He took another sip of beer and watched. People milled around the bars unaware of his being. He liked this, he liked it a lot. He was unobtrusive, yet he knew all about them. People watching. His pastime. Nobody got hurt and he always chose his targets with great care. Of course he had to be careful, there were those after all who would not appreciate the attention, but he was good. Very good at being another face in the crowd, another invisible man.
This was the best time of course. Summer, and this was a good summer, hot and sticky. Not the usual British summer at all. They liked the heat. They, being women. It was hot, and they were hot. He wouldn't have to work too hard tonight, it was like manna from heaven.
Brighton was also his favourite place. More European than Europe, it had what the more refined people watcher needed. Class and classier people. Tarts and tits, bums and legs. drugs and money could be found in all the big cities, but here there was an ambience. Yes he liked that word. He'd done it everywhere, even in his home town, but people were more wary there, more protective. Small town people with small town minds. They could be violent there as well. He hated that. Here though, people were open, more free. He watched them all from here. They were his people, his characters. Sometimes he felt he should write a book. He gave each person he watched a name, a life. Maybe one day he would write it, but not yet.
A couple came and sat at a nearby table. She was young, too young for her companion. She was pretty, a model type, ones you see every day. Her character was empty. She had silvery, blonde hair and he knew that she was bored, bored with life. She was a possession and possessions don't feel. They simply are. The man left her there as he went to the bar. She looked at him and smiled. When his attention was turned, she turned to face the sea. Somewhere out there she could escape. But she could not, would not. He knew that for the moment she was trapped. A mobile rang. She took her bag and pulled out the phone. It was obviously a text. She smiled to herself as she read it and glanced towards the bar where her companion was in animated conversation. So he thought maybe she is the user, not the used. Her companion returned carrying two over exotic drinks. He kissed her and sat down. He talked and she listened, he moved his hand under the table and leaned towards her, stroking a lean tanned thigh. She did not flinch. Clever, thought the watcher. Maybe she too has a plan. But they were not interesting enough for him. They were cold characters, there was no passion in their eyes, just the possessor and possessed.
He finished his drink and walked along the front. Occasionally he would stop and watch. Young musicians gathered outside bars, jugglers, fire-eaters. Groups passed by, laughing, joking. Sometimes a girl would wave at him as he became a little careless. But there was no danger here. They only wanted a good time tonight. The darkness came and he made his way to the steps that would lead him away from the beach. He paused as he watched a dark haired girl of about twenty look on through the flames of a bare chested fire eater. Her eyes sparkled and reflected against the flame. Again and again the fire eater took her breath away with his daring. She was transfixed. The Watcher became aroused. She was a beauty, but she only had eyes for the young boy. At the end of his act, she laughed and clapped like a child. The fire eater had her now, but theirs was a relationship borne out of magic, not passion. The Watcher needed lust and passion. He had a hunger that needed to be satisfied.
He walked away, away through the streets, thronged with summer revellers. Some girls surrounded him. They were intoxicated with the moment and some kissed him, one even flashed her bare breasts. He laughed with them, but still he needed more. He needed fulfilment. His was a dark wanting.
The bar he found was at the end of the promenade. It advertised live music, live comedy, but its appearance was not one that would immediately catch the eye. A man stood at the door and eyed the Watcher closely. No words were exchanged as he descended the narrow stairs into the darkness beneath. A cellar bar, good. This was the best place for a Watcher. Dark, atmospheric. This would do. He ordered a drink and found the ideal vantage. From his table he could see all the action, who came in and who went out. The club was not full, but it was still early. For the moment the stage was empty although a band had already set up its instruments. The waiter brought his drink.
"Get busy in here?"
"Later" said the waiter taking up the £5 note. "Usually around 10, 11. We're open till 2.30."
The Watcher nodded. He was prepared. He lit up a cigarette and blew smoke rings high into the ceiling. Each time the door opened he watched. He watched and waited. He knew what he was looking for. By 10.15 his ashtray was full, but by now the club was beginning to fill up. There were some interesting women, dark, blonde, black, white. Years of practice had honed his senses. He was a patient man. At around 10.40 the band came on stage. Five of them, three men and two women. The compere, in a sweat stained lilac shirt, introduced them as the next big thing, but then again weren't they all. The band, surprisingly were quite good. The Watcher watched the girls move on stage, belting out soul music, their tight dresses hugging every womanly curve of their bodies. The crowd liked it to. The singers were not the ones though, too many people see, too many eyes. No, whoever she was, would be for him.
11.20. The door of the club opened and the Watcher looked. In truth, she wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd seen all evening, but he knew she was the one. She wasn't young, perhaps about thirty, but age was of no consequence. She was about average height short, dark hair. She wore trousers, tight ones, that clung to the curve of her hips and crotch. She had on a white blouse, luminous under the dim neon light, perhaps a size too small for her breasts, which even in the darkness radiated like beacons. Perhaps that was deliberate on her part he thought. Clever. Certainly she did not have that tarty look of so many women these days. Sometimes he did the tarty ones though, but not tonight. This one was the Chosen. The band were still singing, well into their act. The Watcher ordered another beer and watched. She needed a name of course. What would it be? They all had to have names, that way it became personal. Sarah. He liked that. She looked liked a Sarah. He watched as, drink in hand she walked to the back of the crowd that stood in front of the stage. The band was in a mellow mood, music came sweetly from their lips and he watched as Sarah began swaying, caught in the moment. The music had a magical sound. Soulful, sweet. "My girl, I'm talking 'bout my girrrrllll..." The crowd were swaying, and Sarah moved her hips, gently at first, and the Watcher from his chair watched. He watched as her hips mesmerised him, in perfect rhythm, he watched silently as she turned her body in ways that began to excite him. Another song.
"..I get that feeling, I got Sexual healing.." He felt the heat swell up.
He looked around the room. Directly opposite two men stood by a table, one black, one white. They looked at her. They wanted her. They had hunger in their eyes. Lust. They watched, as I did, transfixed. The music stopped for a brief moment. Cheering. The lights went on. Sarah took a long sip of some clear liquid, gin maybe, vodka perhaps and the Watcher salivated as he watched her throat, her breasts. A trickle of liquid fell from the side of her mouth and like a desert river turned and twisted down the side of her cheek, down her neck, and into the chasm of her breasts. He felt longing. The music started up again. The lights dimmed.
"When a man loves a woman..."
It was difficult to see, but someone was behind her now. He strained his eyes. Ah perhaps the spider has caught her fly he thought. The black man stood closer. Her body was still swaying, lost in soul. The black man, a name, yes call him Carl, moved closer. The Watcher watched. Carl was good. He moved around Sarah, teasing her. At first she avoided contact, she turned to face the Watcher, then back again. It was a slow number. Sarah made eye contact, Carl turned away, then moved in . Their swaying got closer. The Watcher was outside this, but for him it was all part of the game. He watched as their bodies touched, accidentally, slowly. They acknowledged each other. It was a professional hit, cold blooded and calculating. In a few short moments Carl had her, or perhaps she had him. The music changed, still slow. Mellow. They were talking now, laughing, their bodies began to merge, his hands touched her shoulders, her hands moved to touch his arm.
The Watcher looked at his watch. 12.45. The band had by now finished their first session and Sarah and Carl were sitting at a table with the other man. He was smaller than Carl and the Watcher felt nothing for him. He had his main cast now, there was no room for a supporting role, not tonight anyway. Drinks flowed, the white man seemed to have an endless supply of money. Another girl joined them. The white man, unnamed, as the Watcher could not think clearly, kissed her after every sentence. The Watcher did not have time for them and wished that they would go. He had his target and they were in the way. Carl and Sarah sat closely, his arm around her shoulders, his hand gently caressing the her arm. Occasionally he moved his hand to the top of her neck and his long fingers circled the naked flesh, fingering the cleavage as a hunter would its target its prey.
The band came back on. The unnamed couple stood and to the Watcher's relief left. Carl and Sarah sat back, his hands moved down her blouse, gently squeezing. It was too far for the Watcher to see, but he knew that her nipple was erect. Her back arched slightly and his lips met hers. Her arms brought Carl's body closer and for a brief moment they were one. The Watcher looked on. This was good, he had chosen well. They separated, and Carl gave her something. A cigarette? He took it back, put it between his lips and lit it. He took a deep drag, and blew the smoke into the dusk. She laughed and took it off him. Pot, most probably thought the Watcher, but he had no problem with that. They got up again.
