He'd shoved the heavy, spherical object deep in his coat pocket, and was overly conscious of the bulge it produced against his otherwise dapper silhouette. Still, he'd been excited. This was his first assignment as a Pinkerton and he'd been prepping for his role since dawn.
The evening, though, turned out not to be particularly inviting. He was pelted with a steady light drizzle and the skies continued their threat to open completely. His waxed mustache, newly cultivated on his typically clean-shaven face, drooped under the weight of the water and his new derby sat just too tight on his head, heightening the anxiety he already felt about his assignment.
"What's the sphere for?" he'd been bold enough to ask.
An annoyed eye looked up, paused and then replied, "It's a diversion. Nothing more than one of many other articles the anarchists will no doubt throw when the police moved in."
"Why would we want to incite riots among the anarchists?"
Another annoyed glance, "We don't. We're simply the fuse that will blow the lid off their known violent tendencies."
For reasons he still couldn't discern, he let the tepid explanation pass. Perhaps he was excited to be a Pinkerton now and didn't want to jeopardize his first assignment.
Still, as the police moved in, he paused. The argument he'd heard earlier about an eight hour work day made sense especially given the 15 hour day he'd already put in. But, as the rain increased and the din of the crowd amplified, he became more irritated and was happy to relieve himself of the heavy metal ball that had been steadily bruising his hip bone all afternoon. As instructed, he lit the small dummy fuse and tossed it toward the uniformed officers before merging back into the crowd.
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