Paranoia on my Heels {John}

Landon had a headache.

At least, he had had a headache. One of those ones that made his vision swim and the corners of the room go black and hazy; those ones where he was filled with a certain dread that never manifested enough for him to pin point the exact cause. That was why he was here – some dim lit back alley bar in London, live jazz a hum of background noise from the far side of the room. It smelled like smoke and booze and the alluring whiff of greased food coming from the kitchen.

He nursed the drink in front of him, one of his sure fire cures for the blackness that pressed into his skull from all sides. It relaxed him to sip the stiff drink and feel the heat of it wash down his throat and sting his lips. He already felt much better. He could even focus on the music and the way the girl a few tables down kept giving him the eye. Once he grinned at her, showing off his set of white even teeth and the welcoming, amiable expression that won over so many people. If she wanted to approach him she would; he didn't need to go out of his way tonight.

There was no ulterior motive for his presence here this evening. He was simply out for the night, avoiding his own mind as much as possible. The mess of his disorganized flat did little to encourage free time spent there, unless of course he was in the midst of some project or other for work. But tonight – tonight Landon had not a care in the world besides his drink and rapidly ebbing headache.

It seemed like every time John headed into the city, the world seem to go mute, as if forewarning him not to proceed any further. It was a warning well deserve, due to the fact that he had numerous run in with the insidious underbelly of the wizarding world. He had the scars to prove it. Even now as he walked the lighted streets of London, he was mapping out one of his scars on his forearm. It was a prominent scar that seemed endless, but it stop short of his elbow.

He tried to remember who gave him the lucky scar, but the dark witch or wizard was a figment now. A life time ago that seemed to become an enigma every time he thought back to his life as an Auror. Now, he was in search for the truth. He knew the truth was a hard thing to capture, like the salt on the sea winds, but he wouldn’t…couldn’t give up the search. People had died because of the Ministry’s actions. They needed to answer for these heinous crimes.

He may not work in the Ministry anymore but he still had friends there, pointing him into the right direction. Well, he hope it was the right direction, because it was his only choice. Those he talk to, knew little or almost nothing of what went on outside their department, but one off hand talked about a mysterious man working in the lowest floor. The floor where they house the Wizengamot and the Department of Mysteries. Besides Aurors and the Minister’s staff, the Unspeakables were the next likely choice pertaining to the skeletons hiding in the Ministry of Magic closets.

The bar seemed like any he had passed. The neon sign seem to flash on and off as if struggling to stay lite. The roar of the patrons could be heard inside, even though the walls as they chanted and cheer for whatever sport was on tv, or so John guess. The only foreboding John had, proceeding into the bar was why an Unspeakable would come here of all places. He was well aware that this could be a trap. He had the snaking feeling on the back of his neck, warning of the danger that he ignored.

He took a calming breath, taking in the fragrant of the stale beer, the week old vomit and the putrid garbage that seem to be overflowing the trash bins right outside of the establishment before proceeding in. He did not need to scan the bar, because he would let the wizard come to him. Instead, he walked up to the barkeep, his hands in his pocket for “warmth” and pulled out not only euros but galleons. “Mug- I mean, sir. I would like scotch neat.”

The guy eyed the gold in his hands as if he scored a winner. Gruffly, he said, “Coming right up!”

John did not wait for his drink as he sat the crisp euro on the counter and proceeded to the table in the back, where it seemed to be less crowded, due to it not having a good view of the television that was mounted behind the bar. John laid in wait, scotch now in hand, which the bartender happily made for him, hoping for a bigger payout.

It was a simple thing to lose himself. All he had to do was close his eyes and listen. Hell, he didn't even have to close his eyes if he didn't want to. He liked the way the room started to spin when he did though, just enough to keep him on edge, to remind him he was here, he was a physical entity. Sometimes it was hard to remember that when he got deep into the thoughts of everyone around him. He no longer sat on a hard barstool, but glided through the minds of the girl with the tattooed forearms, sprinted through the dreams of the man who just now was considering ending his life. Yes, it was easy to lose himself. And he enjoyed it.

That's why it was a wonder when he snapped out of his indulgences and noticed the new comer to the bar. This wasn't a place where someone would just wander in off the street. This was a place for regulars, for people who wanted to talk to someone who knew their name. The man who had just walked in didn't belong here, and Landon caught onto his act as quick as the bite of a snake.

The flash of wizard money the man 'accidentally' let slip only served to make him choke down laughter into his drink. So he thought he was being coy. Good for him. Landon took his time finishing his drink. He watched as the man took his own drink to an abandoned table in the darkest corner of the room. He waited, biding his time. Making him wait.

Of course Landon knew who the man was. There were few people who made waves in the Ministry that Landon don't know about, and know more about than he rightly should. Call it a gift, a talent. To Landon it was a tool. With it he knew John Forester – ex auror, ex ministry member, permanent trouble.  He knew how long John had worked at the ministry, why he left, how his superiors felt about him; he knew how he took his coffee, who he considered friends and who he knew were enemies. What he didn't know was why he was here.

But he could guess.

How John had found one of Landon's many hangouts was of no concern. He didn't hide the fact that he went out, and often. One of his coworkers had likely mentioned where he might be found. That was ok. In fact, it might even be good. John wasn't the only one looking for information.

With the last drop of his drink, Landon stood up. He swayed briefly before balancing himself, and headed to the table where John waited. By the time he got there he had his customary good natured grin on his face, ready to pal around with his soon to be friend.

“Hey mate,” he said, helping himself to the chair next to John. “You gotta be careful with your wallet. Don't want to let the secret slip out, right?”

If Maddy were here, she would call John “a bumbling idiot.” He hadn’t even taken a sip of his scotch yet, when the glass so happen to slip out of his hand, spilling his drink all over himself. He stood up, his new wool, double collar peacoat soaked. His hands covered in alcohol. As if he was drunk already, he knocked over a stool, while trying to clean up the mess with his handkerchief at hand, drawing the attention of not only the bartender, but everyone in the bar. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling all eyes on him. “I’m a klutz.”

Finally, clean of scotch, at least the table was, he sat back down, keeping his hands to himself. The people at the bar turn back to their original televised station, which was a sport game John knew nothing about. They had the look like they just been cursed with the cunfundus charm. Almost everyone had that glaze look in their eyes. Their mouths half open, watching in awe as one of the players, to John’s best guess and viewpoint of the television, kicked a ball around with his feet.

Everyone was watching the game. All, but one. Male, Sandy blonde hair, mid to late twenties, with grey t-shirt, and black jeans. John was listing off his features as if he was filling out his rap sheet. John did this so easily and with only a glance. It was a casual look around the room, in the midst of him trying to clean off his navy blue peacoat. When it was evident that the man at the bar was sauntering towards him, John looked up from his coat.

The way the man walked, John could tell that he was predominately left-handed. The man put slightly more wait on his left leg, which is one of the many small indicators that told him things that any train Auror looks for. What was surprising is that his wand wasn’t in his front, nor back pocket. He didn’t have long sleeves to hide it in his shirt, so it must have been in the lining of his pants, not easily accessible to anyone, except himself.

John did all of this while having his iconic goober smile. “Sorry, man,” he apologized. “My girlfriend keeps telling me, that I would be the cause of us being outed. As you can see,” he said pointing at his coat. “I am accident prone, especially when it comes to you know.” If Madison were here, she would have freaked if she heard him call her his girlfriend. She still hadn’t forgiven him, when they pretended to be sleeping together so they could get away from the muggle police. Oh, they were good times.