I guess someday it will trigger a short story. Maybe from me, maybe from somebody who reads this. But it is just for the moment a curiosity. (BTW - that's me writing this on my AlphaSmart Dana outside a Paris cafe.)
The location is the Paris Metro. The occasion heading to the motor show, the first press day. The position is sitting on one of those flip-down jump seats just inside the door.
Across diagonally from me, two people in security uniforms, with the logo of their company and the words that said they were licenced in their job. A man and a woman, he standing, she sitting on one of the jump seats. She kept her two hands on a strong-looking metal case in her lap, tethered to her wrist by a chain. The man was watchful, his eyes flicking around the carriage. Both of their expressions were unsmiling,
Whatever they were carrying must have been valuable, or at least important. Maybe even very important.
It was too small for much cash. Too strong for mere documents. Nothing in medicine, certainly, as donor organs don't travel on the Metro. At least not while their owners are still alive.
Jewels? Bearer bonds, maybe. Whatever, they gave off a definite inpression that they were people not to be trifled with. When it came to tough, their body language said, these were tough who could be tougher than most who might want what they had.
I was distracted for a small while, checking whether I was travelling in the right direction. When I looked back, not consciously, the whole picture had changed.
She was still sitting. He was still standing. Neither had changed expression. But now she only had one hand on the metal case.
The other was stroking the back of his hand, now rested on her shoulder.
Suddenly that metal case looked a lot more vulnerable.
1 comment:
And both of them looked a lot less tough. They've let down their ... guard. :)
Post a Comment