The Agency

II. questions

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Patrons in the cafe began to get up as they looked around, stunned at the events that had just occurred. A woman was sobbing while holding her child, desperate and happy prayers under her breath thanking God for sparing her baby. The floor was a mess of spilled coffee, smashed sandwiches, blood, and crumbled cookies from the chaos. The smell of gunpowder and coffee permeated the air. Alex swore he could hear the echoes of shots ringing in his ears.

Alex stood up, assessing the scene. There were a couple of people who had gotten hit by stray bullets. There was a nurse who was going around trying to help people, but it didn't seem that they were in any significant danger. The sole person who was dead was the barista who had been standing behind him. Alex stared at the man's body slumped on the counter, his eyes still open, warm and ready to give Alex his coffee. He never saw it coming.

Alex assessed himself. Other than a slight bruise on the back of his neck from being slammed to the ground, he was okay. He would have to change his suit before going to work. If his brother even allowed him to go, that is.

"I would advise everyone not to leave the area," Alex commanded, trying to take charge of the situation. "The police are going to come and take all of our statements so it would be suspicious if one of you slipped away before they came. I'm sure whatever engagements you have for this morning will understand."

There was some mild laughter amongst the crowd, but most nodded in sober agreement.

Some people were still processing the event. A man was laying on the floor with his hands over his head, still shaking as if the men were still patrolling the floor. Alex saw multiple people calling their loved ones, trying to explain what happened in between sobs. The main topic of conversation amongst the crowd was the mysterious woman.

"How she had known this was going to happen? Is she a psychic?" A man asked.

"A psychic? That's the devil's work. God bless her and save her from hell," a woman whispered, pressing her bloody rosary against her chest with a breathy prayer.

"Obviously this was done by the government. She worked in the department it was organized by, and she didn't want any more innocent civilians to die. These libs will do anything to take away our guns. They orchestrated Sandy Hook, too." Another man responded. "They weren't even speaking English. Probably got some illegals to do it."

Three police cars pulled up to the curb in front of the coffee shop. Six officers came out of them, equal in size and build, their guns drawn. "NYPD! Everybody put their hands up!" they shouted as they entered the premises, causing some people to scream and shake.

"Officers," Alex stated, "the assailants have already vacated the premises. They left in a car about three minutes ago." He walked toward them. "Don't you think you're coming in a bit hostile? If the gunmen were here, I'm sure they would've shot all of you."

All of them turned their guns to the voice that was talking but then holstered them when they realized who they were pointing at. "Our apologies, Mr. Stroud," one of them replied, nervousness creeping into his voice. "We did not know you were here as well. I'm sure the commissioner would like to hear of this incident."

Alex grinned. These were the times that it paid to have an overprotective police commissioner brother.

"My name is Officer Ahuja with NYPD. Anyone who was here during the shooting, please stay on the premises so we can take your statement," the same officer continued. "We will also need your names and numbers so if we need to follow-up or further clarify one of your statements, we will need to be able to reach you. Please give us a reliable method of communication. We only want to resolve this matter."