The McGuffin

October 2023 ‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒ 9 minute read

Agent Johnson had identified the target. From the apartment window, Johnson could see everything below her: a sprawling, capricious mass of individuals tenaciously bustling through the square, apathetic to their surroundings, purely intent on their goal. But, right in the centre of the throng sat a man on a park bench, motionless. At first glance the man could have been mistaken for homeless – he carried that ragged, defeated look about his person like a pair of ragged old shoes, which admittedly, he also had. Not that Johnson cared. All she cared about was executing the operation – obtaining the target’s fanny pack – to perfection. Johnson had worked long enough in the agency not to question how or why; to her it didn’t matter whether the bag contained sensitive government secrets or the president’s pacifier. All she had to do was get the job done. Just as Johnson prepared to head downstairs, one last reconnaissance check showed that the target was for some reason looking intently into the crowd. Something about his forlorn look caused Johnson to pause... What was he looking at? she thought apprehensively. What could he see?

*****

Ricky 'Fingers' McGee saw potential. The man fondled his fanny pack tentatively, as if to reassure himself that its contents were still there. To Ricky, this was a clear sign that whatever was in it held value. So, Ricky would steal it. The day's pickings had been slim – only a few wallets, a phone or two and a handbag. Meagre, to say the least, but there was no time for much more. As the light gradually began to fade, so too did the people; on top of that, Ricky had also caught a glimpse of a policeman skirting around the square. One last pull then… but he would have to be quick. Slowly, naturally, as only a lifetime of thieving had taught him, Ricky approached the man and made eye contact. A step forward and Ricky could now see the unkept dishevelment of the man. Another step, and Ricky could begin to smell the malodorous aroma of neglect and decay, a foul cacophony of dirt, sweat and urine. One more and the pickpocket could even make out the colour of his eyes, a dull brown which somehow seemed to match the exact hue of his rank, soiled attire. Every step forward was a step closer to his goal, and though he didn't look it, Ricky's mind and body were poised as a cobra, his entire being in search of the perfect moment to strike.

*****

Sergeant Jordan O'Reilly was also searching. She had been informed only a few moments before that a pickpocket was operating in the area, and had consequently come to investigate. Judicious eyes trained by decades of experience scanned the crowd for activity that was questionable, suspicious, or otherwise unlawful. Experience had trained not only her eyes, but also her instincts. While everyone around her churned and spurned at a walker's breakneck pace, O'Reilly strolled at a considerably slower pace; not exactly as if she had all the time in the world, but at least all the time in the general vicinity. As she progressively shifted through the slog of people, O'Reilly noticed a man sitting on a bench. Silent alarm bells rung throughout her brain. The man looked shifty to be sure, but what seized O'Reilly’s attention was the way he gripped the fanny pack on his waist. Still moving, but now drawing closer to the man, O'Reilly silently speculated on the fanny pack's contents. Although it was highly unlikely it could hold something like a bomb or a gun, there was a distinct possibility of contraband. Regardless, it was time for O'Reilly to make her move.

*****

Bartholomew timed his movements cautiously. He had been sent as a courier and his instructions were simple: pick up the package and get the heck out of there. Although Bartholomew generally considered himself to be well above a job like this, in this instance the pay check was too good to refuse. After scouting out the square, he had located his man within minutes; all he had to do now was walk over and obtain the package. However, before Bartholomew could move from his strategic position at the edge of the square, he happened to notice a policeman trundling through the crowd towards his man. No matter, thought Bartholomew. Among the other, altogether nastier set of skills Bartholomew had learned over the years, he had also learned patience. Bartholomew was on the home stretch, and soon he would be home free.

*****

Samuel Aldridge was home free as well, but in a much more literal sense. Homelessness was an altogether new experience for him, but he had managed well enough. Even so, life was looking up... That morning he had been approached with an intriguing proposition: all he had to do was wear a fanny pack – a mere bagatelle for the amount of money he had been offered. However, there was more to it than that... Samuel had been patiently waiting for an opportunity like this. And finally, his patience had paid off. Finally, his luck had taken a turn for the better.

*****

Ricky 'Fingers' McGee was out of luck. While preparing to make his move, the policeman, like a shark smelling blood in the water, had ostensibly drawn towards the bench in the middle of the square. As the policeman drew closer and caught sight of him, Ricky froze. The pickpocket had no time to think – knowing what would occur in the face of a confrontation, he bolted. And of course, the policeman ran right after him. At first Ricky far outpaced the policeman, but as the pickpocket begun to slow, the officer of the law continued to jog at pace, gradually levelling the distance between them. As he rounded a corner, Ricky could hear the thunking footsteps of the policeman right behind him. It is worth noting that although Ricky had never been considered intellectually intelligent, Ricky had always been street smart. In one motion Ricky spun around and, using the collision force of the policeman running towards him, forcefully shoving his knee into the policeman’s unmentionables. It should have been a highly efficient manoeuvre. But instead the policeman glowered at Ricky with a derisive, sardonic look that could have curdled milk.

"I ain’t a man, man."

And in a flash Ricky realised that what he had originally thought was a policeman, was actually in fact a policewoman.

*****

Agent Johnson took no notice of the policewoman; her eyes had been arrested by a far more intriguing sight. Moments before, Johnson’s final preliminary check had supposedly revealed the impossible. Lying in wait at the edge of the square was none other than No.1 on the agencies most wanted list. Heedless now of the original operation, Agent Johnson now began to prepare for the fight of her life. If she could bag this one criminal, Johnson would become the stuff of legend. All her life she had idolised those fabled agents who had taken down the world's most infamous drug lords, dictators and (in one noteworthy case) unfunny comedians. Now she had a shot of her own at apprehending a criminal of such calibre, a criminal with a body count that was truly beyond count. As she left the apartment and slipped out the door into the square, Johnson naïvely thought she knew exactly where she wanted to be; however, in a matter of seconds, Johnson was grabbed from behind, disarmed and violently dragged into a nearby alley.

Later, Johnson reluctantly admitted to herself that the alley was probably just about the opposite of where she wanted to be.

*****

Bartholomew, on the other hand, had the agent right where he wanted her. The headlock was a thing of beauty – a work of art. Martial art. Bartholomew had littered bodies all over world using this technique, and this agent would be just one more. His relentlessly tight grip around her neck progressively constricted. Tightened. Squeezed. He could feel her heartbeat, which moments before had been fluttering like a butterfly's wings, now begin to slow. Bartholomew knew he had the agent right where he wanted her. How wrong he was. With a blow as unexpected as a sneeze, Bartholomew felt an elbow slam into his stomach, as powerful and forceful as a rampaging infant bull. Instantly winded, Bartholomew’s clutch loosened, allowing another brutal elbow to smash into his ribcage, this time with a sickening crunch. Red hot pain electrified his side, which the agent capitalised on with devastating effect. Though Bartholomew's grip had fully loosened, blows now flew thick and fast, thrashing and beating like a blender. Bartholomew wasn't just getting creamed; he was getting whipped creamed. Within seconds the hitman had been battered, bruised and bemused to the ground; now barely conscious, he groaned faintly. No1. on the agency’s most wanted list had finally been apprehended.

*****

Sergeant Jordan O'Reilly had also apprehended her goal. With the pickpocket disposed of at the station, O'Reilly returned back to the square to claim her real prize. Everything had gone perfectly to plan. The agency had been hot on her tail after the heist, and she had therefore planned accordingly. Hiring Bartholomew – the man on every agency’s most wanted list – had worked to perfection. By offering bigger fish to fry, she was able to slip by her pursuers, unnoticed and untouched. Using Samuel as bait had worked flawlessly as well; she herself couldn’t have risked being such a target – it had been imperative to find a scapegoat. And who better than a slightly unbalanced homeless man? Finally, her triumphant coup de grace – by posing as a policewoman, she ensured the scheme went exactly according to plan, which, fortuitously, it did. Though a relentless assault of anonymous individuals, nameless organisations and enigmatic agencies had all attempted over the years to steal, retrieve or otherwise obtain the item which she held in her hands, now it was truly hers.

O'Reilly hastily seized the fanny pack from the homeless man and carelessly dismissed him with a 100-dollar bill. Gingerly, O'Reilly unzipped the fanny pack with a barely restrained veneration and carefully pulled out a small black lunch bag. Still animated, but with now just hint of bewilderment, O'Reilly tentatively opened the lunch bag and extracted its contents: a plain, slightly scrunched up, brown paper bag. Eyes now blazing like the fury of some heathen god, O'Reilly frantically ripped apart the paper bag to reveal... an apple? Frustration and confusion covered O'Reilly's face like an intricate, elaborate artwork. Was this it? Was this really what everyone was after?

*****

Ecstasy enraptured Samuel's mind as he sped away in his Ferrari. From the outside, Samuel's lopsided grin could have been mistaken to be as one of innocent pleasure, but on the inside Samuel smiled a maniacal caricature of psychotic glee. He had done it. Finding an identical fanny pack and convincing that reckless fool with a mentally unbalanced homeless act had been mere elementary. He was genuinely surprised she didn’t even know what it was called. Samuel had spent years tracking it down, but now, finally, all his hard work had paid off. Samuel had acquired the McGuffin.

*****

McGuffin

məˈɡʌfɪn ∙ Noun

1. An object in a story, book or film which serves merely as a trigger for the plot, but is insignificant, unimportant or irrelevant in itself

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