Operation: M.I.A

IV // Friends

I open the passenger door and get out of the car. I feel out of place. Usually I was in the back of black van hammering my fingertips against my laptop keyboard. I was usually the hacker. But my job description changes every week. The week before last I was on the crew to extract a stolen painting that belonged to The Louvre in Paris. I got the painting and put it back in its place without The Louvre knowing it was even returned.

But this feels different. It feels like we are chasing a ghost of a problem. Or, something way bigger than us.

Zander and I are already accross the street and he's opening the door to the restaurant. I stop and look up to see that the sign above me reads "The Palace".

"Ahem," he coughs to get my attention. He succeeds and I see him holding the door open for me. Okay. I sure din't peg Zander as the gentlemen type - but whatever. I enter through the door way and take in the smell of bacon. Mmmm, breakfast and lunch mixed together! I guess I'm hungry too.

A stout little woman greets us at the door with a head nod in our direction and leads us to a table at the front windows. "Could we get a booth in the back, please?" I hear Zander ask the woman. She makes a little grunting noise, but complies nonetheless and takes us to the back of the small restaurant. Once we are seated and she is gone I ask him, "Why?"

He looks at me like I am a lost little girl. "You haven't been on many field missions, have you?" he says with moderately-fake sympathy.

"I have so!" I huff. "But... my missions usually don't involve a lot of human interaction. I'm the thief or the hacker or the... the outside man," I finish my defence.

"Well," he starts, "I am accustomed to this. I'm the fighter, investigator,... instigator, I guess. I'm the-"

"The inside man," I finish for him, before he can brag about it. I don't need his stories to make me feel inadequate.

"Anyways, you always take a seat at the back. That way you can watch who comes in, who's already here, and who leaves," he explains. And now he is waiting for my response.

"It's logical."

He rolls his eyes. "It is strategy," he emphasizes. Now, I don't know if anybody else would think so if they were in my position, but I found this amusing. He was acting like a 10-year-old boy who needed to inform his little sister of the ways of the world. And maybe he did need to, and maybe I did appreciate the tips internally, but it was still funny.

"Okay," he whispers as he leans straight against the back of the bench, "We've got a suspicious man at my 7 o'clock."

Now I roll my eyes, already having noticed the man in the corner reading his morning paper. "Zander, if anyone in here is suspicious, it is the hostess," I state plainly.

"What?" he scoffs. "You're out of your mind Decklynn."

I shake my head and lean over the table, and this time my voice is lowered to a whisper, "She is not your regular hostess. I'd say she is Russian and that's why she didn't talk-didn't want to give it away. And, she hides in the back unless she has to make an appearance to get the door."

He considers this. "Maybe," he says with a deep, low voice. I never noticed the strong voice that he had. "There could be a meeting place for the mob in the back."

Hey! He's working with me. I can't help but smile a tad. "That is what I was thinking," I say as I sit up again.

The little woman is back at our table. She places two glasses of water on the table and looks at Zander, waiting. "Oh! I'll have the special. Eggs over-hard. Shredded hash browns. White toast," he orders. She nods and directs her attention towards myself.