Resistance

Untitled Part 4

Jake Novak's pace was interrupted when a ragged, dirt-grimed man came stumbling out from an alley before him and nearly ran him over. The man didn't pause to apologize, just eyed Jake briefly before taking off down the street. Jake cocked an eyebrow looking after him. What was his hurry? A ruckus coming from further down the alley made him flinch, and he tilted his head casting a glance down the narrow, garbage-strewn road. A soft chirp coming from the phone in his pocket made him tear his gaze away from the alley and he continued on down the road.

As he dug out his phone, though, he noticed this fleeing man had left a dark, smudgy stain on the front of his waistcoat upon collision. Jake stopped again, giving a faint grunt of dissatisfaction.

"Oh, for the love of – Really?" he muttered, eyeing his reflection in a nearby shopwindow. The stain covered most of his silky, midnight blue vest. Jake frowned. He briefly considered trying to rub it off, but chances were it'd just make it worse. With a silent sigh he went into a nearby alley and dumped the large leatherbag he had over his shoulder on the ground next to him. He muttered annoyed to himself while peeling off his dark, leather Jacket and putting it on top of a dumpster. Then he undid the buckles of a very unusual belt he had across his torso. It had two straps going over his shoulders and one wide strap going across his waist. On each side of his waist hung a scabbard, designed to fit knives and daggers of varying kinds. Today they were occupied by a large hunting knife and an ornate dagger. Jake got the belt off and put it on top of the jacket. Then he opened the bag and pulled out a spare deep burgundy vest and replaced it with the blue one. Once he'd gotten it on, however, he realized the deep red clashed horribly with the pale blue of his shirt and that he had to change out both shirt and waistcoat.

"And here I'd hoped to wait with the change of clothes until after the job was done,,," he muttered buttoning up the new shirt and pulling the vest in place across it. He knew for a fact that this particular job could get pretty messy pretty fast.

He stuffed the discarded clothes into the bag and got his belt back around his shoulders again, making sure to hide the knives under his jacket before he exited the alley.

Continuing on down the road at a quick pace, he compretely forgot about the text he'd received earlier and didn't remember until another text ticked in. Jake slowed his pace briefly, but chose to ignore it. The extra minutes he'd taken to change clothes meant he'd have to hurry to reach his destination in time. Whoever was texting him would have to wait.

By the time Jake arrived at his goal, a rundown little pub near the harbor the he'd received five more texts and a phonecall. Jake ignored all these and headed for the weatherworn pubdoor.

A guy smoking a cigarette by the entry grabbed Jake by his long, dark ponytail and pulled him to a halt.

"And where do you think you're going, prettyboy?"

Suppressing the urge to pull out his knife at this dude, in public, in broad daylight, he met his gaze.

"I was thinking of heading inside." He said. "I have a meeting scheduled and I'm already running a little late."

The man, a burly thug with dark hair, shorn short and pointy black eyes gave a toothy sneer.

"Pub's off limits to outsiders." He growled, yanking Jake back by the hair.

In less than a second Jake had undone the clasp on the hunting knife and brought it up beneath the man's grubby chin.

"I said I've got a meeting scheduled and it'd be rude to be late, don't you think?" he said, eyeing the man coolly. "Now if you'd be so kind as to let go of my hair, please. I'd rather not have it tainted by your greasy fingers."