Problem Solving

John placed the cup down onto the table, the aroma of coffee filling his nostrils, circulating the busy café. He carried on reading his paper, but keeping one eye upon the small gentlemen sat in the back corner. He was a small man, with greasy red hair. He’d been easy for John to spot, he would stand out in most scenarios with an appearance such as his. John carried on sipping his coffee intermittently while skim reading the news of the day. He knew he’d blend in well into the crowd despite his appearance. No one had raised an eyebrow at him, the strange, six foot tall man, carrying a robust metal briefcase. He knew how to blend in, how to be subtle. A trait many of his fellow men no longer knew.

He lifted the cup to his mouth once more, this time finishing up the last dregs of the now cold coffee. He wiped his mouth off with a napkin, folded it neatly and placed it into the top pocket of his suit. He cleared his throat, folded up the newspaper and left the café by the main exit, all the while subtly watching the man with the red hair.

“Not a clue” John thought to himself. “He’s far too busy watching who is in there rather than who isn’t.” John smirked and let out a sly chuckle as he walked towards his workplace opposite. It was a tall building, modern, tinted windows, chrome throughout, what was once a poor vision of the future.

Meanwhile the small red haired man kept quiet, pretending to listen to music on his phone, gulping down a usually relaxing earl grey. His steely gaze only occasionally attracting attention, he’d pretend that he was just fixated on something off in the distance. John meanwhile, had reached his desk upon the third floor and looked out the window to see he was still sat in the café.

“Good man.” he muttered. “You’ll make this so easy.”

He then turned back to his desk, turned on his desktop computer and began to assess the days work ahead of him, still glancing over to the man. Every few seconds though, he’d reach under his desk and open his metal briefcase, making a few quiet clicks from within, before returning back to his computer and carrying on with his work.

The red haired man, had of course now begun to attract attention due to the amount of time he’d sat in the café, nursing the one tea he ordered an hour and a half ago. He began to fidget, and would get up only momentarily to flick through a magazine rack by the counter. He picked up the days paper and sat back down, he began to flick through the pages, searching for something to ease his mind. As he turned the pages he came to the puzzle section, and began to ponder the first clue of the crossword.

A Primitive medical technique used to relieve people of mental ailments by making a hole in the head. (10)

The red haired man kept staring down at the paper, no one around him noticing the blood running out from underneath his vibrant, red hair. John was still typing on his computer, the window next to him was open, a gentle breeze blew through his office. His briefcase was now tucked away far under his desk, well out of reach. The phone on his desk rang, he picked it up and answered.

“John! How’s tomorrows crossword coming along? Don’t forget we need the final print by six so we can check it for corrections.”

“no problem sir.” John answered. “I’m just putting the finishing touches on it now.”