Water slushes against the empty docks, inky-black in the dark of night. A lone figure dressed in a trench coat stands near the edge, checking his watch. It's three AM.
He looks up when a pair of heels click toward him. The moon glows gently on the owner -- a tall woman with thick auburn hair, pencil skirt under a thigh-length coat, and red, red lips. She runs her half-hooded eyes over him.
"John Smith?" she asks, her voice sensual and seductive with a slight accent.
His eyes dart over the docks. This isn't Joe Stranders. "Who asks?" He takes a step backwards, ready to flee.
"Cho Sanders. You have something for me," she says with a meaningful look.
Damn. He shouldn't have hired that foreign exchange student for the summer. This wasn't the first time that imbecile mixed up the names. At least he got the location right this time.
"You have the money?" he asks. He reaches for the cream envelope tucked safely in a pocket of his trench coat.
She starts to answer, but the deep rumbling of thunder cuts her off. Purple storm clouds race toward them.
The woman throws herself into into the man's arms with a gasp. "Something is coming!"
"Yes." He breathes deeply, the scent of lavender clouding his brain. His eyes remain fixed on the heights above the small village. "Can you feel it?"