The City

The Man in the Black Suit

The City

The man named Blake donned a jacket over his black suit.  Hand on the doorknob, he paused to ensure that his mask and entrance pass were tucked in its inner pockets.  There was another, smaller bulge in his breast pocket.  It was the tool currently most accessible to him.

      He left the hotel and pulled his rented 2012 Fortwo Passion Cabriolet into traffic.  He hated Smart cars, but driving the most “expensive” one he could find – and expensive for a Smart car meant only €12,900 – was a good way of selling his façade as a wealthy environmentalist.

      Dresden is a city both new and old.  New habitations built on the ruins of one of World War II’s most destructive bombings.  Before the firestorm it had been a Jewel Box, a center of culture and beauty.  After, it had been nothing.  A landscape of rubble.

      The man named Blake drove through the inner city, past restored towers and churches.  Mentally, he was reviewing a list of names.  He’d spent the trip to Germany researching the other guests slated to attend this masquerade.  If the people who’d attempted to hire him were professional, then they wouldn’t touch the entrance pass they’d sent, which meant they would need to provide another identity for whoever they substituted in his place.  So he’d been researching the names on the guest list, looking for a person with either too little information available about their history, or too much, too readily.  The result of his research was a handful of attendees, but no one who especially red-flagged.

      

The venue of the masquerade was an elegantly modern hotel, a sharp contrast with the imposing, East-German architecture further down the street. 

      The man named Blake parked and surrendered his keys to a valet.  Then he made his way to the hotel entrance.