Alexey put on his most bored, uninterested, most uncaring expression on his face as the lady in front of him babbled about her need to get [i]one[/i] specific book before the entire store closed down. Being the second shift at Barnes & Noble means that he's usually the one that closes up- he goes around flushing out all the bookworms from the couches and windowsills. And this particular lady decided her need for getting [i]The Extreme Book of the Cook[/i] was more important than his need for something other than burgers or books for once that day. 

Eventually the older woman stopped, stamped her foot, and demanded, "Are you even listening to me?!" He stared at her, straightened, and responded calmly, "Why of course, miss, but hear that? That's the sound of the store being closed. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just lock up since it's already ten minutes past closing time- No no, no need to thank me, goodbye!" He gently pushed her into the rotating door thing (Thank God she didn't try to shove her way in, or resist too much), firmly pushed the door around so she was out into the open air, and slid the lock home. He gave her a wave through the glass (he swore he could see the steam rising from her head), and went through to start shutting off all the lights in the overly large building.

Had it been any other city, the building would've been a large, sprawling building that probably had two stories and was filled to the top with books. But, this was New York City, and such space was quite limited- so instead, it was a six story tall building. 

He stepped out through the back entrance, and began the short walk to a hangout a friend of his had invited him to. Well, short relative to Russia- he walked quite a ways to get places, there, and it was usually very cold. That, and the organization in America was so much better than Moscow- there it was all one way streets and very small and squished, hard to navigate easily. In American cities, he could walk in a straight line, and find himself all the way across the city, no problem! He could see for miles in the checkerboard city, and navigation was a walk in the park! Sometimes literally.

[center]~-+-~[/center]

After twenty minutes' worth of walking, he found himself walking into a bar at the given address. It was unusual, since his buddy knew that Alexey didn't like to drink much, except for some vodka, when the occasion calls for following a stereotype- he holds alcohol down surprisingly well for some reason. Either way, he walked into the bar, and stood for a moment, scanning the crowd for his friend, before a hand shot up over the heads of everyone else, and waved him over. 

Sliding into a booth along the back wall, he raised his eyebrows in question to his well-connected friend. The son of a not-so-legal gambling boss, Nikon Shaw was introduced to Alexey when he first came over to the 'States, by [of all people] his mother, who apparently [i]was[/i] a very similar person running a very similar organization in Moscow [until the payments to the local police wasn't enough, and they busted it in]. Nikon raised his hands, saying, "Easy Alex, look, someone just came in from Ireland. Take a look." From his jacket, Nikon pulled out a photograph. Pictured on it was a woman, redheaded, looking out over the camera, looking for something. She looked a tad annoyed, maybe disappointed, and Alex gave Nikon that look.

"Okay, look, a woman named... Amena..." Nikon watched Alexey glance at his wrist, and the current day that said today, and laughed when Alexey's eyes widened. "Wow, you [i]reeally[/i] are indifferent about it, aren't you? The entire world goes out of their way to keep track of the days until they meet their soulmate, and you hardly even glance at it until someone brings it up?!"

Nikon leaned back, laughing. When he was finished, he found Alexey's face dark and glaring at him, and Nikon held his hands up in placation. "Hey, I may have sent out feelers for the name Amena, and this is the first notable one. Based on some of my scouts, and the location of her hotel, she's probably heading to..." He pulled out another piece of paper, this time with an address sprawled in unfamiliar handwriting. "...Here. A local vamp is performing there, 'sposed to be really good or somethin'. You might want to get moving, mate. If you hurry, you might just reach the place as she arrives."

Alexey looked at Nikon, somewhat uncomprehendingly. Then he flicked the picture back at Nikon [after taking a glance at it, for memory], and rushed out the door.

Two blocks down the street was his destination; he could make it in four or five minutes if he walked. He made it in two and a half, at a fast pace. Standing outside the apparently popular hangout, watching people stream in and out, he paused, uncertain. Was she already inside? Not yet here? He scanned the road; he didn't see a redhead with long hair on the sidewalks, and started targeting taxis. Eight taxis were in sight; three turned off before they reached his street. Five more; two were coming from where he had come from, three coming from the direction he had been moving in. The two that had 'followed' him had only a couple random people; a suited guy, and a casual jacket-clad couple. 

But as the last taxi from the direction ahead of him approached, his wrist tingled. And as it got closer, that tingling went from a small annoyance, to a gentle heat, to feeling as if someone took wire and pressed it in his skin. He locked on to the taxi that was approaching last; he could see through the windows of the other two, closer cabs. He waited, in the crowd, until the cab pulled up to the sidewalk. 

Redhead; in a dress; beautiful, exactly as the picture described, besides her attire. Barnes and Noble always demanded that he wear something 'proper,' which fared well, now. Black slacks, a white button up collared shirt, and a black "fancy-vest," as he called it, making him look more like a waiter or valet than anything. He watched her from the crowd, unmoving, as she paid the driver, but before she could open the door, he jumped forward, opening the door with a burning wrist, saying in his notable Russian accent, "Welcome to America, miss. I think you have the right stop, methinks." And he smiled, in an effort to appear more welcoming and friendly, despite his inner turmoil of anxiety and nervous excitement.