Gary Wayne Gentry stood watching as firefighters fought to extinguish the blaze in Parsons Hardware on the main street of Baker City, Oregon. He was merely one in a crowd of lookie-loos that had gathered on the opposite side of the street, a guy so nondescript that no one would ever remark on the short, balding man with a slight paunch. No one would even notice him. Which used to bother Gary.
Used to. But hed learned that being unnoticeable could be an asset.
He watched as the supervisor barked out orders to the firefighters on the ground. Hoses were deployed, plans were followed. Soon enough, thick black smoke turned white. Which meant the fire was out, there were merely a few hot spots that merited attention.
He knew this because Gary had always wanted to be a firefighter. Or a cop. Or a soldier. Some damn thing with a uniform.