To my left, diagonal from my shoulder about six steps up. Just within my periphery without having to put in any effort to glance further to the side, was my target.
He stood on the capitol steps, watching over the square below for any signs of suspicious activity.
So basically, he was looking for anyone like me who might bring up a ruckus in the area or endanger the capitol’s precious classified information.
But I knew how to conceal my motives and I knew how to spot a cop while he was dressed in civilian clothes.
Apparently, he didn’t know how to do the same because I remained undetected, not even the slightest notion of being noticed.
The plainclothe shifted, scratching his ear and yawning. He was more suspicious than me, standing alert and unmoving.
Shoulders too square and back too straight to be anything below formal and attentive. Military trained.
I noticed that his boots needed blacking and the third button from the top of his peacoat was of a slightly lighter shade of brown, most likely a replacement.
Or, if he was more than a cop and our files were incomplete, which was a rarity, then it was a false button, hollowed out and containing microfilms.
I wouldn't ever know, however, because this was a public area and it wasn't my job to search the body... this time.
There wasn't anything interesting about him, standard american shorthaired, grey and apricot coat. He had abnormally long whiskers on his forehead and seemed to favor his left leg.
From what I had read, he was an old war vet, somehow having survived the battle of the bulge after being dropped into the flooded farmlands of northern France.
one of the lucky ones that were far enough away to avoid anything war related beyond the harsh winters and lack of actually good supplies.
I wondered if he would be able to smell the gunmetal in my palm, having familiarized himself with it back in '45.
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