Chapter 3 - The Metronome of Leather
Fifty yards away, the pavement stretched into a serene, sun-drenched suburban avenue.
Rows of perfectly manicured green trees cast symmetrical shadows across the concrete.
A man walked precisely in the center of the sidewalk.
His dark hair was slicked back, cemented into place with expensive pomade.
A deep burgundy tie hung perfectly straight down the center of his crisp white shirt.
His black suit jacket flared slightly with the momentum of his brisk, aggressive stride.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The leather soles of his oxfords hit the pavement in a relentless, mechanical rhythm.
His jaw was locked.
His eyes were fixed on a point precisely ten feet ahead of him.
He did not turn his head left.
He did not turn his head right.
Behind him, the air fractured with the muffled, frantic thrashing of a kidnapping in progress.
A trash can was kicked over, rolling onto the asphalt with a metallic clatter.
"Mmph-ad!"
The sound was desperate, carrying the high-pitched vibration of tearing vocal cords.
The man in the burgundy tie reached into his inner breast pocket.
He pulled out a slim, silver phone.
He swiped his thumb across the screen, his face entirely unreadable.
He kept walking.
May you like
His shadow lengthened, stretching away from the struggle, until he completely disappeared behind a row of white picket fences.
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