Stranger

Stranger

It was a grey damp morning. My back was killing me; it hated the rain. I couldn’t call a sickie, we needed the money. I emptied wheelie bins into dustbin trucks. In the summer I loved it, in the winter less so. But I have some good mates and one of them was with me that day.

‘What you been up to John?’

‘We went to the pictures; saw ... Watch out, mate!’ As I answered Phil, a man with a rucksack nearly walked into me. He looked very damp and was hunched from the drizzle. He glanced around as if unsure of where he was. This guy walked up some steps on the side of a nearby Victorian building and tapped numbers onto the security pad. He seemed to be having a problem though.

He picked up his phone and made a call. ‘The door won’t let me in .... Yes of course! 2001..... Sod it Janet! Just come and let me in before I’m seen.’

I smiled to myself as the truck turned the corner. His problems should be over.

We were going down The High St, when I saw him again. This time he had the phone to his ear and was marching through the rain. ‘Phil, that’s the guy who nearly crashed into me a few minutes ago. What do you think he’s up to?’

‘John, if I knew that I wouldn’t be doing this job, I’d be a Private Investigator.’ Phil was rather fond of his Marlow books.

We reached Turn St. I had to do a double take. There was this woman walking away from us in a scanty dressing gown and slippers. She glanced over her shoulder at us her cheeks reddening and shot into a building.

I shook my head, we were getting them today. That incessant wet rain, the type that penetrates, seemed to be bringing all sorts to the streets. I shrugged and turned to the next bin. I glanced up again at the building and saw the same women in a window. She had a phone in her hand, her face crinkled as if concentrating, her eyes darting up and down the street. It was seven in the morning and my curiosity was getting the better of me.

It was then that I saw him for the third time. He was soaked with his hood up but I know it was the same guy. He walked to the entrance. I stopped what I was doing for a moment and just watched. The woman moved from the window and a few seconds later a jogging suited woman burst out of the door ‘1887?’ she called at the guy. ‘2001.’ I heard a feminine chuckle as the man went to walk into the building.  Next thing, this other guy appeared grabbed Rucksack Man and spun him round punching him on the nose yelling ‘that’s for thinking you can fuck my wife! And as for you ... your’e not my wife!’ I didn’t hear the rest. Phil shouted ‘wake up!’  I shook, groaned, stretched and went back to my bins.