A Slice of Life, that had been the name of the book store, but it smelt more like a slice of turkish delight. Like that old perfume his mother used to spray. The one that drowned bystanders, sucking out their life forces, while she looked so revived afterward.

“It’s three for the price of one,” the bookkeep told him.

“Huh?”

“That book your holding, it’s got three stories in one.”

“Oh.” He put it back. Three stories in one? Surely just the one would be better, he disliked discord and loose endings. He preferred one consistent story. Three would be too many, all discombobulated surely. He liked consistency so much he’d made it his job.

He watched the bookkeep for a minute, wondered at his life. Did he enjoy working in a book store? He tided the shelves, gently tugging or pushing books so the spines all lined up. He looked relaxed and pleased with himself.

A Slice of Life hmm. The old man didn’t think anyone’s life could possibly be more interesting than his own, and yet sometimes he wondered if maybe just maybe he was missing something. If there wasn’t something else there beneath the surface of all their seemingly mundane lives. As if someone very important, someone in the middle of a war between heaven and earth itself, might just walk past and he wouldn’t even know. There was a word for that he was sure. A word for feeling like you were only seeing glimpses of the vast landscapes of other people’s lives. A word he couldn’t remember.

But he had an appointment to keep and he couldn’t dawdle.

He boarded a bus bound for the country. Preoccupied with thoughts of his mission he barely focused on anything around him. The bus stopped five more times to let people on and off. He finally turned his attention to the passengers at the last stop as they stepped past the bus driver. A man in a forest green coat, an old lady with a cane, and a young boy in a baseball cap. Something different caught his attention then. The bus driver. Something about him was familiar but the man couldn’t quite place his finger on it. He went back to ignoring things and the rest of the world passed him by.

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He got off at the last stop and then hired a car to take him the rest of the way. Somehow the night’s rain in the city had missed this part of the world. There was dirt and dust and pollen out here and he hated it just as much as the hustle and bustle of the city. He missed how the world would be in 50 years. He missed home. But first he had a job to do and time was ticking.

To his dismay there was some traffic jam in the middle of Main street. The car in front had stopped for some kids, one whom had dropped his ice cream. The kid was taking precious time to get up. The car in front tooted. The man tooted his own horn adding to the chorus. He drummed his fingers on the wheel and checked his watch.

“Come on, come on,” he mumbled.

Evidently the person in the other car was just as impatient for their horn sounded once more. Unfortunately for that person it brought the ire of the kid’s older sister. There was some angry words and then the matter seemed settled and the kids ran off. To the old man’s relief traffic started moving again and with just enough time to spare too.

He found a park beneath a sturdy old pine and there he left the car. The shop he was looking for was within an easy walk. He waited for the most recent customers to leave and then he snuck in the back.

“Mr Miller, a moment of your time please.” He held the gun low.

Mr Miller went with him without complaint but with obvious fear in his eyes.

Past the car they walked and deeper into the forest until they came upon what the old man deemed a perfect clearing.

“Please, I haven’t done anything wrong,” Mr Miller begged as the old man wound a dial on a small pocket watch. These sorts of jobs were easier to pull off in times when the target still lived. No one would identify a dead body as belonging to one who was still alive, if he was even found here at all.

“No, but had you lived you would have,” the old man replied as he pulled the trigger.

He wiped the gun down then threw it away. It landed among the needles in another clearing. The old man wound the pocket watch dial again.

He pulled out a notepad. The next name on the list was an odd one, an animal, not a human. But apparently it was important enough to later become the symbol of a movement his retainers wanted to destroy before it started. He had hoped to spot it in the city, he’d been told it was a regular there, so loved by the people it got to ride the bus for free. He’d taken the same line but it had never gotten on.

He thought back over his day and he suddenly remembered where he had seen the bus driver. He’d been on a billboard, a pianist of some kind. What an Earth had he been doing driving a bus then? Was he really a pianist? Or had the old man’s enemies finally found him? The driver hadn’t made any difference though had he? There was something the old man was missing but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Well it didn’t matter now. He checked his watch. It was time to find that damn bird.