[MF] Lavender

The hat hung on the new and polished coat rack. The book sat somewhere on top the t.v. stand in the bedroom. The scissors laid between the bread knife and can opener in the cutlery drawer. He was poised underneath the array of suits and coats that belonged to someone other than himself.

The suits were much different than the ones he wore. They were unkempt and wrinkled. The dark brown hair of a woman stuck to the jackets, likely a wife or a mistress. The job was like his others; simple but time consuming. He waited patiently although his back ached and the balls of his feet were sore. His stomach spoke to him and he remembered that he had not eaten in the morning.

The rim of the hat was crisp like an apple. The pages of the book were thick like the tree it was made from. The blades of the scissors were as sharp and piercing as a wolf’s cry to the moon.

He thought about what the man would look like, probably like all the other men he’d killed. He’d be average of height with a paunch from the gourmet restaurants he frequented. He most likely would have a receding hairline and a nose that protruded absurdly from his face. He’d be nothing like the man that sat in his closet now awaiting his return.

The intruder was in fact very different than the man he imagined he was preparing to kill. Although he was in his late forties, he was extraordinarily fit. He had a full head of hair and a face that was pleasant to any eye. His mother always told him he was wasting a good face in his line of work. She said there was no sense in hiding a face like his.

He mostly agreed with her. He knew he was charming and admirable, and he used it as his advantage. Of course it wasn’t just his looks that got him where he was. He was smart and skilled. He often marveled at his own wit and talent. It was something that he earned, that he worked hard for. He knew he was good at what he did.

He’d never failed at a mission, and they all went exactly as he’d planned. Never once did he think that a mission would go against his plan; he didn’t allow that kind of thinking. He thought that if he doubted his skill, then the doubt would become true. It had been an hour now since he arrived. He’d waited sixteen hours for an ambush before; he could handle this.

He smelled the lavender scent of a woman’s perfume. It stunk mostly on the grey suit to his left. It did not bother him that the man had a woman he loved, it made the mission much more enjoyable.

The hat was lined with a grey silk. The book was bound in a royal blue cloth. The handle of the scissors was slightly cracked.

As he still patiently waited for the man's return, he began to think about his own closet and his own array of suits. The coats that he wore varied in purpose. Some he wore to dinner and parties. Those were his expensive suits, the very nice ones.Others he wore specifically for missions and nothing else. Those suits were as plain as suits get; he could never be noticed while on a mission. His suits also varied in color. A man that wore the same color each day could be spotted easily.

He realized yet again how different his victim could be from himself. As he examined the suits in the closet again (having nothing better to do), he noticed that the coats and pants were mostly grey. In fact there was not one suit in the whole closet that wasn’t some shade of grey. What a boring and stupid man he thought. Although he spent much time criticizing and examining the color of the suits, he failed to note that they were tailored to a small size and somewhat peculiar style. Unbeknownst to him, his adversary would not in fact have an extended stomach from the gourmet food he often ate. No, quite the opposite.

Within the closet he spotted a purple hand bag. It instantly reminded him of a woman he’d been with before. She was a reporter for a local newspaper. It was after he won gold at his first college track meet, that she came to write a story about him. He adored this woman, but he didn’t know why. Was it only because she wanted to write about him and marvel at his talent? It was different now that he’d become a part of the shadows. It was only he who could marvel at his own talent. He became slightly insane when he took the oath of silence that all spies do. There was no one to tell his story of valiance and bravery.

He himself took on the responsibility of writing for a time. The worn leather bound journal always sat in his coat pocket. The cover had rips and tears, something he planned to fix and re-bind. Inside it contained stories of his missions; unedited and uncensored. He wrote in great detail about every man he killed and woman he seduced. He wrote about every day including on the days that he wasn’t on a mission. Often he would read back his stories and smile as he did. He was so fond of himself.

It did worry him some; he lost the journal on a cruise last year. He worried because the stories were accounts of both sides. You see he was a man that liked to keep his options open. He didn’t work for just one person, but many. And some of those people were the exact opposite of allies. He enjoyed deceiving others, and he knew he was good at it. For five years his double life had been kept a secret, and he was confident it would stay that way for years to come.

He then again found himself thinking about the man he waited to kill. He wondered how the man would react as he saw a stranger in his closet. Would his wife be with him? Would his children cry? Of course he did not truly know if the man had children or not. His sources were never precise and constantly changing. There was no direct contact with his source so occasionally they’d become hard to track. Some of the men he worked for would mask their message in a woman’s voice.

This time particularly, the woman only told him an address and a price, and the price was good. He wasn’t given a name. It was better that way;if he didn’t know a name then the murder would be much easier to deny. He was told his victim was coming back from a long plane flight. That’s why he chose his position in the closet. The man would come home and busy himself with putting his suitcase away. The mess would be easy to conceal, the noises would be muffled and unheard within the deep closet.

He sat for uncountable hours in his poised spot beneath the suits. He ran his hands through his hair, and it was clear he needed a cut. He thought about the last time he went to the barber shop. The woman snipped aimlessly at his hair. The feel of his hair falling onto his neck made him shiver and itch. He looked in the mirror when she was finished, and he realized that she’d done a horrible job. The sides were too short and the front as well. He was too kind to show his dissatisfaction; she was such a beautiful woman. Although she was very attractive, he did not tip her at the door. He thought a woman was mostly only good for a haircut, and she did a horrible job at that..

He remembered entering a store afterward as he looked for something to cover his head. All the while the smell of lavender soap traveled to his senses. He donned a brown chapeau as he exited the shop. As he walked home he remembered just how much he hated having his head covered.

He was beginning to wonder if his man would actually show, he was becoming impatient. He imagined that the man’s plane was probably delayed. He’d go to a pay phone and call his source. Of course waiting didn’t bother him. But if he could avoid waiting a whole day on a man, he prefered that. He contemplated his options. He could continue to wait and starve within the closet, or he could make a quick escape, and come back later while the man was sleeping.

He stood silently as he decided to take the chance to leave. The closet was feeling cramped, and he desperately needed to walk. He was confident that he’d be able to improvise with a new plan. He just needed a few minutes to get to the phone and back.

The house was silent. He exited the closet slowly as he began to stretch his legs. The twin size bed that hugged the wall was lightly made. He passed the dresser and arm chair as he left the room. He eyed the ornate handles of the brown cupboards and drawers. The sleeve of a hanging beige jacket brushed his as he slipped through the side door. A distant pattering noise skipped through the house, but he was too distracted to notice it. “Just to the pay phone and then right back.” He said to himself not so silently.

The book smelled like fresh glue. The scissors clicked against the other cutlery. The hat was still damp from the morning’s rain.

He walked down the cobble path in the back yard. He looked the other way as he passed the vast and varied garden. He easily maneuvered over the fence. He did so without ripping his suit. He smiled as he finished the feat and landed on the ground. He took the careful precaution of exiting through the backyard, as the neighbors would throw a suspicious eye to a stranger leaving through the front.

He walked for ten minutes as he found his way to the main road. He looked constantly ahead for a close pay phone, but he didn’t see any in the near distance. He hoped the man did not arrive home while he was gone. He had no experience attempting a live entry while his victims were awake. Although he didn’t worry much for he knew that his skill would pull through for him.

The book sat heavily inside the deep pocket. The scissors were tucked beneath the cuff. The hat sunk lightly on top of the brown head of hair.

Across the street he spotted a small payphone. He eyed the moving traffic on the street. Was it worth it? He had troubles finding a moment to cross. He waited patiently remembering his oath to stay unseen during his mission. No running he thought. He shoved his hands into his empty pockets trying to hide his frustration.

As he finally crossed the road, a woman entered the small booth before him. He was indeed becoming more and more impatient. He wondered how long she would take, he knew how women were with phone calls. They could take hours on the phone if they had the money for it.

The woman’s call was over in two minutes and six seconds exactly, he counted. It was not long for a woman's call, but he knew he could do shorter. He stood in front of the booth as he waited for the her to exit. As she turned toward him he couldn’t help but feel like he recognized her somehow.

“I need to make another call, but you can go while I count my change.” She offered as she exited the booth.

He nodded and entered the booth, knowing he’d heard her voice somewhere before. He fished some coins from his wallet and pushed them into the machine. He nervously pressed the numbers as he thought about the woman that waited outside the booth. He sent a glance at her as he listened to the rings. She delicately fished nickels and dimes out of her purple handbag. He contemplated offering her some of his quarters, but he didn’t have enough.

His source did not pick up. He punched the number in the phone and tried again. He watched as the woman stuffed her handbag into the large pocket of her beige coat. She waited patiently as he tried the call again. He was nervous as he felt that something was not quite right. His sources always answered.

“Just one more try.” He said nervously to the woman. He eyed the number pad once more and punched in the digits again. A stray brown hair twisted within the telephone cord. The small box smelled of lavender perfume. He felt as if he was going insane, like he was the one being spied on.

He looked back at the woman who wore a silk lined hat. He saw her dark brown locks and examined again her long beige coat. He turned back nervously to face the phone. He heard six rings, but still no answer. He hung the phone in defeat, facing his new found anxiety. He turned to find the woman standing in the doorway, blocking his escape.

“I’m sorry, do you think I could borrow a quarter?” She asked pleasantly.

He turned to the phone again and retrieved the one last quarter he sat on top of the machine. He stared at the phone for a slight moment.

“It’s really fine if you need it.” The woman continued.

He knew that voice, but from where? He continued to look at the phone and remembered his call early yesterday morning. He had received a call offer for this job, from a woman that his source had hired. In his mind the voices seemed identical. Could she be that woman? If so what was she doing there? Maybe she was attempting to send him a message. He truly did not need help to finish the mission. He was baffled that his sources thought so.

“Listen. You can go home, I don’t need any help.” He told the woman as he handed her the coin.

“Excuse me?” She asked.

“If my sources sent you, tell them I don’t need any help. I can do the mission on my own.” He said after a short pause The woman placed the coin in her purple hand bag and then shoved her hand into the pocket of her beige coat. He knew he had seen that coat before. Below the bottom of the coat peeked the pant legs of a light grey suit. She laughed quietly before looking back at the man.

“What are you laughing about?” He asked furiously.

“I wasn’t sent by your sources, I’d rather cut my fingers off than help them.” She said in a stark tone.

“What do you know about my sources?” He asked defensively.

“I know that they want you to kill a man. You’ve been waiting at his house all morning, you’re bloodthirsty.” She said stroking his ego.

“How do you know about the man I’m going to kill?” He asked tensely.

The woman laughed generously from the remark. She breathed heavily to show her great amusement. He hated being laughed at.

“What?” He demanded.

“I am the man you are going to kill.” she said

He paused, horror stricken from the realization. How had he been so stupid?

The silver scissors protruded absurdly from his neck. The hat covered his lifeless face. And his own incriminating journal hung heavily with its new, royal blue cover in his coat pocket.

Source by YourRiverBetty
Mens Hair Styles 2015