Chapter 9

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He rolled his eyes and shifted uneasily on his feet as Mike ushered the one who'd tried to give him charity into the pawn shop. He wondered what business the Turk could have with a young Shoreditch looking hipster, but he wasn't interested enough to let it deter him from his purpose and figured it was rather seedy and important for them to meet at this hour and for both to come alone. He stood up straight and tried to look less jumpy as the man came back out and let the door to the shop close behind him.

"You shouldn't be out here in the drizzle without a coat on." Harry shrugged and displayed his apathy for his own well being. "What do you need Styles?"

"Louis said you had a bit of a proposition for me."

He was surprised to see a smile as broad as the one that crept across the face of the other man, the sight of it unsettled him.

"Louis also said that you were clearly not interested in that. What changed?"

His eyebrow raised as he looked Harry up and down, and Harry's confusion was evident in the crease that formed across his forehead.

"Things. Things have changed for me, I'm in need in a way that I wasn't before exactly..."

"Well I'm sorry to hear that..." Harry's heart sank as the man's voice wandered off, he knew the next words out of Mike's mouth would not be what he wanted to hear. "But I found someone else to give it a go. What I need done needs to be done quickly; there's no time to waste you see, so when he told me you gave him an emphatic no..."

His voice wandered off again and Harry nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

"It was worth a shot, wasn't it?"

"If the job doesn't get done for some reason I'll find you. You were my first choice."

He nodded as the pawn shop owner went back into his store, and as Harry thought over the conversation he realized he never asked who the hipster scumbag was.

He wanted to know who this preppy looking ass was, and why he felt entitled to be so pretentious and judgmental. He was halfway down the block when his curiosity got the best of him. He turned around and headed into the alley next to the pawn shop, where Mike had parked his car, and he leaned against the wall, studying the side of the building.

A dumpster, the car, and a rusty and precariously hung ladder to a fire escape were the only things in the alley with him. Just above the dumpster was a window, which would no doubt let Harry see into the shop, and probably let him hear too if he could press his ear against it. He grinned to himself and stretched a bit, cracking his knuckles, opening up his shoulders, arching his back and lengthening his spine. He hopped up and down on the balls of his feet a few times, feeling silly as he did, before climbing quietly and lightly up onto the trunk of Tomlinson's car. He was incredibly light on his feet, the impact of his trainers against the metal of the vehicle was silent, it made no sound at all, not even as he walked up the back windshield of the car and onto its roof. There was no need for him to tiptoe, he knew how to walk as though he was weightless, he was as agile as a cat and graceful as a classically trained gymnast and so it took nothing for him to manage the small jump between the car and the dumpster without a sound or any damage to either.

There was, however, only a very small thin bit of metal he could stand on at the edge of the dumpster, if he didn't walk the perimeter of it very carefully he would fall in. He shuddered to think what all could be found in a dumpster in Tottenham, especially one that the Turks had unmitigated access to. He took his time inching around until he reached the wall of the brick building, and reached up to the ledge of the window. He was tall enough to see into it without much trouble or maneuvering. The window allowed him an unobstructed view into Mike's office, where both men were seated and speaking facing away from the small insignificant window that was too high up to be noticed or bothered with. Harry could hear nothing, and couldn't quite get his ear to the glass and keep his feet on the edge of the dumpster, so he narrowed his eyes on the tiny little lock above the window on the inside and believed that fate was conspiring with him, for it was lifted, unlocked, which meant he could lift the window and hear whatever he wanted. He did so with tentative hands and at a slow pace, he did not want the rusty old window frame creaking and giving him away.

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