Agent II grumbled to himself as he sat at the little table in the coffee shop and read the newspaper. He wasn't really reading it - he was sulking and drawing circles with the condensation his iced coffee had left on the table, making little dark brown circles on the light wood. He was having a bad day.
A few tables over sat a tall man with very bright yellow-blond hair, sipping genteelly from a black mug. He was fiddling with a spoon and reading a paperback. Agent II squinted at the title. The Grapes of Wrath.
The blond man banged his spoon against the table in a final drumbeat, and got to his feet in one fluid motion, and Agent II looked back down at his folded newspaper so that he wouldn't catch the stranger's eye. There was the sound of footsteps, and Agent II heard the blond man leave.
Then there was a sudden noise as the chair on the opposite side of his table was dragged out, and someone sat down in it. Agent II put down his newspaper and raised his eyes slowly, menacingly. He felt a slow surge of annoyance beginning to build in his gut.
The blond haired man smiled genially back at him, still holding his book and his mug. His teeth glittered shark-like in the lights of the coffee shop. Agent II forgot the rude greeting he had been about to utter and stared stupidly back at him.
"Good afternoon," the blond man said. "I'm Jack Gent."
"Uh," Agent II said (his heart had abruptly stopped - Gent? The Jack Gent?), and faked a sickly sort of smile. "How do you do?"
"I'm doing just fine," Gent said. "But I take it you're not."
"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Agent II said slowly. He had the notion that Gent knew something about the target, but his brain was not about to provide him with a suitable escape plan, as it seemed to be stuck in park. His hand closed pathetically around his plastic coffee cup as though it was a weapon. It squeaked.
"Why don't we go talk somewhere a little more private?" Gent said, eying the dying coffee cup with frank amusement. "I'll meet you outside."
He got up and went out, leaving Agent II staring weakly after him. Should he have refused? What should he do? How much did Gent know?
And then, an even more horrifying thought: Was Gent his replacement? Had Montague hired him? Who on earth would be fool enough - or brave enough - to hire Jack Gent?
When he emerged out into the sweltering air, Gent was leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets. Neither mug nor book were in sight.
Agent II went over to Gent, feeling rather out of his depth.
"Where do you want to go... talk?"
"Here is fine, for now," Gent said. He crossed one ankle over the other and took one hand out of his pocket to draw letters in midair, like a child trying to spell. "A-G-E-N-T-"
"Shhh," hissed Agent II, glancing around wildly. "Quiet; there's people around."
"Oh, so it is you, isn't it?" Gent smiled, and put his hand back into his pocket. "I thought you were Montague's first employee. II, right?"
Agent II tried to think of a lie and failed completely. "Uh..."
"No wonder Montague fired you," Gent said, smiling more broadly. He cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. "So... how about you tell me what you figured out about the... you know... the target?" He had lowered his voice to a stage whisper.
Agent II felt affronted and somehow like he was being mocked. His face seemed to be burning. Why was it so hot out here? "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Hackneyed phrase, that one is," Gent said, still grinning. "Try again, why don't you?"
"If I knew anything, I wouldn't tell you anyways," Agent II snapped, and turned on his heel to walk away.
Gent grabbed his upper arm and yanked him back easily. Agent II staggered back around and fell against the wall ungracefully. Little stars burst in pretty colors around his head.
"Just try me," Gent said softly. He did not look so happy now. "I've been looking for the target for a while now. Thought I could use some help. Now you're going to help me, or you are going to be even unhappier. Besides-" here he looked thoughtful again "-if you are really helpful, I'll make it worth your time. Capiche?"
"Uh," said Agent II, who was feeling a bit woozy from the heat, and the manhandling, and from the fact that Jack Gent was threatening him, "all right. Fine. I'll help you. Can we go back inside?"
Gent straightened up and went a few paces closer to Agent II. "I have somewhere to be right now, so no." He smiled again, pleasantly. "I'll send you a message tonight. Follow the instructions to the letter. Got it?"
Agent II nodded, weakly. "But... how will you send me a message? You don't have my cell phone number."
"Yes, I do," Gent said, fishing a slim black box out of his pocket and waving it briefly in front of Agent II's face. "Now shoo."
