As Kepa watched, the figure stepped over the threshold of the church, out of the shadow of the door frame and into a shaft of sunlight that poured in from a gap in the fallen roof. Small clouds of dust billowed up around black leather boots with the first step, and the next. Tucked inside the boots were the legs of a crisply kept pair of trousers. These, and the matching sharp jacket, appeared to be a mottled grey colour, almost identical to the shade of grey of the church’s stonework. As the figure moved from shade to light, Kepa noted with appreciation, the colour of the uniform also seemed to change. A holster hung loosely from either hip. Most of the face was hidden under a brimmed hat with a tinted visor, only the ghost of ginger stubble peaked out.
– They left a calling card.
– You’re getting sloppy, granddad.
The man made his way slowly down the aisle, creating dust storms with every step.
– Big man now you’ve got big clothes, eh? Look.
Kepa turned his shoulder to the approaching uniform, and looked back to the window, gesturing.
– A great big, intricate pane glass window, complete with industry logo.
The guard drew up next to Kepa. He was half a foot taller and twice as broad. He glowered.
– I could hear you a mile away.
– No wonder with those ears.
– Cheeky.
– Always.
For a split second neither said a word, then, before Kepa could move, the guard dropped the bags and grabbed him, swinging him up in the air, laughing a deep belly aching laugh.
– You always were a little shit! Haha!
Then, as soon as it started, it finished. The guard jumped back, releasing Kepa, who stumbled slightly as his feet hit the floor again.
– This is a restricted area. Identify yourself.
The laugh was gone, another voice had taken over, one which brooked no argument. It was the uniform, not the man who was talking now. Kepa had landed next to the violin case but whoever was seeing through the guard’s visor would know that he had seen the window, wouldn’t they?