Under a Steel-Grey Sky - Chapter One

Under a Steel-Grey Sky

Chapter One

by Michael Bennett

As he woke to the jarring rumble of the train passing by the tiny room he rented, he wondered just how he had arrived in such a low, desperate, position compared to the life he used to lead.

Lighting his wake-up cigarette, he dragged his way to the bathroom, trying to ignore the haggard reflection staring back at him from the grimy mirror, as he ran his hand over his 3-day stubble.
Sighing as he completed his usual morning's ritual, he headed slowly for the door, pulling his boots on, and grabbing his overcoat. He never bothered locking the door, because who would want to try breaking into such a hovel, and what would they want to take, even if they did?

As he was heading out of the dank building, he saw someone who looked vaguely familiar, sitting on a bench directly across from the door, though he couldn't say exactly why. The person was wearing a dark grey coat, sunglasses and a hat, the effect of which caused their features to be hard to distinguish, especially in the pre-dawn gloom.

He lingered momentarily on the doorstep, pausing to light another cigarette. The mechanical clicks of his lighter sounded thunderous in the empty morning silence, its sparking flame a fleeting beacon of warmth. Slowly he exhaled the dense smoke and gazed towards the shrouded figure. The figure stared fixedly back.
He stood there for a moment, vaguely aware of a creeping feeling of deja vu stealing over him. In a previous lifetime, he mightn’t have made an attempt to identify the individual, perhaps even speak to them. But his curiosity had long ago settled into a determined indifference. He wasn't interested in remembering events, or people, of his past.

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, an addition to the mosaic of grime covering the street, and walked on into the bleary morning.

As per his usual late morning habit, he walked the 3 blocks to his usual diner, which he'd been going to daily since he was introduced to it while a rookie beat cop. He may have been off the force for a fair while, but he still carried the habits and felt like a cop, though he'd never admit it to himself.

And if whoever was watching him felt pressed to follow him here, while he was surrounded by people that, while maybe not respecting him, at least knew him and recognised him as a once good, hard-working, cop. He knew that though they may glare, and grumble, because of what happened, or seemed to happen... They'd stand with him against an outsider. He was a brother after all.

Walking up and parking himself on a barstool at the far end of the diner, where he could see the door and take in the vibe and chatter, he ordered a coffee, and waited to see what the day (or what was left of it) would bring.

A thin layer of grime coated the coffee mug. He stared into it's murky depths, the black liquid sending wisps of steam into his face. He inhaled the bitter scent deeply, willing the caffeine to take effect. After a moment of quiet consideration, he took a sip. The coffee seared his tongue as he washed it down, splashing a stale taste down his throat.

He set the mug down and began stacking a handful of miniature creamers given to him by the waitress. For years he had been frequenting this spot, always ordering the same black coffee. And for years his request had always been met with an offering of sugar packets and creamers. The idea of black coffee was apparently unfathomable to the wait staff, who regularly served rich cappuccinos and syrup-laden breakfasts to their sugar coma customers. Couldn't anything be left unharmed, he thought, taking another sip of the pungent liquid.

Lighting his 5th smoke of the day, he paid for a second coffee, and it was as he received it that the door opened, causing him to look up. Whoever it was, they seemed to scan the diner rather more thoroughly than Joe Public would. 'A pretty strange thing to do in a room full of cops..', he thought, as he sensed everyone else react, and focus on the man, and change from standard cop chatter to a quieter, lower, watchful murmur. Pauly noticed that he was a little shorter, held himself differently, to whomever was hanging out near his place earlier.

He noticed that the guy was trained, or at least had experience of a violent nature, or defending themselves, in the way they walked and carried themselves. He was Japanese, and moved with a deadly grace that didn't seem to match the obviously very expensive suit. It was like he was trying to pass himself off, badly, as a corporate power player or high ranking official. He got that far in his reading of the man, when his gaze was drawn to a woman that must have entered behind him, hidden, her gaze falling on him a moment later.

The 'fighting man', as he thought of him, obviously sensed the woman pause, and their look, as he also locked on to Pauly, and turned, whispering, though the woman ignored it, and brushed past him, walking close, as the man frowned, walking to an empty booth.

'Good dog', Pauly lipped to the man, hoping to get a little jab in, wondering what sort of mess she was going to end up dragging him into.

'It's always the lookers...' He whispered into his cup, before draining it in one gulp, motioning to the waitress for attention, as she sat on the empty stool to his right.

Before she could say anything, he waved for a refill and a second cup for her, and once the waitress had done so, said with a gruff voice 'Out the back, 10 minutes. We'll talk there.' before sipping his coffee and pointedly ignoring her look at his rudeness. He wasn't the one that had a bodyguard that screamed 'danger here' to anyone who knew the signs.

He wrote the words 'room full of cops' on the back of the receipt, before burning it with his lighter, looking at her as he dropped the burning paper in her cup, with a slightly evil grin, before it could burn his fingers. She got the point, and left in a showy huff. He didn't much care if the bodyguard took it badly, because it was clear she had him on a tight leash.. Not that he cared over much about getting hurt anyway. He was past caring either way.

Settling in to drink his coffee in peace again, he felt the other people slowly return to their normal behaviour, though with an undercurrent of confusion, though he felt sure that it was mostly focused on the lady and her bodyguard, and only slightly on him.

After 15 minutes and 2 more cups of coffee while he enjoyed the 2 strangers' growing anxiety, he walked to the bathroom to release the large amount of coffee that was trying to escape, and pushed out the back door to wait, lighting one of the few cigarettes left in his pack, noting to buy another few packs if he had time after whatever this was.