Distortion

Wayland strode purposefully along the nearly deserted city street. The lack of fellow pedestrians worked to his advantage and disadvantage. He should be able to spot a tail sent by the opposition, but there was no crowd to blend into should he need to duck out of sight. In his line of work, every plus came with at least one and usually multiple negatives. The game, as Wayland liked to call it, generated an adrenalin rush he found intoxicating.

Tonight’s mission should be a simple one: deliver information he had stumbled upon to his boss. Using electronics, either phone or internet, was too risky. This sensitive material required a face-to-face meeting. Like any highly trained operative, Wayland used his surroundings to help detect anything or anyone out of place. The sound of shoe leather on a concrete sidewalk, startled birds taking flight, reflections in large store display windows, all painted a picture of the neighborhood he was walking through. His mental radar was working at peak efficiency.

It was the distorted reflection in a store window that first caught his eye. Wayland never flinched as he took in the apparition’s image. His tail, dressed in dark clothing, was grinning at him. The grin was so pronounced that Wayland wondered if his pursuer had painted it on. Tails should be inconspicuous, not wearing clown makeup. It was time to end this farce.

Wayland entered a well-lit intersection, spun around with catlike reflexes, and stared in disbelief. The man with the grin was nowhere in sight. Not possible! He scanned both sides of the street, peering in darkened doorways and looking as far down the road as his eyesight would take him. There was no grinning man. Wayland allowed himself a brief shudder, regrouped, and continued on his way.

Two blocks later, the grinning figure’s reflection came into view in another store window. This time, Wayland used a different tactic to catch the man. Just ahead was an open pub. He would duck into the bar, mingle with the crowd, and wait for his stalker to follow. It was a good plan and should have worked, but the tail never followed him in.

After waiting for fifteen minutes, Wayland exited through a side door that opened into an alleyway. He scanned his surroundings. Finding nothing but trash cans and the occasional scurrying rat, he stepped in. As if by magic, not one but three grinning men leaned against the far wall. They were even more hideous than Wayland had originally thought. The grins his stalkers so proudly flashed contained teeth filed to sharp points. The middle pursuer took a half step forward and demanded in an odd mechanical sounding voice, “Give us the recording device and we may let you live.”

“I can’t give you what I don’t have,” Wayland replied. “I’ve already sent it on to my bosses via courier. You’re too late! They already know of your plans.”

The three would-be assailants stood motionless, appearing to wait for further instructions. Their eyes were blank, but their grins persisted as the awkward silence dragged on. It was not much more than a flicker, a distortion that lasted only a millisecond, but it caught Wayland’s attention. He snatched a nearby garbage can cover and tossed it at the closest stalker. The cover sailed through the air like a frisbee hitting and passing through its target.

“Holograms,” Wayland blurted out! The faint buzzing sound from above now drew closer, revealing a drone swooping down from above the rooftops. He acted without hesitation, withdrawing his pistol and shooting the mechanical bird out of the sky. A few components still functioned. Wayland picked up an intact mini-microphone from the downed drone and said, “Next time, don’t send a machine to do a human’s job.” He dropped it on the ground and stepped on it, displaying a grin of satisfaction.