If 6 Were 9 — Jake Lamar

“You only recognize a stranger the second time you see him. The first time, you might not even notice him, not consciously. That was the case with the tall black man in the aviator shades. I had barely seen him in the swirl of people in front of the math building, just after the press conference an hour earlier. In the millisecond that I registered his presence in the crowd, taking in his dark suit, white shirt, red tie, black trenchcoat, the ramrod-straight bearing, had seemingly clasped behind his back, the aura of bland, watchful menace of a Secret Service agent protecting the president at a campaign rally, sunlight glinting off his large, shaved head, his somehow noble-looking, walnut-toned face impassive behind the dark green-lensed Douglas MacArthur-style Ray Bans. I wondered who he was, then turned my attention to Andy Chadwick, instantly forgetting the imposing brother in the sunglasses. I might never have thought of him again had I not seen him standing outside Reggie Brogus's apartment building, in exactly the same pose, seemingly staring straight at me as I sat in my tiny Honda across the street. I recognized him immediately. And I knew he had to be FBI.”