Friday 7 February 2014

The Furtive Glance



apologies for the terrible accent on this recording, I felt the story needed a certain accent but I think I’ve become the British Dick van Dyke.

She shot me a furtive glance from across the bar. I could tell it was for me the way the eyes searched for contact and then flitted away the second it was made. It had been a long day and all I wanted was a drink before heading home but when a broad looks at you like that, it's difficult not to be interested. She was short and slim, easy to mistake for a 12 year old boy at first glance but second or third glance revealed she was all woman with gentle curves in all the right places. Her eyes had made contact, now I wondered what the rest of her body wanted. She was sitting at the back end of Parker's bar, a small one bar joint under my office. Parker told me she'd been there for an hour, nursing her bourbon like it was from the last bottle on the planet. Apart from me and her and our host the were 4 or 5 other people in the bar, the usual array of familiar faces, city workers having one last ‘ eeting' before heading home to their families. Parker mixed my drink and a fresh one for the dame and I ambled over to her. I put the glasses on the table and sat down opposite.
‘It’s rude to sit down without being invited’ she said, her voice like honey; warm and soft, but any deeper it would have sounded ridiculous on a woman her size.
‘I was’ I replied
‘By whom?’ I noted her correct grammar
‘By your eyes’ I said enjoying the stand off.
She picked up her new drink and raised it to her lips but before she could drink I spoke.
‘It’s rude not to say thank you?’ I said, half a smile in my voice.
She deliberately took a long sip then replaced the glass on the table complete with lipstick smudge. All while she kept eye contact I found myself falling into her baby greens, but managed to save myself just in time.
‘So what do you want lady?’ I asked, time was money.
‘Who says I want anything?’ Why do dames always have to play the games?
‘Hey lady’ I said the smile in my voice replaced with impatience, ‘Parker there says you've been asking after me and your eyes were searching for me when I came in here, so don't play games.’
She took another sip, her eyes exploring me, trying to decide if I was the tough guy I was playing or if it was just an act.
‘I want you to find my son.’ She said finally, slipping a photo of a young boy across the table.
He was handsome, darker skin than hers, about 4 or 5 years old at a guess. Kidnapped by his own father I thought.
‘Kidnapped by his own father’ she said echoing the words in my mind. ‘Took him - then went to ground,’ she continued, vanished completely.’ Her voice was still soft, strong, no hint of upset.
‘Why haven't you gone to the police?’ It was the obvious question but it needed answering.
‘I did,’ she said ‘but they do nothing.’
‘Gone abroad?’ I asked. The kids skin was darker I was guessing his dad was not from these shores.
She shook her head. ‘Police don't think so.’
We talked some more, her filling me in on the details, me trying to stop myself falling into her beautiful green eyes. She showed me a mpicture of his father, a handsome man, well-to-do, nice threads, good teeth.  She spoke as I looked a the picture, it was a typical tale of mixed marriage, divorce and  custody battle; father from Bulgarian wanting to take the child home, mother wanting to keep the child here. Such a cliché but that didn’t take away from the heartbreak and pain in her eyes.  But I felt there was some she was not telling me, an important detail, something she’d forgotten to add.
‘So why come to me?’ that question often flushed out the extra info but she played a straight bat.
‘I'm desperate Mr Stanley. and you’re the best there is.’

‘Who says?’ I asked, but she didn’t answer.
‘Ok so why not come to the office?’ It had struck me as strange that she lingered down here hoping to find me rather than come up two flights of stairs where she’d be sure to see me.
‘I think I’m being followed Mr Stanley, if I’d I come to your office he would have known I’ve come to speak to you, but he didn't come in here so he knows I'm here but doesn't know who I am talking to.’
It was logical but why was she being followed? Again there was the nagging suspicion that there was something missing and that something would be key to everything.
‘Can you help me?’ I should have said no, that missing link was nagging away at my brain. But instead I said.
‘It'll cost you.’
She pushed an envelope across the table I didn't need to look to know it was cash.
‘This should cover your expenses’ she said ‘return my boy and I'll double it’.
‘Hey I don't do kidnapping Miss ...’ I left a gap for her to fill in her name but she remained silent. Again missing details.
‘Locate him, let me know where he is, I'll take care of the rest’ she said eventually.
With that she finished her drink and got up to leave.
‘How do I contact you?’ I said as she was nearly at the door.
‘I'll find you’ she replied.
I sat in silence for a few moments before deciding to follow her.  I grabbed my coat and nodded at Parker to let him know I'd cover my bill later, he knew I was good for it. Then I stepped out into the street and looked around. It was hard to locate a short woman in a land off giants but I eventually saw her about 60 yards away.
I kept my distance watching not only her but for signs that someone else was on her trail.


This is partone of the Furtive Glance for  part two click here

3 comments:

  1. I think he looks like Humprey Bogart and he's trying to hide his American accent, but it shines through as he speaks

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  2. the accent is cute:)

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