A/N: Soooo, I did a thing. I just finished reading American Assassin(Dylan’s potential new movie) and I was inspired. I know this is a little different then the norm. But I promise it’ll be worth it. Also, I want to put in a
WARNING: (which I don’t do usually, but need to for this particular imagine): This implies gun use and blood, and also talks about terrorist and mistreatment of women. I wouldn’t recommend this if you are easily triggered. Again, this is based off the book American Assassin, and all that is what the book involves. And my usual warning, I have proof read this BUT it is late so it’s not perfectly perfect. I’m going to try to have workspace up by Tuesday, before anyone asks. (: So with that said, love ya babes.
He sat in the very back corner booth of the diner, holding his white porcelain coffee mug with one hand as he gazed out of the large window that over looked the bustling street outside. He’s been there most of the morning, just sitting, drinking, and gazing. Terry was attentive to him, refilling his coffee every so often without him asking. He acknowledged her with a polite nod of his head and perfunctory smile. It was obvious that he was American. Although he’d gone to great lengths to appear otherwise. His skin was tanned, not from a tanning bed but more from being somewhere that saw a lot of sun. Like Africa or here, in the Middle East. His hair was a faded black, revealing that it wasn’t his natural colour. He was handsome, very handsome now that I looked at him longer. His eyes stood out against his tawny complexion. Even from behind the bar style counter where I stood cleaning, I could see them. They were a warm yellowish brown, an unusual colour. One that I’ve definitely never seen before. He took another sip of coffee without looking away from the window. I watched him until he set the mug back down on the dark wood table. I stretched my neck across the counter to get a better view of the window. I couldn’t see anything worth looking at. There were merchants outside selling goods, and tiny cars driving along dirt ridden roads. But nothing else that warranted such attention.
“Order up!” Marvin sang from the kitchen as he slid a plate of eggs and bacon through the serving window.
“Where’s it going, Marv?” I asked, grabbing the plate and balancing on my hand.
“Uhh, table…three.” He read off the receipt he’d just pulled from the few others that hung on his side of the window.
Table three? That was the mystery man. I never saw Terry take his order.
“Table three?” I questioned looking over my shoulder at the man who still hadn’t moved.
Marv nodded absentmindedly as he flipped a burger on the flattop.
“But I don’t know if he-”
“Look girl, he’s been sittin’ there for five hours with nothin’ but coffee ta drink. The kid could use a meal.” His accent was thick as he spoke. It was a strange sound hearing a Turkish man feign a southern American accent.
I asked no more questions as I headed over to the mysterious stranger in his back corner. As I came closer to him, I noticed his slight muscular build. He was wearing a short sleeve olive green v-neck that accentuated his muscly arms and was tight around his pectorals. He couldn’t have been more than twenty two or twenty three, but he looked more aged then that. Especially with his facial hair. He had a landscaped scruff that didn’t quite qualify as a beard. Again, I admired how handsome he was: all tan, muscles, and peculiar.
I made it to the table and set down the plate the glass hitting the hard wood with a knock.
“Bacon and eggs.” I announced triumphantly with a smile.
“I didn’t order that.” He said curtly, his eyes never leaving the glass plane.
“Oh, I-I know. I, um, well Marv told me to-”
“Thanks.” He interrupted my stumbling with same shortness of his tone.
Jeez, what a jerk! I thought to myself.
“Okay?” I frowned and turned to walk away.
Americans! They’re so rude. Which is why I left the place. I hadn’t meant to end up in Turkey, more specifically Istanbul, it just happened. My father had spent most of his adult life in the military, so I was no stranger to packing up a leaving at a drop of a hat. We lived in Istanbul for about three weeks before we moved to England. But I never forgot this place. It was rustic and old, but rich with history. In school you learn about the wonders of Paris and Rome. Somehow, though, we are deprived of places like Budapest and Istanbul.
I rounded the corner of the bar reentering it and grabbed the towel I was once using to clean the counter. I ducked under to grab a bottle filled with soap and water. When I reemerged, I snuck a quick glance at the rude stranger. Terry was refilling his cup once again but as I exited the bar to clean empty tables, I noticed her lingering. I tried not to stare, failing miserably. She was there for a few seconds longer before leaving, stuffing two or three fifty dollar bills in her apron a smile adorning her face. She walked past me raising her eyebrows at me, and I knew that meant she’d tell me later.
I shook my head and smiled at the older women. She always got the best tips, but never that much. Was this stranger some sort of millionaire? I dared another glance at the man. This time I could see him without hindrance, but strangely his eyes were fixed in my direction. It was surprising and unsettling. Meer minutes before that guy was dismissing me, now his eyes were trained on me. Assessing me. He was still too far to see exactly what he was looking at in regards to me, but before I could act his head whipped back to the window. He examined the outside for a whole second, leaned in closer, and finally seeing what he’d been looking for all morning. He scooted from his booth and exited the diner, the little bell above the door ringing as he did. I walked to the window quickly after him to see what he’d seen, but nothing looks different. Same street merchants, same little cars. I search for the mysterious man, but he was gone. I couldn’t help feel a pang of sadness in my gut. He was handsome and young, two things we didn’t get in this tiny diner very often. Hell, in Istanbul even. I sighed, scolding myself for not having more game or sense for that matter.
I moved from the window to his table clearing it of its remains, when I noticed a small piece of paper folded underneath his plate of untouched bacon and eggs. I unfolded it and read the scribbled handwriting:
The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
I reread the note a couple more times. I was familiar with the Edgar Allen Poe quote, but I couldn’t understand the significance of this particular quote. This man was mysterious. I turned the note over to the back. On it was an address,
Suada, Galatasaray Adası, Kuruçeşme
Suada was a popular night club in Istanbul. It was the Paris of night clubs. Very prominent people attended this club. The rich, the powerful, and the dangerous. I’d gone often here with friends but they usually left with some of said rich, powerful, dangerous men. I wasn’t as easy though. That lifestyle did not appeal to me. Suada did have the best music in the city it just so happens. Which is the only reason I’ve continued to go back.
I looked over my shoulder and out the window once again. Maybe he’d be there. Maybe I could have another chance at talking to him.
“Here.” Terry said making me jump. I whirled my head to her and she had a fifty dollar bill in her hand extended toward me. I met her eyes with confusion ridden on my face.
“That guy told me to give this to you.” She smirked with a shrug.
“But I barely helped him.”
She shook her head at me. “He told me specifically to give this to you. Said that you were very kind to him.”
What the fuck?
I took the bill from her, baffled.
Terry walked away, a noticeable spring in her step. I turned my attention back to the fifty crumbled in my hand. I had a friend once that used to have this saying, ‘Twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern.“ That saying resonated with me.
1. Him staring
2.His note he left with the address
3. The fifty dollar bill
I might just be imagining it, but those seemed a lot like reasons to go tonight. It was a pattern directing me to him. I rolled my eyes at the thought. There’s no way this hot guy, who could have anyone mind you, would be so cryptic in asking me out on a date. But, as I thought more about it I decided it couldn’t hurt just to see, right?
And then my mind was made,
I would go to Suada tonight.
Per usual, the place was crowed. Along the walls were boothed seating areas where the rich and powerful set up for the night. They were mostly very big hairy Turkish and Islamic men with skinny desperate girls in too small dresses on either side of them. The middle of all that was the dance floor, where people like me populated. There was a large bar upstairs, that could be seen from down below. It was a dimly lit place with occasional wall lighting but mostly strobe lights and dancing coloured lights.
I spotted him upstairs from where I stood on the dance floor, leaning against railing surrounding the bar. He was wearing a leather jacket with a black shirt underneath and dark wash jeans. His hair was styled in a messy way, which actually made him look a lot more put together then he did earlier. I saw a drink in his hand with a clear liquid, but I had an inkling there wasn’t alcohol in the glass. I pushed my way through the hot and compact sea of bodies to the stairs just off the left. I climbed up my heels clanking against the metal incline. He was still in the same position as I approached him. I stood next to him, also leaning against the cool steel of the rails supporting myself on my forearms.
“Fancy seeing you here.” He said before taking another swig from his glass.
I smiled. “I found so many reasons to come.”
“You don’t say?” He replied sardonically.
I looked over at him and saw a ghost of a smile on his lips that he tried to hide with another tip of his drink. Like before in the diner, his eyes were trained on something. It looked as if he was looking at the dancers below but his expression told otherwise. He was focused and systematic, eyebrows furrowed.
“You look good.” He said still not looking at me.
I blushed knowing he wouldn’t really notice, but was determined to answer back wittily.
“Some hotshot tipped my fifty bucks today, so I thought I’d put it to good use.”
The mystery man laughed. A hearty genuine laugh, making me smile again.
“What’s your name?” I asked finally.
For some reason, this caught his attention and he turned his head to me, brows knitted together. He looked at me as if considering something then discarded the thought.
“Dan.” He said without hesitation, and I almost believed him. But something in the flatness of the tone and the obvious non-attachment to the name told me he was lying.
“Well Dan,” I started, my tone letting him know I did not for a second think that was actually his name. “Wanna dance?”
“I don’t really dance.” He said coolly, directing his attention back to the dance floor.
I was starting to get the impression I may have misinterpreted the so called messaged is thought he’d left for me. I mean the address told me he was most likely going to be here and the rest is just made up in my head. I took a long gaze at him wanting him to break the uncomfortable tension that was building up between us. When he didn’t, I took that as the signal to go. Embarrassed couldn’t begin to describe how I felt at that moment and not want to bother ‘Dan’ any longer, I turned and headed for the bar to load up on the drinks I would undoubtedly need to drown how mortified I actually was.
I’m rocking my hips to the beat,
I can’t remember how I got here or for how long. I’m only aware of the thudding rhythm moving my body. My head feels heavy, and there’s only swirling faces around me twisting and meshing into each other. Suddenly though, I feel two big meaty hands on my waist. They move up and down, and then around to my backside. They seem to be one with my body at first, because I don’t notice them. They are an extension of myself. But I begin to remember where my own hands are and that the ones now gliding slowly to my breast, aren’t the ones connected to my wrists. I screw up my face in confusion watching the hands almost touch the underneath of my bosom, until I stop them. Clumsily, I turn around to see a man about my height with dark eyes and a crooked nose smiling at me. His long black beard matched his slick back hair, and he smelled of liquor, smoke, and obnoxious cologne. He says my name, but my drunken haze makes me unable to place him.
“It’s me,” he slurs. “Au Bu.”
I recall the name now. He’s a soldier with a Islamic terrorist ring. Something very common in here in Istanbul. He’s one of the higher ups. He’s always here at Suada, feeling up all the pretty girl. He waves money and expensive bottles of alcohol at them and they cave to his every whim. He’s tried on several accounts to sway me, but has always been unsuccessful.
Tonight is a very rare occasion where I’ve allowed myself, due to being an emotional girl, to become grossly inebriated. To my misfortune, it hasn’t gone unnoticed.
“Au Bu?” I copy, pretending not to recognise him. He’s stronger than me, and his hands have freed themselves from my grip and are wandering once again.
“Oh come now. You know who I am.” He says cockily.
I try but am unable to stop his hands.
“S-stop.” I stutter and my fear is sobering.
“Now now. You’ve denied me so many times. I think it’s time to change your mind.” One hand grazes my breasts before it races to my neck and clutches it tightly. My hands instantly reach up to claw at the hand around my throat. I’m coughing and gaging and my vision is darkening at the edges. You’d think in a crowded club, that someone might notice a girl being chocked unconscious by a big burly man. But in this town, woman that are not married are equal to dogs. Treated however, whomever sees fit. My lungs burn from lack of air, and I think I might pass out until suddenly I meet the ground, hitting it hard. My vision is just gradually becoming less cloudy. There’s a ringing in my ears that I hadn’t noticed before, but it’s fading. In my returning sight, I can see a swarm of people all heading for the door. A few people remain though all facing me. One of them is Au Bu, and he’s holding a long shiny object in his hands. I don’t understand what they’re doing or what they have pointed at me Then I squint, because I see a few steps in front of me are a set of legs. They are covered by dark jeans but I can see how lean they are despite being covered.
What happens next happens fast. Three bodies hit the floor, what I think is simultaneously but after a forethought I realize they were one right after the other. But they were hit quick, so quick it seemed to happening all at once. A dark liquid spills out from various points in each of their bodies. My head is screaming at me to move, to run. But I’m drunk and still recovering from being almost chocked out. I’m weak. My mind can not comprehend what’s happening or what it is I’m seeing. It yearns for rest and my eye lids are becoming heavy. The pair of legs in front of me are turning, now facing me. My stomach lurches, afraid I may receive the same fate as Au Bu and the other men. Warm hands curl under me and pull me up into strong arms. One is around my back and the other under my legs. I lazily wrap my arms around the neck of the stranger and nuzzle into their chest. It’s hard, but not uncomfortable. I inhale and smell cigarettes and mint. A tell tale sign of a smoker covering up the fact they smoke. I don’t recognise the smell, so I’m sure I don’t know this person. I can tell we’ve started walking because I can feel the slight bounce of my body with each step. I want to see my rescuer, to be sure he is in fact rescuing me. My sight is still blurry but some how through it, I can see a warm yellowish brown pair of eyes. It’s a very unusual colour. But one I’ve seen before.
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”
“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.”
“Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.”
“Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.”
“Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.”
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
“Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.”
“The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?”
“Stupidity is a talent for misconception.”
“I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.”
“Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.”
“Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.”
“All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.”
“The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.”
“If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.”
I have no faith in human perfectibility. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active - not more happy - nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.“
”I have great faith in fools; self-confidence my friends call it.“
”That pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the beautiful.“
”The true genius shudders at incompleteness - and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be.“
"That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.”
“With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.”
“I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect - in terror.”
“It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.”
“Of puns it has been said that those who most dislike them are those who are least able to utter them.”
“The noise of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.”
“Indeed, there is an eloquence in true enthusiasm that is not to be doubted.”
“It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial.”