The Professional

The Man in the Black Suit

The Professional

The rain was falling in wisps.  It was too light even to be called a sprinkle.  The fine floating mist could be felt, cold and damp against the skin, but in the dark night it could not be seen until a car pulled in front of the alleyway and its headlights captured the suspended droplets.
A man in a black suit stepped from the car.  Dress shoes, previously spotless, sloshed through the mud as he traversed the alley's length.  He halted before the scratched door at the alley's end, and rapped his knuckles against the frame.
After a long, silent pause, it opened.

The boss's dingy office was a cross between cold-war thriller and gaudy oriental imitation.  In the true manner of cliches, a single bulb hanging from a bare wire provided the only illumination.  The smell was almost unbearable: the boss was a chain smoker and the air was ripe with testimony to it, and there was also the strong odor of black coffee, which he consumed by the bucketful.  He sat behind a desk scattered with folders and papers.  A filthy ashtray was used as a paperweight.
    There was also an aspect of the oriental here.  The boss had a flair for that style, though little money or knowledge with which to pursue it effectively.  The result was extremely gaudy: one wall was draped in scarlet cloth with a golden dragon stitched on that looked vaguely Chinese. There was also a painting of a lotus flower framed and hung on one wall, and a figurine of the cross legged Shiva sitting on the corner of the desk.  The boss thought of Shiva, the destroyer, as his personal deity, though he was not a practicing Hindu and the figurine was actually a tourist's trinket, far from being sacred.
    The man in the black suit waited immovably before the desk.  The boss was purposefully ignoring him, running his eyes up and down a list of numbers.  Keeping this man waiting was one of the few ways he could feel in control.  Finally, he looked up.
    "You completed the Janson task."
    Black suit nodded, restraining from rolling his eyes at the man's dramatics.  But he was too professional to roll his eyes.
    "Very well."  The boss handed him a plain envelope.  "Enjoy your vacation.  We'll be in contact."
    With leather-gloved fingers, the man in the black suit took the envelope and checked that its contents were sufficient.  Then he silently left.