30 comments/ 128895 views/ 17 favorites A Face in the Crowd By: The Wanderer First things first. I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement. As always I must also add, that I can't leave a story alone. I could well have added some cock-ups after they have seen it and before it gets posted. This story is set many years ago "You rotten bastard! How could you do this to me? This is all your damn fault!" The string of blasphemies coming from my wife's mouth seemed never ending. I have to look back sometime to think just how I came to be in this uncomfortable position that all too many men have found themselves in over the years. --------------- There I was, along with thousands of other idiots, trying to force my way into the underground station during the rush hour. I'm told there are worse places in the world but London is as bad as I ever want to encounter. I moved out of the Greater London Area years ago because the place is just too crowded for me. I like the peace and quiet of the West Country where I now live. Mind you, we can get inundated down there during the summer holidays. In the six weeks of the school summer break, I tend to stay clear of my local town. That day I had been obliged to visit my employer's head office, something I usually avoid if at all possible. But it had been fated by the powers that be; since taking over as manager of our little plant productivity had reached heights it had never reached before. The fact that, unlike our old manager, I left folks to get on with the jobs they knew how to do instead of demanding progress reports every five minutes had not been realised by the pen pushers in head office. Hey, if those guys knew what we were doing with all those little notes they sent us, I'm sure they would have fired me. Anyway I was forcing my way to the front of the platform when something made me look to my right. Perhaps I was looking to see if a train was coming. But what I saw was a face in the distance and for a moment my heart stopped beating. There in the distance was Sandy. Well I thought it was she. It had been ten years since I'd seen her. I tried to make my way in her direction but a train chose that moment to enter the station and all chance of closing the distance between us went out the window. I could just about see that Sandy had entered the next carriage to the one I was standing by. With the crush there was no chance I would make it to the carriage Sandy had entered so I forced my way into the nearest door. The doors closed with not a little difficulty and then the train trundled out of the station. Crammed in against the other travellers I could only wish that one of them were Sandy. -------------- I'd met Sandra first at my primary school. Even then she was the prettiest girl in the class. I'm not saying everybody thought so but I did. Okay, I suppose it was a school-boy crush. Sandra, as everyone used to call her back then, was the first girl I had ever got to know really. My elder brothers teased the local girls relentlessly and I was painted with same brush. Of course Sandra and I were never together in the playground at break times. Little boys who hung around with girls were soon branded as sissies. But in class we inevitably sat together and helped each other with our school work. A right pair of little goody goodies; Sandra and I were always chosen as class monitors for everything that was going on, from giving out the milk to getting out and putting away the sports equipment. For five years through primary and junior school we were together most of the school days. Oh and we always walked home together, much to my brothers' chagrin. But in our eleventh year the big change came. During the summer that we moved on to our secondary schools Sandra's parents moved house. Not very far, but into a different catchment area. After that summer we went to different schools and it was to be about six years before I was to see her again. I can tell you now it was a Wednesday evening. Hey, if I looked it up I could tell you the date. Pinner Fair is a one-day event held every year since some king or the other granted a decree allowing it to take place. There are quite a few towns that have one-day fairs all over England. It is a must go experience. Pinner town centre is closed off and all the paraphernalia of the fair is set up in the High Street. Big wheel, Wall of death, roundabouts, the whole damn lot is put up during the night for just one day in operation. The following morning it is all gone. I had persuaded a quite beautiful girl to go with me. I only wish now I'd gone with my brothers. But at seventeen the old hormones were doing their thing. Anyway I was standing there, my dream date hanging on my arm, by the Wurlitzer waiting to get hung on to like grim death. You know that's why you take girls on the Wurlitzer, so the girls can pretend they're frightened and you can grab them real tight. The girl and me got in ... damn I can't even remember her name now. Anyway as the bloody thing started moving, that face passed in front of me. I knew instantly who it was and I also knew that I wished I were alone. What the girl I was with thought as I twisted my head around trying to place exactly where I'd seen Sandra, I'll never know. But let's just say I think our date took a downward turn. When the ride slowed down I finally located her. As my date and I got out, I saw Sandra get in another car with her girlfriends. To my companion's disgust we waited until the Wurlitzer stopped again and Sandra got off. There followed a strained conversation, where Sandra and I said "Hi," pretending that the attraction we felt for one another wasn't there. We tried to act like platonic old friends but I fear we didn't make a good job of it. After Sandra had gone off with her little crowd, my date asked how long I'd been in love with Sandy, as she had became known. "Sandy, oh she's just an old friend from my primary school days," I told her. "Yeah, and I'm Brenda bloody Lee. Look if you want to take me to the bus stop I don't mind making my own way home. I'm not daft. I know love when I see it, even if you don't!" Well, that girl and I searched the fair ground for the rest of the evening but we couldn't locate Sandy and her friends again in the crowd. Needless to say that was my last date with that girl, but I was forever grateful for her foresight and patience. For it was she who told me I was in love with Sandy. Sandy and my paths weren't to cross again for another couple of years and like before Sandy had just faded to a slightly painful memory. So I had tried not to think of her too much, after my first desperate but unsuccessful attempts to track her down. Back then I wasn't the resourceful guy I am now and finding someone in a city of over six million people isn't easy. Through the phone book I'd tracked down her father. Although he wasn't the easiest guy to talk to, I learned that his wife had walked out on him for another man, year's before and had taken Sandy with her. Over time I had managed to get the name of Sandy's step-dad out of her father. But by the time I'd tracked him down Sandy's mother had moved on again. And then by the time I'd track her mother down ...she'd reverted to using her maiden name ... Sandy had obviously gotten fed-up with her mother's behaviour and had left home. I thought it could be that Sandy's mother had a drinking problem, as she was as pissed as a newt when I called at her house. She claimed she didn't know where Sandy was but, in the state she was in, I should think she had problems remembering where the bloody door was. When I returned to the house a few weeks later hoping her mother would be sober enough to tell me where I might find Sandy, the house was empty of furniture and had a for rent sign outside. The owners told me they evicted Sandy's mother for non-payment of rent. All further attempts at tracking her down failed. Then one night I was at a pub some miles from my home, when once again I saw Sandy's face in the crowd, this time on the dance floor. She was in the arms of some guy and they looked in love with each other. He was all over her and I got bloody jealous. I tried a couple of times to position myself where she would see me but if she did she never showed it. Mind you, I had changed a lot by then. I was what was euphemistically called a hippie. Those of you who are old enough will remember. Long hair, the most ridiculous coloured clothing and beads. Lots of beads, god, I cringe when I think back. Sometime later I noticed Sandy going outside with a different guy. So I slipped away from my friends and followed her. When I got into the open air there was no sign of Sandy or the guy. I was just turning to go back inside when I noticed movement in a car in the car park. I'm not a voyeur but I had to know. So I walked apparently aimlessly around the car park until I got close to the vehicle. In the dim light I could just about make out the guy, giving Sandy a good seeing to in the back seat. Now you would think I would have been pretty upset about that but it was back in the sixties. You know, free love and all that. There was no connection between Sandy and me other than a friendship at school. So I think all I had the right to be was jealous, although I found the incident emotionally upsetting. I left the gig immediately and went home. A stupid thing to do actually. With hindsight I would have been better served to have stood by the doorway and waited so that Sandy would see me when she had finished what she was doing and was on her way back inside. Ah, hindsight, if only. Another year or so passed before our next encounter. It was at a wedding and I was playing best man to a friend of mine. It was quite late in the evening and I was feeling no pain, you get the idea. I really didn't know Sandy was there, as I hadn't laid eyes on her all day. I hadn't seen many people actually; I'd spent most of the day concentrating on the two most gorgeous bridesmaids I'd ever met. It was going on midnight and the party had transferred back to the bride's father's house. My day's efforts had finally paid off big time and I had somehow got both the little beauties in bed. My first threesome ever! Mind I doubted the girls would remember a thing about it the following day. If it wasn't for Sandy coming in the room to collect her coat, I don't know I would have remembered much myself. Just what she made of it, when she got an eyeful of one girl riding me like a cowgirl at the same time as the other girl was sitting on my face, I don't know. But surprisingly Sandy recognised me. "Hi, Dave, don't let me disturb you." she said as she picked up her coat. It was a few minutes before it registered to whom the voice belonged. Once it registered, the girl sitting on my face went airmail and landed on the floor. I'm not quite sure what happened to the other girl, as I struggled to get my strides back on so that I could chase after Sandy. I was too late and I wasn't everyone's favourite best man, because I hadn't stopped long enough to even put a shirt or my shoes back on. Unfortunately the one of the bridesmaid's parents was also at the party; things got just a little strained after that. So once again I went home alone. There was just one more fleeting encounter with Sandy and that was at my own wedding. As we stood outside the church whilst the photographer took the obligatory pictures, there she was standing in the crowd of onlookers. What the hell could I do? I couldn't very well leave my brand new bride of five minutes to walk over to talk to some girl in the crowd. I somehow don't think it would have been appreciated. Although looking back it could have been the best move I made that day. You see as I said earlier, it was back in the days of free love but I don't think my new bride quite got the idea that being married was different from being single. To put it bluntly I was soon to find out that she had trouble standing upright and keeping her legs together once she had found someone to pay the bills. Needless to say I didn't pay the bills for long. Within the year the guy who had been my best man was in hospital and I was single again. But, with a conviction for GBH on my record. If you're wondering, they could well have done it at the reception. But, I know for sure that they got together on her bloody hen-night. I wish the person who told me had spoken up sooner. She was a friend of my ex-wife's and she told me whilst we were in bed together one night. Well, I had to make a point; I tried to work my way through as many of my ex-wife's friends as possible and damn near made it a full house. I know it got right up her nose as she was pregnant at the time. I did smile when the paternity test came back saying there was no way I could be the father. Wrong blood group apparently; there were no DNA tests back then. -------------- OK, I was in that bloody underground train and Sandy was in the next carriage. At every station I stuck my head out and watched for her to get off but she didn't as far as I could make out. Ounce the crowd started thinning out a bit I went up to the carriage I thought Sandy had got into but she wasn't there. Totally discouraged I changed trains and went back to my hotel for the night. That evening I didn't go and visit my parents as I had planned. I sat in my room and got rat-arsed; getting drunk doesn't solve anything. But it takes the pain out of the heartache. Oh, yeah, if you believe that, you'll believe anything. It just numbs the senses for a while. Mind you, whilst I was lying in bed nursing my hangover the following morning, I came up with an idea. In big cities people normally only travel during the rush hour if they have to. The main reason they do is to get to and from work and they tend to do that at the same time each day. So four o'clock that afternoon saw me standing at the bottom of the escalator that led down the platform where I'd seen Sandy the previous day. I had my eyes glued to a pair of binoculars that I was using to study every face that travelled down it. In the end I got lucky. There she was standing on the right-hand side of the escalator so that those people who were in a hurry could pass down to her left. Her right hand was on the moving handrail to steady her. I quickly changed position so that I might see what I needed to see. I had a little difficulty locating her again, but when I did, I was pleased to note that there was no glint of gold on her left hand in which she held her handbag. Sandy was much nearer to me by then. As I lowered the binoculars I saw a look of confusion that rapidly turned into a smile come on her face as she recognised me. Nothing was said, Sandy just walked off the escalator into my arms. ----------------- So here I am! Holding Sandy's hand whilst she shouts blasphemies at me. This is the third time we've been through this bloody procedure. Sandy always says it's my fault, but she was in on it as well. I don't mind her shouting at me; I'm told the pain is terrible. I'm just glad that it's her and not me; I've tried suggesting she had a Caesarean this time. But she insisted that it would leave a scar and she would feel self-conscious in her bikini. God, she still is the most beautiful girl I've ever known. Life goes on A Face in the Crowd The beat was heavy, filling the lungs with dull reverberation. Even far below, she could feel the echoes of it, the sounds causing the musty pools of green-tinted water to shiver with gentle rings. It was dark here, thick with decay so old that the mossy film covering the black tunnel walls had long ago fossilized, now a murky grey beneath the newer slick of green. A thin crackle of noise scratched in her ear as someone tried to use the radio. With a hiss, she crept along the tunnel, her only light coming from the occasional ventilation shafts that emptied into an overcast night sky, dully reflecting the glow of the city. Not that she needed much light. Not anymore. The scuff of boots just ahead made her pause, until the other's face became clear. "I've told you, the radios don't work down here," the woman growled, her lowered voice sounding harsh in the shallow echo of the tunnel, soon drowned out by the next song's beats in the concert hall far above them. "Shut up, Charlie. I just bumped it," a man's voice replied just as quietly, and sounding even more annoyed. "This place gives me the creeps. Don't like the set up, Charlie. Not one bit. What d'ya say we just skip this gig, huh? Head somewhere warm for awhile. Somewhere with a beach. Pick up some chicks." For a very brief moment, Charlie could glimpse a flash of white as the man smiled. She started to return the expression, but a long drum riff faintly heard from above halted her amusement. The sound waves, muffled by stone, sounded vaguely like the report of an automatic weapon. "After this job," she answered, her voice somber and barely audible. By force of habit, she checked the rifle on her back, knowing already that both that and the pistol at her hip were in perfect condition and ready to use. She checked her watch, its illumination a sudden brilliant point of light in the tunnel's gloom. "It's time," she murmured, the last sound muffled as she pulled up the bottom of her black ski-mask to cover the rest of her face. She swung the rifle from her back, holding it in her arms with an air of familiarity. "Matt," the woman began, but she was unable to continue. Her blue-eyed gaze was unreadable, framed as it was by the black matte of the mask. She held a gloved hand out to him. Matt laughed and clasped Charlie's hand tightly. "If both of us do not survive, no one here gets out alive," he finished for her, the phrase carrying an oddly traditional ring. The man then pulled a ski mask over his own head, his face suddenly looking almost identical to hers. With a nod, Charlie turned, moving quickly down the tunnel. Matt's footfalls disappeared behind her. A cold feeling of unease crawled down the woman's back as she stalked silently back the way she had come. This job did not please her one bit, but there was no way she was going to share that with her little brother. It really was the last job planned. Not just for now, but forever. She hoped Matt would take it well. To him, this was just a way of life. It was all either of them had ever known. She could hear water dripping somewhere down one of the nearby branches of tunneling. The smell of decomposition was stronger in some of these. The architects of this building had meant well when they put their burrows down here to make all behind-the-scenes machinations invisible to their patrons, but as working conditions declined, so did the use of the tunnels. Now, they were little more than myth to most and were not even shown on the newer copies of the concert hall's blueprints. Charlie's copy was a little better than that. A door appeared in the gloom to Charlie's right. She shined a small pen light on the hinges, only recently oiled during her excursion the night before. With one last look at her watch, she began to ease open the door with a minimum scratch of noise that dissolved into the black. There were many things that bothered her on this job. The lack of communication with Matt was second only to the number of people seated above them in the concert hall, enjoying the city's recent attempts at more eclectic music to bring the people back to this rotting building. If everything went as planned, not a single person above would ever know she and Matt were there. But the best laid plans are only plans. Slowly, Charlie closed the door behind her and stared forward into utter darkness. She slid her goggles into place, shined the infrared ahead of her and began to move, experience helping her interpret the two-dimensional shades of green. After only a few footsteps, the stairs began climbing steeply up, up, up towards the inner walls of the archaic building, towards the cleaner air, and towards that taste of freedom which was now so close after all this time. The beach, she reminded herself silently. Remember the beach. It was something happy. Something beyond. * * * Kovách Henrik sat comfortably in the plush seat, his arm around the slender shoulders of his most recent acquaintance. The music tonight wasn't great, but it was live, and the younger population had come out in force. He had been sure to get his public name attached to this effort early on, supplying just enough cash to appear generous and to keep the committee from asking for more. The woman sitting beside him held his arm lightly, her ivory skin white against the dark blue velvet of his sleeve. She faced forward, captivated by the local two-bit band on stage as if it were a world class symphony orchestra. Of course, the little something Henrik had slipped into her drink beforehand probably aided her fascination somewhat. Women could be so wonderfully pliable with the right ingredients, the man mused, watching her for a moment before turning his attention back to the concert. The view from their box was quite excellent. The concert hall would be glorious if they could find the money to restore it. From that vantage point, Henrik could easily spot some of the city's up-and-coming faces in the crowd below. They were not competition yet. Some might even make decent business prospects. But all in good time. At the entrances to the main floor, a few of Henrik's closer companions watched the doors, speaking quietly to the others spaced throughout the hall and on the street outside. Not that Henrik was worried. He just wanted to make his presence felt. Budapest was going to be his town. He could feel it. He had planned it. It was within his grasp. Riding high on his own feelings of success and worth, he asked the young woman to fetch a glass of wine. She complied without a word, ducking soundlessly out the curtain at the back of the box. Henrik took advantage of the woman's absence to check in with his foreman, who reported an all clear from the box directly across from him. He nodded across the way to the other man and settled back in his chair, hands folded behind his head as he waited for his wine. Nothing to do but enjoy the show and wait for its end, when the departing audience would be carefully combed by his people outside, offering a variety of chemical delights. * * * Charlie eased her way out of the stairwell through the old service hatch, built when nutrition was a foreign concept and the human body was smaller. It was a tight fit. After only twenty meters, she came to the walkway opposite the mark's box seats. Easing out only far enough to set up her rifle, she settled down to wait. * * * Despite his earlier misgivings, Matt was feeling pretty good right now. He always did once they finally got to work. Charlie's map of the tunneling had been flawless so far; it was only a matter of minutes before he reached the branch that wandered off under the smaller of the two changing rooms, unused until the asbestos removal was complete. In less than a minute, he shed his mask, gloves and sweatshirt and quickly donned the black jacket and white gloves of one of the servers working for tonight's catering service. A quick look in the mirror, a comb-through with his hands, and Matt stashed his gear in one of the lockers before hooking a tarnished padlock through the slot. It was newer than it looked, and once everything was in place, it simply looked like one of the other half dozen abandoned cubbyholes. He eased open the door to the greenroom, as deserted as the rest of this section of basement. Silently, he left for the hallway door to his left while the concert pulsated through the heavy stage door just to his right. The stage held no interest for Matt tonight. With a mental reminder to stand up straight, he ducked out into the hallway, leaving the greenroom door ajar just enough to keep it from locking. Another thirty seconds brought him out into the bustling foyer, busy with mingling 20-somethings and younger. Beer was the predominant odor wafting along the gilded ceiling. A chirp in his ear, then Charlie's voice, barely audible over the surrounding noise. "Brown over Oriental, blushing bride." Brown hair, long and braided, red dress. Matt snorted lightly as he glanced over the crowd. Lots of red dresses. But braids were long out of fashion in this corner of the earth. The dazed looking woman at the wine vendor was a good guess. He tugged his gloves just a little tighter and claimed one of the trays used to collect the spent glasses or mugs. As the red dress started towards the stairs for the box seats, Matt followed at a disinterested distance. * * * "Your wine, Henrik," the woman purred into the black curly hair, slick with gel. She reached around his shoulder to offer the elegant little glass of a delightfully sparkling blush and placed a soft kiss on his temple. Henrik returned this gesture with a smile and waved the woman to her seat without a word. He turned his gaze back on a blonde in the second row. His foreman already had orders to intercept the new interest once the concert was over. The man's indifference seemed to annoy his box seat partner, who sat staring at Henrik with a poor pretence of the drugged look he expected. But Henrik was paying no attention in any case. He raised the glass to his lips, eyes still focused on the blonde. A beat of music. Another. The man frowned slightly and rubbed at his forehead then threw back a bit more wine. The woman at his side began to smile slowly, her brown eyes shining like worn cobblestone after a storm. "You shouldn't have messed with my brother," she said derisively in her native Hungarian, leaning in as if for a kiss. Henrik's face was growing mottled, darkening as blood rushed to his head. He clutched at his neck and stared at the woman, the surprise even more evident in his expression than the contempt was in hers. Movement in the corner of her eye as the man's foreman rushed out into the hallway. A sound from the curtain. It was time to go. She dipped into Henrik's coat pocket and lifted his wallet with a wink. When she slipped out of the theatre box, there was no one in sight but one of the caterers, carrying a full tray of discarded glasses. She left in the opposite direction with her own best laid plans. * * * The droning beats of music were grating on Charlie's nerves. It actually sounded better from the tunnels. She shifted irritably while watching the box across the way through the rifle sight. Suddenly still, movement through the scope. The red dress returned, whispered something, handed the mark his drink. Watchful for Matt, Charlie gripped the rifle, two pounds of pressure on the trigger. Something was going on. The mark seemed to be choking. Red dress whispered again, leaned in for a kiss? No, she was smiling, lifted the man's wallet. Charlie just caught Matt's face through the slit in the box's curtain. He was looking at Charlie, not the mark. It was time to go. Fighting the icy sliver of panic worming through her stomach, Charlie slowly pulled back, out of sight of the music hall. Twenty meters back to the stairs, goggles back in place, she ghosted her way back to the tunnels as quietly as she could, the walls blurring past in washes of green as the infrared flashlight's beam bounced ahead of her. The music was still playing. Perhaps there was enough time. * * * Matt followed the red dress up the stairs. He peeked into the first box and quietly cleared the empty glasses before ducking back out into the hallway. The red dress was standing outside their mark's box, paying him no mind. She set the glass on the small inset shelf next to one of the hall's better lamps and slid a pair of opera gloves onto her hands. Carefully, the dark-haired woman wiped the glass clean with a white cloth, then pulled a tiny vial from her thick braid of hair. As the woman glanced his way, Matt slipped into the next box just enough to be out of sight. He claimed another empty glass and backed out into the hallway. The red dress was gone. He glanced quickly up and down the narrow hallway, but there was no one in sight. Just as he reached the mark's box, he heard the woman's voice purr something in Hungarian, peeked in long enough to see the effects of the woman's vial, then glanced up towards Charlie. He knew his sister was watching, so he let the curtain fall closed and began walking back the way he had come, depositing the tray in its proper place on his way back to the greenroom. Minutes later, he was back in the tunnels, leaving no trace behind. Taking no chances this time, he slipped into his own infrared goggles and sped along to rendezvous with Charlie, taking care to not to splash through the stagnant puddles. * * * A variety of oaths crossed Charlie's lips as she clambered down the narrow stairs. She was panicking, and she knew it, her heart beating a tarantella against her ribs as she tried not to slip or let the rifle bump against the grimy wall. Finally, she reached the bottom of the stairs and tried to calm herself as she listened at the door. All she could hear was her breathing and the blood pounding through her ears. Very slowly, she forced herself to calm down. She had seen Matt slip away. He would meet her. Things were not ruined, as long as Kovách was dead. Even better if they didn't have to do it themselves. The beach, Charlie. The beach. She heard footsteps in the tunnel outside the door. They neared and came to a stop. Still, she waited. Finally, a crackle of noise in her ear as she eased the door open. "Don't yell at me this time, Charlie, it was on purpose," came her brother's voice. His goggled face bloomed in her vision as she shined her light towards him. His mask was pulled down to his chin and he was smiling. Always a good sign. "Let's get the hell outta here." Charlie didn't need to voice her agreement as they turned down the tunnel and jogged quietly toward the access hatch in the distance. The thumping music abruptly ended, and without a word, the brother and sister picked up their pace, eventually putting away their infrared gear as the natural light increased. An ancient exit sign reflected the city's glow through the crazed stain glass, but Matt and Charlie did not take that door. A few meters farther brought them to a steel grate in the ceiling that lifted away easily. First Charlie climbed up with a hand from her brother. She lifted up the gear and pulled Matt up. The grate was slipped soundlessly into place, and just as silently, the brother and sister melted into the shadows. When they reappeared among the locals of Budapest, they looked like an average pair of tourists about to hit the road again. In less than an hour, they would be on a plane making its arcing way over the Atlantic to one of many available tropical beaches. The only marks in sight would be those on the tab at the bar.