didn't lower it. Instead he stepped closer, nailing her with his gaze.

"Don't know any Simon."

Her heart sank. She was running out of time. Her eyes were glued to his finger, which never left the trigger. All it would take was a twitch of that finger.

"Yes, you do!" She talked fast, with a feeling that if she didn't say this quick enough, her moment would be gone. "You two hung out when you lived in our street. You know. You were seventeen, I think... Simon..." Her voice had a slight begging undertone now. "Tall, dark hair, thin, you were always together…"

Please?

"S-" He shook his head, barely visible. "Simon?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"You're Sarah?" He cocked his head and lowered his gun, letting it hang by his side. "I remember you. Skinny little girl."

Sarah really didn't want to get into the past. Skinny! Well, there was more than that to remember. Skinny… huh! He hadn't been a sight for Gods either. Well, he had. Not at first… but later.

"Why are you here? With a gun? Pointed at me?"

"It's not pointed at you."

"Well, you know what I mean!"

"Hired for a job."

"A what?!" Sarah felt the blood rush from her head, making it spin, and her cheeks paled significantly. "A job? What job? This is insane. What are you?" she breathed. Her nostrils flared with the effort to draw in enough air to support her brain functions and prevent her from passing out.

"Well, obviously you pissed off the wrong people at some point in your life, Sarah."

He offered her his hand to help her up from the floor. Sarah took it, and couldn't help but notice that it was warm, dry and strong. As she got on her feet, she quickly pulled her hand out of his grip and brushed off some invisible dirt from her black skirt.

Sarah bit her lower lip and looked up at him. He crowded her in the small space, making her feel cornered. Intimidated.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked, still trembling visibly, wishing he would take a step back so she could breathe, or get on with it and put her out of this misery. She felt lightheaded, not knowing how long she could last, standing like this.

Vincent noticed her hyperventilating. "You feel stressed?"

"St-stressed?" she stuttered, almost breaking out into a nervous giggle. "Yes, I am stressed. I'm scared to death!"

"Good, might not have to use this then," Vincent said and waved the gun. Sarah just kept looking wild-eyed at him, almost hypnotized by the big gun in his hand.

"Come on," he said, and laid one hand on her shoulder for support. "Just breathe. In and out, in and out, relax."

She tried to obey and took long slow shaky breaths, trying to gain some control over her body. His hand lay heavy on her shoulder, and the warmth from it radiated through her thin white blouse.

"Please, Vincent, please don't kill me!" Hot tears started to trickle down her cheeks and her voice became thick with emotion. "I don't even understand why you're here. There can't be anyone who'd want to hurt me!"

Vincent lifted his hand from her shoulder to her face, and caught one of her tears with the back of his crooked index finger. The trail from his touch left a burning mark on her skin. He rolled his index finger against his thumb, as if touching the tear.

"I'd say there is, Sarah. People don't hire me to baby-sit."

In spite of her fear and the absurdity of the situation, she had to smile. "I can believe that!"

He sighed and tucked the gun away somewhere by his waist, under the dark grey suit jacket. "Make us some coffee?"

She nodded. Sure, she could definitely use some herself. Or preferably, something stronger. Hell, wish I had some… NO, left that behind! Not going down that road again.

Sarah's hands trembled as she prepared the coffee machine, putting coffee in the holder and skimming some milk for two lattes. She had been doing the same throughout the entire evening. It was a simple thing, to continue what she was so used to; no need to think. Still, she almost missed when the steam pressure rose, and just barely remembered to turn the tap to ´on´ so the water could flow.

She carefully avoided any thoughts on her current situation. Pictures of the gun, pointed at her face, flashed before her mind, but pushing them out of her head, she concentrated hard on making coffee instead.

He had let her go, finally, and retreated out to the bigger room. Seemingly not paying her any attention, he wandered around, checking out the photos in black and white on the walls. He also read some of the short notes the customers were allowed to write to each other or to no one in particular, and that were stuck on the walls here and there.

While filling two large glasses with the caramel-brown liquid, she kept an eye on Vincent. He seemed to be constantly checking out his surroundings, glancing out the windows at the front, checking back at the rear entrance, and the door to the toilets.

Sarah lifted the glasses but had to set them back down again, before the scalding hot content spilled all over her hands. She still shook too much. Inhaling deep and then exhaling slowly, she gave it another try and noticed to her satisfaction that she managed it better this time.

-

Sarah.

Yeah, he remembered her. She had been a kid last time he saw her. Eight, nine, maybe ten years old. Skinny little thing, short blonde hair, haunted eyes. She'd always wanted to hang with him and her brother. He couldn't remember, but thinking back on it, he didn't really recall any little girlfriends of hers. Well, if she'd been lonely it hadn't been his problem.

He snorted silently as he thought of the little street with the small, white, wooden houses, their little white fences, and all the little white people. Happy Street in Pleasantville. Or whatever the fuck it had been. The family there had been nice, not that it mattered; he had been out of reach even before he got there the first time. He was used to hell, expected hell. Kindness wasn't an option, couldn't count on it to last.

So he didn't bother.

He and Simon had had some good times, though. They'd had the same outlook on life. Grand plans. How to get the fuck out of there. Goals. How to make money. Big money.

Wonder what happened to him?

His thoughts strayed back to the present situation. Sarah. Still skinny. Still scared. Same haunted eyes.

Did anything ever change?

-

Vincent spun around when she came closer, almost scaring her into dropping the glasses again. Trembling out of control, she was burned as the hot liquid spilled over her hands, and sat the glasses down harder on the table than she had intended.

"Ow, shit!" she burst out.

"No-one would believe you get paid to do this," Vincent snickered.

Blowing at her fingers, she snapped back before thinking. "Well, my customers normally don't wave a gun in my face." She immediately regretted her words, scared they'd make him angry. But he seemed indifferent.

They stood at each side of the small table and stared at each other. Sarah was struck by how good looking he was. He was prematurely grey, but his features were well preserved. He gave the impression of someone who was at ease with himself. And with that suit that looked like it had been poured on him… he looked flawless.

She thought of her own appearance and was reminded she hadn't been as lucky.

How can he be so calm? That scared her, almost more than the gun.

"Sit down, Sarah."

Slowly, she pulled out the chair and sat on the edge of the seat. Not wanting to relax, not able to relax. Vincent also sat and took a sip of his hot coffee, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Vincent… what happened?" No, that came out wrong! Why are you here? Can I please go now? I don't want you to be here. Or maybe I would have wanted that… But not now, not knowing that the next time I got to see you would be when you came to kill me!

"What do you mean?" He looked coolly at her, not showing any emotion or any compassion.

Sarah's fear came rolling back; her mouth suddenly got very dry, and she felt like she was being suffocated. She had never liked narrow spaces and this situation was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Her inner turmoil turned into a suppressed panic.

"I need to get out of here," she whispered. "Can I please go now? Can I-…"

"No. You cannot." His voice left no room for misunderstanding.

Her heart felt like it was going to burst out through her chest. It was beating wildly as she tried to assess her options. He is going to kill me. He could have let me go. But he can't. What game is he playing? Why are we having coffee? Remembering the front door was still unlocked, she tried to count the steps from the chair to the door. Seven normal, perhaps. Three leaps. She could do it. She could make a run for it. Out on the street it would only be a few meters before she would reach the boulevard. There she'd be safe with the people around; someone would have to help her. Vincent asked something, but she didn't hear it.

Sarah jumped in her seat when he leaned over and gripped her wrist, not painfully tight, just enough to get her attention.

"… happened to your brother?"

She looked at him like he had just arrived from outer space. Here he was, threatening her very existence in one moment, and in the next he wanted to chit-chat! She cleared her throat and slowly released her arm from his burning grip.

"He-e…"

Raising so sudden her chair tipped over, she jumped for the door. In the corner of her eye, she saw Vincent as a blur of movement, and then heard a crash as the table flew to the side, sending the glasses to the floor. Not until she reached the door did she realize it opened inwards, and that she didn't have enough time. With panicky movements, she tried to pull the door open, but was interrupted by a hard body that flew through the air and came crashing into her, smashing her against the door. Her head and shoulder took the greater impact before she fell to the floor with Vincent on top of her.

He grabbed her by the collar of her blouse and shook her. She could feel the cold, hard metal from his gun, pressing at her temple. Squeezing her eyes shut, she didn't dare to open them. He was no doubt furious, and she would now die.

"Very stupid move, Sarah James."

Her eyes flew open with surprise. He sounded so calm! With the lights from the street playing across his face, she could now see his intense green eyes staring down at her. Measuring her. His upper lips curled, baring his teeth, and his eyes narrowed. At that very moment, a brief flash of insanity seemed to pour through his gaze, then it turned back to its normal cold stare.

"Do something like that again, and you will be dead. Don't try me." The last thing said between clenched teeth.

What does it matter? You'll kill me anyway! That's what you came to do. Why do you want to talk?

But all that came out was a nod. And a sigh of relief as his gun was tucked away.

Vincent stood and gave her his hand to help her up. Sarah didn't take it, though. Shuffling her limbs together, she pushed her aching body up from the floor. Touching her tender forehead, she realized there'd be a bruise. As Vincent's hand came up to touch her face, she flinched but tried to stay still. With the tip of his right index finger, he traced the outline of the ugly scar that was forever etched there, where the whole world could see it. His finger, surprisingly gently, caressed it from her forehead, past her right eyebrow, just brushing her eyelashes, which made her blink involuntarily, and then down along her cheek until it ended right above her jaw line.

Sarah's heart pounded. She felt uneasy, undergoing this examination. The urge to turn her head away was strong, but she didn't dare.

"Life has not been good to you," he concluded. The unexpected gentleness of his voice made her heart crumble, and she burst into tears.

"Shh, shh," he hushed, and lay his arms around her. She stiffened and didn't move at first. The awkwardness with which he held her made it obvious this was an unusual position for him as well. Hesitantly, Sarah laid her cheek to rest at his muscular shoulder. Even through the shoulder pad of his suit jacket she could tell he was a well built man, and she chastised herself for even noticing.

They just stood there, unmoving, for a few moments and then he let go. Looking over his shoulder at the mess in the room behind them, then back at her, he uttered probably the last words she would have expected to hear in that moment.

"Do you like jazz?"