Gatecrasher

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It was the kind of morning that people stayed in bed for. A damp, grey dawn blew in off the river and across the thinning trees of the park. Three men gathered by the walled water’s edge. Their hands, thrust deep into pockets, drew overcoats tight against themselves as they tried to keep out the cold and the drizzle that swept about them.

One of the men looked sharper and more affluent than the other two. His long dark coat looked heavy and expensive, well cut. His brown hair, short and styled, barely shifted in the breeze. The other two wore jeans and cheap looking jackets, slightly ill-fitting. Plain and nondescript, they appeared altogether less sophisticated than their companion.

Though their only company in the park were joggers and dog walkers, squirrels and pigeons, they huddled close and spoke quietly and guardedly. Frequently they turned to look about them, their eyes scanning people as they passed, searching the trees and the shadows they cast.

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