Inconspicuous

I pressed the hat tighter upon my head, tilting the brim to partially conceal my eyes. The angle was just right to be able to sneak a discreet glance towards the pillars of the plaza. It wasn't that architectural curiosity was frowned upon around here, but my gaze was more focused on the average-looking gentleman leaning against the pillar. It was his attempts at being inconspicuous that made him so easy to spot. If you've observed as many people as I have, you discover an amusing paradox. The person who is the most mundane-looking has the most extraordinary features about him. Often times, the person doesn't even realise these little foibles give him away. It could be anything from a specific detail of his attire, his gait, or even his mannerisms that separate him from the crowd. And that is where our friend had faltered. He had taken every precaution to appear as average as he could. He did such a good job that everything about him looked perfectly common. Nothing about him stood out, and that was precisely what made him so easy to identify.

Of course now that we know where he is, it would be very rude to leave him standing there. So I get up off the park bench and move along at a brisk trot. My suspicions are confirmed when, out of the corner of my eye, I see him throw away his newspaper and rush to make up the distance I put between ourselves. The hunt begins. I weave a winding path through the plaza's vicinity. Along the way, I take care to slow down a couple of times. I even stop to buy a hot dog at a stand.

What? A man's gotta eat, okay?

He probably wanted to use me to find our HQ. Unfortunately for him, this wasn't my first rodeo. From time to time I would get people tailing me, usually because of my profession. Although this one time there was a crazy ex-girlfriend, but that's a story for another time. What I'm saying is I know how to get rid of people when they're foolish enough to think they can tail me without consequences. Usually there isn't any bloodshed. But I think I'll deal with old Freddie (let's call him Freddie for the sake of convenience, okay?) the traditional way.

With that in mind, I turn towards a secluded alleyway, one I've favoured many a time. The sky is gradually blotted out by the high rooftops on either side of us, which is fine by me. I don't need a spotlight when I work. I count the steps till the turn at the end of the alley, 20…10…5. Eventually I round the corner, and immediately press my back flat against the wall, gripping my Walther tightly. I hold my breath. Finally I see the front of a hat, and immediately lunge forward.

What happens next is a blur, but I eventually end up straddling Freddie on the ground, my gun pointed at his throat. "Any last words, Fredd…"

I'm cut short by Freddie grabbing my wrist. I feel a slight prick. Immediately my vision starts to blur. Dammit, I hadn't seen the needle on him; hiding in plain sight. Well played, I think as my eyes shut.