Chapter Text
"Good morning! What can I get you?"
Cole glances up at the waitress, giving her a warm smile and taking note of her name. “Good morning, Mandy,” he replies, adjusting his glasses as he gives the menu a final glance, flitting over the list of pies. "Coffee and apple pie, please and thank you."
"Not a problem," Mandy says, tapping away at her tablet. When she extends a hand for the menu, Cole hands it over and winks. “I’ll have it out shortly,” she says with a little smirk. She turns on her heel, and Cole notices the way she exaggeratedly sways her hips with each step—something she absolutely wasn’t doing earlier.
Huffing a laugh, Cole turns his attention to his tablet, skimming over the brief for his latest target. It has brought him to New York and Cole can say with absolute certainty that he hates it. It’s too bright, too busy, and too claustrophobic for his tastes. Aside from Mandy and the rest of the waitpersons he has had the pleasure of crossing paths with along the way, everyone is a jerk.
But he doesn't have a choice in the matter—he goes where the money is, and the larger the sum, the better.
It’s like they say: The greater the risk, the greater the reward.
His target is Daniel Jones; successful and respected businessman. Jones has himself a high paying job at Guardian Life Insurance overseeing all sales teams, but is wanted for tax evasion, has several unpaid parking fines, and skipped out on his drunken disorderly court hearing. Then there's also the fact that he is cheating on his wife with not one, but two people—Renee Hill and Glenn Patterson—so the man is all-around a dirty person.
The bounty on Jones is relatively small, only $5,000, but that's all they are these days. Cole suspects there’s another hunter who gets just as big a thrill out of taking out the top prizes that Cole does, and is getting them before he can.
And Cole does not like that. Not one bit.
With a sigh, he glances around the café. Dirty Daniel should be here any minute now for his morning coffee and brag session with his other just-as-dirty entourage. Cole has only listened to them and their drivel for the last three days now, following them as they go about their day. He knows Jones’ routine off by heart and is somewhat thankful Jones is a creature of habit because it makes getting to him all the much easier.
Jones' schedule is busy—and Cole uses the word loosely. He manages to fit in two coffee sessions with his entourage, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, he spends an hour at the gym before lunchtime, he attends an off-site 'meeting' with one of the mistresses, and squeezes in an amazing four hours of work in a nine-hour day.
Home is his unhappy marriage where he drinks and argues with his wife. Why and how they are still together is beyond Cole, though he supposes it might be due purely for the sake of putting on a front of a happy life for work. Or maybe it’s a green card thing. Whatever the reason, she doesn't put up with his shit, and at the very least, he doesn't lay his hands on her. He has a small sliver of tact, at least.
Tapping his finger on the corner of the tablet, Cole looks at the clock, noting it is only a minute short of 9:30. Jones is cutting it close today, closer than he has in the past. Usually, Cole can hear the man by now, but it is uncharacteristically quiet for a Wednesday morning. Humpday blues, Cole drums it down to, because what else could be bringing these folks down? They choose to live in this busy city, this concrete jungle, boxed in like sardines in a can.
Cole shudders. The sooner he's out of the city, the happier he'll be.
"Apple pie and coffee," Mandy says, placing them down on the table.
"Thank you, sweetheart," Cole says, looking at the slice of pie, practically drooling already. "Looks absolutely divine."
"Best pie on the menu,” she says, drawing her shoulders back. She smirks, a little on the sly side as she none too subtly checks him out. “You've got good taste."
Cole can't help but chuckle. "I like to think so too," he says with a wink. He has excellent taste when he’s in his usual attire of jeans, comfortable button-down, and serape. Not in this t-shirt, cardigan, and glasses look he’s rocking right now. However, a disguise is a disguise, and this one works wonders.
Glancing at his tablet, then at the clock as it ticks over 9:30, he picks up his mug and settles on Mandy. "But ah, keep the coffee coming. I'm going to be here for a little while at least."
Mandy makes absolutely no effort to hide her delighted grin. "Work?"
"Yeah,” Cole breathes, picking up his tablet. “Got an article to write."
"Oh? What's work?"
"Investigative journalist. I take to the streets, go where the leads take me. There have been a couple of vigilante attacks here, and I'm reporting on them."
"That so! Those attacks are good, in my opinion. Putting the scum of the universe behind bars, taking them down when the police fail.” Mandy takes a breath, sighing wistfully and meeting his eyes. “It's good work. Their stories should be told."
"That's why I'm here," Cole replies, chuckling. "Hopefully something happens soon, though. The bills don't pay themselves."
"Truer words have never been spoken," Mandy says. She looks him up and down again, smirk teasing her lips. "Do you have a name, Mr. Investigative Journalist? I'd love to read your work."
"Joel Morricone,” Cole says, extending his hand, and Mandy takes it. “Just look me up."
"Oh, I intend to," she replies sultrily with a slow wink. She looks at their joined hands and sighs, pulling away. "Anyway, I’m still on the clock, but I'll keep those coffees coming."
"Thanks, sweetheart," Cole says, and Mandy walks away again with the same flirtiness as before.
The door opens, drawing his attention, but it still isn’t his target. It's possible that Jones is running late, it's also possible that he decided to skip his morning coffee. Either way, Cole knows this will be a long day.
The minutes tick by slowly as he writes up an article detailing the vigilantism in New York to maintain his Morricone cover. Over the course of an hour, the patrons in the café dwindle, until it is just him, the group of women who have been here for at least half an hour already who are nothing but obnoxious laughter, and the man who Cole is certain has been here as long as him. The man has got his back towards Cole, and he looks absorbed in his own work, hunched over his tablet and sipping tea. Not really suspicious, considering Cole himself is using this as a front for 'work', but he is someone to keep an eye on in any case.
He’s drawn from his thoughts when Mandy approaches, filling his mug. "Mandy, you are a literal angel."
"Just doing my job." Mandy pulls the pot away, and Cole grabs the mug. "How goes the writing?"
"Good, I’m just putting the finishing touches on this section, then I might head out, see if I can find something out there."
On the corner of his eye, Cole can see the man who's been in the café as long as him packing up his tablet. The man stands, drops some cash on the table and leaves. The only identifying features Cole can catch is that the man is Asian, with a high ponytail and facial hair.
"Hey, that fella that just left, have you seen him before?"
Mandy glances at the door, then at the empty table. "First time here,” she says, meeting his gaze. “Why?"
"Just wondering,” Cole murmurs. It’s the man’s first time here, and has been here for almost two hours? Definitely something to note. “He say anything?"
"Not much. He did say he was a graphic designer, and he was here for a change of scenery. His stuff looked impressive, though."
Graphic designer looking for a change of scenery... Cole can believe that. Maybe he just moved into the city and is looking for something that isn’t a boxed-in ten square foot apartment.
"Interesting," Cole murmurs, tapping his finger on the rim of the mug.
"Yeah. Wasn't the chatty type. Nice, though. Sweet."
Cole huffs a laugh, eyes snapping to Mandy's. "You flirt with all your customers?"
Mandy crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow. "You flirt with all your waitresses?"
Chuckling, Cole raises his mug in a toast. "Got me there."
Mandy smiles and winks before she turns away, placing the coffee pot on the counter and approaching the table belonging to the graphic designer. She picks up the money, counts it, and turns, grinning as she mouths 'fifty'.
Cole raises his mug again, and she stuffs the tip into her apron to clear the table. "Big spender," Cole murmurs to himself as he turns his attention back to his tablet. He opens a browser, searches for graphic designers in the area as he drinks his coffee.
At this point in time, Cole's certain Jones isn't having his morning coffee, so he might as well do something else with his time in the off chance he's just running late.
And the second his mug is empty, Mandy is by his side, filling it up again.
"Think this'll be my last one," Cole says, shutting off his tablet and leaning back in his seat, stretching his arms over his head. His search came up empty and leaves him mildly frustrated. "Otherwise I'll be awake for the next three days."
"That would be a shame,” Mandy says, a little coy.
Cole can't help but smirk. "Love me some sleep."
Mandy's eyes flit to his, just for the barest of moments, before she looks away and holds the coffee pot close to her chest. "So… The bill, then?" she asks reluctantly.
"If you wouldn't mind," he replies, offering her a warm smile.
"Coming right up," she says, perking up, maintaining that flirtatious walk as she approaches the bar and works the till.
Cole finishes this mug quickly, uses the restroom because after six cups it's gone right through him, and by the time he comes out, the bill is on the table.
Picking up the slip of paper, it has a handwritten note on it: I'd like to pour a little sugar in your coffee, followed by a phone number.
Chuckling, he pays for his food, dropping a $100 tip to wipe the ‘sweet’ graphic designer from her mind. He gives Mandy one last glance—she's already laying on the charm to another customer—and when she makes eye contact, he resists the urge to tip a hat he isn’t wearing, instead giving her a little wave before leaving the café behind.
Only when he is sitting outside Jones’ gym, finishing his sandwich along with everyone else on their lunch break, does he take the café receipt and scrunch it up with his trash. As much as Mandy was a lovely girl, he has no intentions of staying in this city a moment longer than he has to.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, confirming the time. 1:30 p.m., and there's still no sign of Jones. His session at the gym usually starts at 1:00 p.m., and if he hasn't shown yet, Cole's sure he won't.
Cole could drive by the mistresses houses. Maybe Jones opted to stay in one of their love nests for the day. That's where Jones usually heads next anyway.
But isn't it just his luck. Of course, the moment Cole knows Jones’ schedule down pat, when he's ready to haul his ass into the police station, he doesn't show.
Considering there’s no point in loitering out here any longer than he already has, he stands with a heavy sigh. He stops in his tracks when he glances at the door one final time, spotting the graphic designer from the café. Now, this is quite the coincidence—first, he spends the morning sitting in the same café that the target frequents, and he's here, now, leaving the same gym?
Cole gets a good look at him at the very least, and he doesn't recognise him. He doesn't really look like the bounty hunting type either—not that bounty hunters have a look, at least—but he doesn't have a hair out of place and his goatee is well maintained.
He comes across as someone who is too neat, too pristine, who cares deeply about their appearance and what others think of him. Not the kind of person who lives on gas station burritos and three hours of sleep a night like the other hunters Cole's worked with in the past.
While it is possible that this man is a local resident who uses the same gym on his lunch break, it doesn't ease Cole's mind that this graphic designer is a hunter just like him, that he's working this case too and plans to claim the bounty for Jones’ arrest.
He might even be the same hunter who is taking the rest of the bounties.
Curiosity piqued in any case, Cole follows him, keeping a few paces behind. If he can't track Jones, he can track this man, see if he goes back to a firm, see if he has a place he stays at that Cole can scope out. Maybe, then, he can even find out his name, do a bit of background on him and ease his mind.
Cole makes it a block before the man glances over his shoulder, stopped at a set of traffic lights. If Cole weren't trained for this kind of work he would have missed it given how subtle it was. It might be nothing, pure coincidence, or this man is absolutely not who he says he is and has been trained in stealth.
As naturally as he can, Cole turns his attention to the shop he's standing in front of, a children's clothing store. Keeping the man in his peripheral vision, Cole frowns before pulling out his phone, staring at the lock screen and taking a step back, looking left then right, feigning looking for a store.
When the light turns green, the man continues on, and Cole uses that as his cue to follow, keeping his phone out and staying a few more steps behind him.
The man then stops outside a deli and faces the window. Cole can see him looking in his direction from the corner of his eye. That raises a big red flag—if the man has the skill to know he's being followed by a former covert-ops agent, then he's clearly got something to hide and is more than a graphic designer.
Knowing he can't stop again, Cole continues walking, keeping his head down as he approaches him. At the last second, the stranger turns to face him and Cole knocks into him.
"My apologies," the man says, taking a step back.
"Think nothing of it," Cole says casually, offering a smile. In the split second he has, Cole takes in his features: his dark eyes, his strong jawline, his pulled-back hair, the grey at his temples, his perfectly manicured goatee.
With a final nod, Cole continues on, and cannot contain the smirk when he slips the man's wallet into his pocket. He keeps an eye behind him at all times and the man doesn't follow, so he's not as skilled as Cole initially thought.
Once in the safe confines of his hotel room, door securely locked and surveillance on, the feed to his door displaying on his tablet, Cole sits down on the couch and relaxes. He takes off his glasses and drops them onto the table, rubbing his strained eyes. He should have taken them off the minute he left the café.
Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Cole grabs his glove sitting beside his tablet and pulls it on before plucking the wallet out of his pocket. The first thing he sees when he opens it is a driver's license for one Ken Yamazaki, the photo matches the man and it looks genuine, so it's otherwise unremarkable.
He sets it down and flicks through the rest of the wallet. There are a couple of receipts for cafés, including this morning’s one—and Cole secretly claims the win when Mandy’s number isn’t on there. There's a receipt for the gym too, a single session that tells Cole he's in fact not a member.
The last thing Cole finds is some cash; $25 to be exact. There are no credit cards, no membership cards, business cards, or photos, and Cole is mostly certain that this is not the man’s actual wallet, meaning he has to be more than just a graphic designer.
Picking up the license again, Cole analyses the photo. It was taken recently, the man looks the same; he still has the same amount of grey at his temples. He has no obvious piercings or markings, but damn, those cheekbones are to die for.
Cole huffs a laugh. "Well, Mr. Yamazaki, you certainly are a beautiful stranger."
Setting the license on the coffee table, Cole snaps photos of all of the contents in the man's wallet, making sure to put everything back where he found it. He wipes it down with his sleeve to remove his fingerprints before standing and sliding it back into his pocket.
Taking off his glove and tossing it on the coffee table, Cole picks up his glasses, gets back into Morricone’s mindset before he leaves his room. He keeps an eye out for the stranger as he walks to the gym, handing in the wallet to reception and claiming he found it just outside.
As he walks back to his hotel, he thinks about his target again. Dirty Daniel’s got to be somewhere, and in the bed of his mistress is as good a place as any to start.