They were dark suits and hats, and their eyes were covered by dark sunglasses even though they came in the night. I pushed my whiskey glass to one side and watched them approach me in the mirror behind the bar.
‘Gentlemen,’ I said without turning around as they came to a silent stop near my barstool. The men exchanged quick glances that made me smirk, ‘You do have reflections you know.’
I twirled the stool around to face them, noticing with contempt the slight flush of colour creeping up the younger man’s cheeks.
‘What do you want?’
‘Boss wants you back,’ the older man answered me in a monotone.
‘I’m retired. How’d he get you back, Sal?’
‘Same way he’ll get you back, Harvey.’
I sighed, reluctantly reached into my coat pocket and slid the dark lensed infra-red glasses over my eyes.
‘I hate that freakin mutant,’ I muttered as the three of us headed out the door.
© Alison Pearce 2010-10-08