Moustaches and Menaces
“Those idiots,” she muttered as she stared at the monitor in front of her. She picked up her half-eaten granola bar and took another bite. Her shirt stuck to her back in the parked van. She brushed her damp hair out of her face.
On the monitor, two men stood in a concealed hallway, away from the passerby. Only she could see them from the hacked footage, for the security guards were still trying to fix their static screens. One man in the hallway looked up at the camera and smiled, pointed at the moustache, winked, and gave a thumbs-up. She smacked her forehead. If anyone saw, his cover would have surely been blown. The other man in the hallway punched the first in the arm. She rubbed her temples.
”It’s never going to work,” she said aloud to herself, “That stupid moustache won’t make him look like Peter.”
The two men made their way to the jury sign-in table. The one in the fake moustache handed the ID to the worker. She held her breath as she stared intensely at the monitor. The worker nodded and pointed to a set of doors. The two men walked in, out of the camera’s frame.
She sighed incredulously, “I can’t believe it worked.”