Day 313 – The Salesman – Part 9

I’m getting worse and worse with writing. Sorry.

Word count: 707

Brian was sitting low in seat of his car, the only visible sight of his body was the top of his forehead and his beady eyes, like a shark’s fin poking above the water. There was not a voodoo lady in the Caribbean that could have predicted this. Brian, the risk-averse divorcee, was hiding in his own car and waiting for a sixty-eight year old woman to come out from her crummy apartment that looked even worse than the near-ghetto he had grown up.

The cats that prowled the streets around here emanated despair – even the mice no doubt knew that there were nicer places than this. All the residents that stalked the streets had heads so heavy with money and social worries that their eyes were constantly glued to the floor. Youths prowled in gangs and troupes with clearly no awareness of trouser etiquette and indecent skirt lengths.

Brian had succumbed: the temptation of the money was too great. It seemed such a trifling task and to ignore such a money-giveaway would have been a tragic error. Quite how he had overcome his personality traits, he was not aware, but that night Brian had returned home with ten-thousand dollars as a starting salary. A lot of whisky was drunk that night.

The next day Brian was outside the residence of Mr and Mrs Dentwire; found precariously and borderline illegally via the database at work. He had been there about twenty minutes now and was already feeling as if people were peering out their windows either thinking that he were a cop or that he was some form of curb-crawler. But his job was not to get out of the car: his job was to remain unseen and study Mrs Dentire – Joanna Dentire. There was no photograph to prove her appearance, but Brian had already targeted the sixty-something frail woman with white wispy hair and a large wheeled shopping bag staggering along the road as Mrs Dentwire. In the entire time he had been there not a single woman over the age of thirty had passed by – the few possible candidates were rejected upon sight of small children who were undoubtedly theirs and not grandchildren.
The woman could barely walk, he felt sorry for her. Here he was watching her when the real Brian would be out helping her and taking her shopping in… most likely before he tried to sell her some form of home-insurance (he was never very capable of forgetting his salesman ways…)
Brian scribbled notes down. He was a PI – James Bond. His job was to find out anything he could about this woman – and that started with what she did daily. The next stage would be who she knew, what her hobbies were before finally what secrets she kept. How Brian was going to achieve all this he had no clue. There was not even a suspicion of an idea about what he might do. Was he allowed to go up to the woman, befriend her even?
Eventually Mrs Dentire reached the main door to the apartment building. Brian watched her enter it. It would take her at least a further five minutes to get into her apartment. Brian’s binoculars – dusty from being locked away in a cupboard for so long – were at the ready. He had already checked how far he could see inside the apartment and had worked out roughly that if she stood by the window close enough that he would be able to see at least down to her chest. The rest would be obscured by distance.
Brian counted the minutes in his head. She of course could have been in some other room in the apartment, for Brian could only really see into the living area. He peered through the binoculars for a closer look. As he did so there was a loud bang against the side of his car. The entire vehicle shook one way and the eye-pieces of the binoculars dug into his eye sockets. Falling forwards, he turned his head round to see the black silhouette of the largest waist-size to fit into a pair of skinny jeans and a pair of boobs so unsupported by their bra that they swung like saloon doors.

~ by S.G. Mark on August 15, 2012.

One Response to “Day 313 – The Salesman – Part 9”

  1. Like saloon doors, heh…

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