1.
Vincent was not a small man, but he could disappear in broad daylight if he had to. People had a tendency to overlook him. It was a tendency he learned to exploit.
For instance:
He was currently replacing some very harmless publicity photographs of a popular public figure with some much less harmless photographs. Like Vincent, the dangerous aspects of these photographs would not be noticed until it was much too late. They would be in the hands of several thousand early risers, laid out on tabletops next to half-drunk cups of coffee, strewn about driveways by careless paperboys before someone noticed what was wrong in those photographs. And by then, the damage would be irreversible, the culprits untraceable.
Vincent smiled as he strolled out of the maze-like sprawl of cubicles in the newspaper office. On his way out, he nodded to a few harried-looking workers, including the occupant of the space he had so recently visited. They all nodded back, but he knew they wouldn't remember him later.
He said, "Good afternoon, Ms. Fuschetto," to the bored young woman propping her head up at the security desk; but by the time she even noticed the address he was gone, and she shrugged to herself, dismissing the interaction entirely.
Exiting onto the street, Vincent put on sunglasses and merged seamlessly with the flow of people outside. Summer was just beginning, and already the influx of tourists crowded the sidewalks. He shed his businesslike navy jacket to reveal a loud, short-sleeved shirt and jeans, and vanished amongst them.
Six blocks down he slowed just enough to drop a manila envelope, addressed and stamped, into a mailbox. He didn't know if it actually made it into the postal system and he didn't really care to know; like Vincent himself, once the task had passed, it fell completely away from memory. The rusty metal creak of the drop slot and the soft thud following sent him into cheerful whistling: James Brown's "Spinning Wheel" as interpreted by one Vincent Jones. He might have caught someone's attention then, but the sun was high in the sky and all around there were people enjoying the weather, laughing, talking and even humming as they walked. He was just another guy out on his lunch break or maybe on vacation in the nation's capitol, enjoying the unexpected balmy weather and relaxing.
Playing into this role, he stopped at Moby Dick's, where he had the kabob e-chenjeh and ate everything on the plate, including the grilled tomato garnish. Then he window-shopped his way down the street, ending up at Dupont Circle watching the hipsters and the businessmen cruise each other. It was a ritual of sorts, a way for him to ease down from the exhilarating feeling of being untouchable. He watched life from the edges until he was ready to be merely human again.
Lost in this detached observation, he was startled when a passerby in a smart navy pinstripe suit looked his way and cast him an eager, inviting smile. It took him several moments to realize the flirtation was not directed at himself, but the man who sat beside him. That shocked him again--since when was he sharing the bench?
"Hey, how's it going?" the man said, smiling. He was sprawled on the bench, his arms draped over the back, right foot resting on his left knee. Wearing a navy sweatshirt emblazoned with a block M, striped sweatpants and expensive looking running shoes, he looked like a jogger taking a break, but he took no effort to hide his frank appraisal of Vincent's body.
The ridiculous phrase, "You can see me?" nearly passed over Vincent's lips before he caught himself. "Uh, all right," was what he said instead. He got to his feet.
The man leaned forward, as if about to follow. He had striking blue eyes under the pale slashes of his ginger eyebrows. "Leaving already?"
Vincent looked away, attempting nonchalance. "Yeah."
"You want company?"
He stiffened, eyes narrowing. His assessment of the situation upgraded from merely unusual to suspicious. "No, thanks. Have a nice day."
To his relief, the man nodded and waved carelessly with two fingers, turning his attention to the other people sitting or crossing through the circle. Vincent let out the breath he'd been holding and rushed toward the Metro entrance across the street.
Still, riding the long escalator down, he let himself wonder a little what would have happened if he had invited the man along, if they had ended up at his place, drunk a few beers, ended up on the couch.... He sighed, cutting off the fantasy before it could go any further. He'd had the occasional one night stand, especially when he was younger, but eventually he got tired of slipping away unnoticed; of lovers who didn't recognize him the very next day.
)
