Writing Prompt: He crouched low in the shadows.

Good morning all. I hope you had a wonderful Labor Day Weekend. Three whole days of no alarm clock. Bliss. And now I for one am ready to face the week. Admittedly that eagerness may fade a bit by the end of the day. I love three day weekends but getting back to work after always feels like I am playing catch up. But still, it is time to get going. So let’s dive in with the first of this week’s prompts.

I kind of like this. I’d need to think about it more before I decided to do anything with it, but it could be interesting. Certainly a little bit different for me.

Tuesday, September 7th: He crouched low in the shadows.

He crouched low in the shadows.  He was confident that he couldn’t be seen.  By now he was certain he was a familiar shape in the shadows, nothing looking out of place.  He had been sitting her watching every night for the past six months. 

He sat still and watched.  He carried no surveillance equipment, nothing to set off any scanners or security devices.  He carried nothing to record what he saw except his mind.  He was not building a report.  He did not have to argue a case.  He just needed to know. 

Frank shifted slightly, settling the worn out garments a little more comfortably against his skin.  They were a part of his blending process.  While he could have afforded the best in high tech gear, that would only make him stand out more.  Here he wore only layers upon layers of cast off clothing, mismatched, patched, torn and worn through.  The many layers overlapped providing him some protection from the bitterly cold winds blowing in off the lake. 

More importantly they provided him creative cover.  If spotted, he was just one of the city’s large population of homeless looking for a warm place to shelter for the night.  His spot was relatively out of the wind, secure from any rain by an overhang, and away from anyone who might seek to rob him of anything they thought he might have.   If he was spotted he might be sent on with threats and curses, but no suspicions would arise. 

Thus far if anyone had seen him, the disguise rendered him harmless and he was dismissed.  Despite the fact that these docks had been abandoned for nearly forty years, they were seeing a lot of use.  The basic smuggling was expected.  As half of the city had business tied to the trade from the docks, their closing had been a hard blow to the population.  The economy took a nose dive and formerly secure people found themselves scrambling.  The smuggling in some ways helped and for the most part the authorities turned a blind eye.  Many took a small cut, but that too was expected.

This was different.  The normal smuggling was taking place on the other side of the lake where it flowed into the river connecting it to the ocean.  This set of docks was designed mostly for fishermen hauling in local catches for the canneries that once lined the area. The canneries closed one by one as the lake became overfished.  These docks mostly ignored by the city’s regular smugglers as they were too far from the river and its oceanic connection. 

It was what drew Frank’s attention.  In six months of careful observation he had yet to figure out exactly what it was that was being smuggled in, or from where it came.  His boss was a patient man. He had been told to watch and wait and do nothing to jeopardize the watching.  So there was no creeping closer for a better look.  Not yet anyway.  Frank knew that while he was just to watch and wait, others were looking for those making inroads into their markets.

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