Prologue↠Gil & Lay
From his seat in the far corner, Lay had an unobstructed view of the cafe and its patrons–it was the reason he’d chosen this table. Without having to move an inch, he could keep an eye on the clientele and workers alike, make note of who came and who went from the little cafe, how long they stayed. With his laptop in front of him and a watered down chai perched on the corner of his table, a knit cardigan paired with skinny jeans and a beanie pulled low over messy hair, Lay appeared like any other college hipster that frequented the coffee shop.
He’d chosen this cafe because of its proximity to one of the local gang haunts. The Black Rose was within easy walking distance of the coffee shop. Given the hour and location, the odds were in Lay’s favor that he might spot a Heart or two swinging by to get their caffeine fix before the lounge opened its doors for the night.
Lay had expected one of Black Rose’s girls. If he was lucky, maybe even a bartender (they always had the best information, and were so accustomed to being chatted up by strangers that they rarely gave Lay a second glance, ‘humoring’ him but rarely giving him their full attention). He’d never expected the lounge manager to walk through the cafe doors.
But there Gil sat, scribbling in a notebook and paying far more attention to a nearby group of school girls than was likely appropriate.
Lay was sure to make a note of that.
He was skimming a draft on his computer– one for the Herald, not his blog– when he noticed Gil rising from his table from the corner of his eye. Lay made sure not to immediately react, waiting until the man had reached the barista’s counter before risking a glance in his direction. Assured that Gil would be tied up with the boy behind the counter for a bit, Lay let his attention drift back to the lounge manager’s table.
His eyes fell on the abandoned notebook and his lips tilted into a grin.
Without wasting any more time, Lay rose from his table and made his way across the lobby, slipping into Gil’s abandoned seat without an ounce of pretense. He heard the school girls nearby beginning to whisper amongst themselves but didn’t bother to glance their way. Instead, he busied himself with flipping through the pages of the notebook in front of him, skimming one page after another in rapid succession, trying to commit what he could to memory while wishing he’d thought to grab his phone before coming over.
Taking pictures of the seemingly random scribbles and quotes would have given him plenty of time to decipher them later.
And curiosity got the cat like bees flocking to honey.
His time at the counter ordering a drink and bagel was short - the barista were quick with his doppio espresso, expert movements showing months of practice was like an art in itself. Gil noted how the barista work the machines like how he would with bottles of wine and shakers. He used to spend days in the underground club, serving up drinks for the VIPs, practicing his magic in front of mirrors till each and every moment was detailed to the core, from expression to the way the liquid is poured, from his smiles to the soft sounds of glass sliding across a wooden surface of the bar top.
He made it into a profession, a skill, an art.
But the barista wasn’t the only person he spotted. Through the reflective glass and the gestures of the waiters, telling him that someone else seemed to have shifted to his table. Gil laughed, waving them off in friendly chatter, shifting the topic to something else. He did not know who this person is, but he has his suspicions. For someone to pick his table filled with nothing valuable but a notebook, it meant that they were after information, not money.
Nonetheless, he wasn’t the brightest bulb to have done this in broad daylight in a semi-empty cafe.
But even the dimmest light could bring out the claws of a sleeping kitty, waiting for its chance to strike. Who was the light and who was the kitty though, was up for debate.
“Hello,” he greeted, stepping forth almost too cheerfully, eyes curled behind his framed-glasses, tray in hand. The tray had an extra cup of juice, and a matching bagel, as if Gil had ordered it for two - for him. “I see you’ve taken an interest in my...scribbling.” The lounge manager slipped into the seat opposite him, setting the tray on the sole space available. “Bagel for you?”
