The Cloak I Wear

How does the song go? Something about loneliness being the cloak you wear? Well I guess that’s right. I have chosen a lonely life. I have donned the cloak and wear it with relish. No morbid poems for me. No blogs written in angst hoping for caring comments. No. I feed on the loneliness. It gives me my strength.

I choose lonely places to do my work because it is easier, but occasionally, like today, I work in crowded places. These jobs are more lucrative because they are more difficult. They require a great deal of creativity. Even though I am in a crowd I am alone. I am always surprised how easy it is to be alone in a crowd.

Today the mayor is holding a press conference in the station’s concourse. A strange place for it I thought. Being so open with the continuous coming and going of people. It suits me though. Everyone concentrating on the mayor will make my job easier. Help me to be alone.

I take up a position to the left of the podium where I can get a good uninterrupted vision of the podium and the crowd. My eyes are everywhere. Looking for anything out of place. Even in such a crowded place, with so many different people, the out of place stands out, if you know what you’re looking for.

“Officer. What time will the mayor be speaking?” asks an old lady who has taken up a position besides me.

“It’s scheduled for 3, he should be coming through any time now.” I reply and get back to my surveillance. A few minutes later the crowd parts to let the mayor and his entourage through. The mayor takes up his place at the podium, adjusts the microphone and begins his speech.

He opens by thanking everyone and the media for attending. He tells everyone how important the new Mayoral Organised Crime Unit will be for a city paralysed with fear. It is an election year and the message of citizens taking back their city is a popular one.

Although all eyes in the crowd are fixed on the mayor, commuters are still thronging through the concourse behind me. I reach into my pocket, palm the small pipe and curl my fist around it. I bring my fist to my mouth and cough. The dart is minute, but the mayor feels it and brushes at his neck as if to shoo a pesky fly.

I back away into the throng of commuters. I am out of the building by the time the mayor drops. I am out of the uniform by the time they reach him. I have donned my cloak of loneliness by the time he is dead.