07-13-2013, 08:30 AM
Continued from: Renovations
It had taken him the better part of the day to prepare for his next job. Plotting the route from the airport to the hotel, the hotel to the Baccarat House. Alternative routes, police stations, even a hair-pullingly frustrating hour spent figuring out locations of road construction.
Then it was a matter of getting a suit. The sorts of suits the other guests were wearing were far outside his price range, but a trip through the Izmailovsky Market and a few hundred dollars later, he had something that would at least pass at first glance. Never mind the fact there would be people at the shindig wearing ties that cost more then his entire ensemble.
The trip from the airport to the hotel went without a hitch. The company Hood worked with provided a car and driver, with Hood as the close-protection service. Mr Arrabat was an Italian well-to-do. His family had been a financially powerful one in Italy for centuries, with controlling interest in banks and insurance companies, plus owning their own shipping company and a small fleet of cargo ships. It was rare that he traveled without an entourage of his own guards and assistants, but the Arrabat family wanted to keep a bit of a low profile for this trip.
The second half of the itinerary met no shortage of trouble though. From the hotel to the party, a stalled truck and a car accident made the already terrible traffic delays worse, until finally Mr Arrabat declared he would walk the rest of the way. Of course Hood was opposed to the idea, but in the end he had to admit it would be a hell of a lot faster then trying to drive there. And it was only a few blocks away.
Even the sidewalks were crowded, but it was the usual riffraff. Business people heading home or tourists bustling about to enjoy the views of the city at night. Mr Arrabat was an older man, in his 60's, but with Hood walking beside him, the little Italian man had little trouble making his way through the crowd. Folks generally gave way instead of bumping into Hood.
"Ah, here it is."
Mr Arrabat stopped suddenly, looking at a storefront. A bookstore, windows filled with a warm glow and the view of rows of books easily seen within. "Come along Mr White. There is something I wish to see before the party."
Hood frowned. Another delay, but this one was probably something the Atharim supporter had had in mind the entire time. Why else were they heading for the party so early? It was an hour till the door opening yet. But, he was being paid to guard Mr Arrabat, and while it was harder to do when the man had his own plans that he refused to share, it wasn't Hood's job to force him to go anywhere.
So he sighed and pulled the door open for Mr Arrabat, then followed him inside. The old man greeted the shop clerk, an old woman of similar age, in a familiar manner. The store owner set a young woman to the task of manning the cash register, and Mr Arrabat and the owner disappeared into a small office, with a promise to Hood that they wouldn't be long.
That had been an hour ago. Hood had found himself an over-stuffed armchair where he could see both the door to the office and the front door of the shop. The young woman working the counter had poured him a cup of coffee, and the two had made small talk for a while, but had eventually fallen into a comfortable silence.
Hood glanced at the door as a couple walked in, another man on their heels. He frowned again, or perhaps an already existent frown deepened, and he adjusted himself in his seat, right hand now raised as if to turn the page of the small, random book he had plucked from a shelf and had been staring at for the past hour. A subtle way to have his hand that much closer to the revolver he had holstered under his coat.
It had taken him the better part of the day to prepare for his next job. Plotting the route from the airport to the hotel, the hotel to the Baccarat House. Alternative routes, police stations, even a hair-pullingly frustrating hour spent figuring out locations of road construction.
Then it was a matter of getting a suit. The sorts of suits the other guests were wearing were far outside his price range, but a trip through the Izmailovsky Market and a few hundred dollars later, he had something that would at least pass at first glance. Never mind the fact there would be people at the shindig wearing ties that cost more then his entire ensemble.
The trip from the airport to the hotel went without a hitch. The company Hood worked with provided a car and driver, with Hood as the close-protection service. Mr Arrabat was an Italian well-to-do. His family had been a financially powerful one in Italy for centuries, with controlling interest in banks and insurance companies, plus owning their own shipping company and a small fleet of cargo ships. It was rare that he traveled without an entourage of his own guards and assistants, but the Arrabat family wanted to keep a bit of a low profile for this trip.
The second half of the itinerary met no shortage of trouble though. From the hotel to the party, a stalled truck and a car accident made the already terrible traffic delays worse, until finally Mr Arrabat declared he would walk the rest of the way. Of course Hood was opposed to the idea, but in the end he had to admit it would be a hell of a lot faster then trying to drive there. And it was only a few blocks away.
Even the sidewalks were crowded, but it was the usual riffraff. Business people heading home or tourists bustling about to enjoy the views of the city at night. Mr Arrabat was an older man, in his 60's, but with Hood walking beside him, the little Italian man had little trouble making his way through the crowd. Folks generally gave way instead of bumping into Hood.
"Ah, here it is."
Mr Arrabat stopped suddenly, looking at a storefront. A bookstore, windows filled with a warm glow and the view of rows of books easily seen within. "Come along Mr White. There is something I wish to see before the party."
Hood frowned. Another delay, but this one was probably something the Atharim supporter had had in mind the entire time. Why else were they heading for the party so early? It was an hour till the door opening yet. But, he was being paid to guard Mr Arrabat, and while it was harder to do when the man had his own plans that he refused to share, it wasn't Hood's job to force him to go anywhere.
So he sighed and pulled the door open for Mr Arrabat, then followed him inside. The old man greeted the shop clerk, an old woman of similar age, in a familiar manner. The store owner set a young woman to the task of manning the cash register, and Mr Arrabat and the owner disappeared into a small office, with a promise to Hood that they wouldn't be long.
That had been an hour ago. Hood had found himself an over-stuffed armchair where he could see both the door to the office and the front door of the shop. The young woman working the counter had poured him a cup of coffee, and the two had made small talk for a while, but had eventually fallen into a comfortable silence.
Hood glanced at the door as a couple walked in, another man on their heels. He frowned again, or perhaps an already existent frown deepened, and he adjusted himself in his seat, right hand now raised as if to turn the page of the small, random book he had plucked from a shelf and had been staring at for the past hour. A subtle way to have his hand that much closer to the revolver he had holstered under his coat.