Gadolor

The Element of Surprise

This diner's coffee was the best. Their pancakes were good too, but they weren't agreeable at lunchtime. The diner's regular customer sat in her accustomed booth, sipping her favorite brew and watching her fellow patrons. Yes, the place had a cheery, humdrum atmosphere, or at least she thought so. She noticed one man had been sitting in one place for twenty minutes, obviously unhurried, picking at his food. Occasionally he stared out the window. "Waiting for a date," she thought, amused. But this didn't seem to fit. He wore a coat, and kept tracing something in its pocket. The day was warm; why would anyone need a coat?

"Alarmist," she accused herself. Imagine one loiterer ruining her lunch break. Focus on the coffee, that wonderful stuff. An extra sugar packet might help. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening, and someone even came and sat next to the man. But for some reason she couldn't shake that odd sense of unease. Finally the regular decided to stop ignoring it. After all, they say instincts are stronger than people think. Just as she was gathering her things, the loitering man dropped a coin to the floor. It bounced, once, twice. It seemed odd, that after all this time he should drop his money.

—

The police detective eyed the door. He sipped a glass of juice, then took a bite of scrambled egg; slowly, carefully. He relaxed and tried to look contented, happy to sit the afternoon away on his bar stool. In reality he was tense, waiting. Normally he hated scrambled egg. He stole a glance at his partner, who glared at him for being so open. Stakeouts were supposed to be discreet. This was boring, and yet extremely stressful. Like hunting. He found the connection morbid.

The diner's door opened, and the bell above it jingled. In walked a well-muscled man, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Relax, he doesn't know you," the detective told himself, almost out loud. The newcomer sat to his right, displaying the sign he hoped, and dreaded to find: a tattoo on the man's left forearm. The tip had told them to leave certain signs that would draw the suspect in. It had worked perfectly, and now the detective must give the signal. Under the rim of his plate, he fingered a quarter he had kept ready. He slid it off the counter, letting it fall. In the same movement he reached inside his coat.

—

The desperate man opened a glass door, and entered the diner. Crime was a dangerous business, but the rewards were great. Today he must pull off a big deal, or all his work would be wasted. He glowered tactfully around the room, and recognized his contact immediately. "He'll be wearing a coat and eating eggs," the Boss had said. With one last glance around, the criminal sidled up to his contact and sat, displaying his tattoo. Nothing was out of place; the restaurant seemed normal and oblivious. Internally he applauded himself for his choice of setting. No one should suspect them here.

That is, unless someone were to tip off the cops. This was always a danger, but a negotiable one. In general, greed overcame conscience anyway. The criminal paused in his thinking, surprised his contact hadn't made a move yet. According to the plan, he would follow the man to a hideout, where they would do their business. "Paranoid," he chided himself. The guy was just making sure. Flexing his arm, he shifted position and uttered a small cough. "We shouldn't be seen together too much," he silently raved. Finally—he was getting up. But to the criminal's immense frustration, he dropped something, making noise and drawing unwanted eyes.

—

Stakeouts demand a particular kind of mentality. One must be alert, of course, but not too alert. Blending in is just as important, and sometimes that means being unobtrusive, even unaware. Also, stakeouts have a way of dragging on. One must be relaxed, but ready for action. "Like baseball," thought the police officer, intentionally letting his mind wander. Aimlessly he went from sports to work, then to weather and back to sports again. It was sunny this afternoon. A pity his partner had to wear a coat.

His partner glanced over his shoulder at the officer. A quick gesture, but risky. "Nervous," he thought. Maybe he shouldn't have put a new man in such a pivotal role. It was definitely too late now. The diner's door opened, jingling merrily. With disciplined willpower, the officer refused to look. Someone sat beside his partner, and the officer put down his fork. A long half-minute crawled by. Then, before the quarter hit the floor, the officer was ready, reaching for his gun.