The Expensive Man

“It’s pissing it down again” he muttered to no one in particular. No one in particular in this case happened to be an empty alleyway in the wrong part of Greater London. Admittedly, at this time of night anywhere was the wrong part of Greater London. It was miserable out. The rain soaked his coat and the wind threatened to pull it off him entirely. He tightened the belt, pulling the beige coat over his paunch and trudged under the best cover he could see, a small mesh fire-escape. 
It was a remarkably dour night, even for mid April. Climate change the news called it. He didn’t really know, rains were a fairly easy thing to conjure if you knew how. Admittedly, the storm currently brewing would maybe be a little more difficult. The man he was meeting would certainly have appreciated the drama of the thunder overhead. He would probably have the power to to manage it too. 
He fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette. If he was going to die tonight he may as well do it without the jitters. He raised the sodden paper to his lips with one hand and clicked the fingers of the other. A small flame sprung up over his thumb and he jabbed the stubby roll up into it. After a few minutes he lit another. He didn’t much care to be kept waiting. He also didn’t much care to know what happened if he left. 
It was 4 cigarettes later that the other man arrived. He pulled up in a large black car, it looked expensive. A man climbed out, he also looked expensive. In spite of the weather he was wearing an immaculate dark suit and a white silk shirt. His jacket and his collar both hung open with a practiced nonchalance and the material seemed to cling to the sinews of his lean body. The watch that twinkled at the wrist probably cost the same as the car, the cufflinks above it probably even more. 
The most striking thing about the new figure was that the man seemed unfazed by the rain. It didn’t really seem to hit him at all. Drops fell towards him for a while and then drifted around him, moving in an odd haze of confused drizzle. He flashed a smile that seemed less a greeting and more like a threat. Perfect white teeth. 
“Thorpe?” He asked in a clipped English accent as he stepped up to the paunchy man in the beige coat. Thorpe was suddenly unsure whether taking this contract has been wise, he nodded all the same. The smile broadened, revealing more of The Expensive Man’s perfect teeth. His grey eyes didn’t seem to smile with it. 
“Excellent” he purred. Thorpe wanted to throw up. That would probably be unbecoming, especially given the cost of the other man’s shoes. The expensive man plucked the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground. He stamped on it. There was a soft fizzle of ash in rain. 
“Filthy habit” he explained. Thorpe guessed this was more about expressing his power than out of a genuine care for his health. The Expensive Man had shown that he could do anything he liked and there was nothing Thorpe could do back. The thought made him shudder, he played it off as shaking rain from his hair.
A long pause followed. The rain echoing on the pavement alleviated the silence but did little for the tension. The Expensive Man, however, remained unfazed. He also remained dry. “Shall we get on with it then?” he asked finally, gesturing to the case hanging in Thorpe’s grip. Thorpe balled his hands into fists. “Relax” his mind screamed. 
Shaking, he lifted the case and placed it slowly onto the boot of the car. “442–153” Thorpe mumbled, suddenly very aware that these were the first words he’d said. There was a long silence as the Expensive Man played with the tumblers on the front of the case, interrupted by a loud click as it swung open. Thorpe was about to point out that the papers could get wet when he realised that likely wouldn’t be an issue. 
The Expensive Man’s grin widened ever further. He was starting to look like a shark. Thorpe felt like bait. “Very nice” he purred, turning each piece of A4 over in turn and examining the long list of names. “You’ve done well sniffer,” he said moving his gaze to Thorpe. This time the Expensive Man was the one to click his fingers, as he did so the other door of the car swung open and a woman stepped out. 
Her outfit was not so much out of place as it was out of time. She was wearing dark leather boots that stretched up her calf, above them were a pair of tough, grey riding trousers and above that a pale grey cloak that fell just past her hips. She wore her mousey hair in a short bob cut, framing her angular features and startling blue eyes. Her hands fell free at the sides, resting naturally above a thin holster hanging from her hip, a gnarled wooden handle poked out the top. 
Everything about this woman screamed dangerous and Thorpe suddenly had a horrible feeling about why this deal was so well paid. The woman let the rain hit her for a second, then made a big show of shaking herself and the drops around her simply stopped. The water that had hit her clothes flew from her and joined the motionless cloud. She smiled at Thorpe’s dumb expression and drew the wand from her holster. In a single delicate motion she drew the wand slowly and horizontally through the cloud of motionless rain and it formed into ice around the shaft. By the end of its arc a long delicate blade had formed around the wand. The crystalline ice undulated in a way that was both alien and uncomfortably natural. It was beautiful.
Thorpe stood motionless and simply stared. 
The Expensive man laughed. 
Panic.
She raised her free hand and gestured at Thorpe. He turned to run. He never made it that far. The water that had soaked into his coat and his clothes and now both had frozen. His body held stiff by their shape and weight. He had no choice really, he fell to the floor. He heard the footsteps, the sharp click of the leather boots on the tarmac behind him as the woman approached. He tried to beg but his voice died in his throat. She knelt down next to him, “tut tut” she whispered into his ear “you’re no fun.” 
He closed his eyes and whimpered, waiting for what came next. 
One moment later. 
Two moments. 
Three. 
He re-opened his eyes when he heard the car pull away. They were both gone. In their place was a small silver case. He felt his clothes thaw and stepped towards it, it was heavy. His cold finger fumbled with the catch on the front, 422–153, inside was cash. A lot. All in £50s. On top of the cash was a note written in a long elegant hand. “Sorry Mr Thorpe,” it read “she does get a mite playful at times!” He grimaced at that. “Please find your payment in full, hope to work with you again sometime, E.”
Thorpe sat back on his heels, letting the rain wash over him. 
“I’ve made a horrible mistake.”