candlelit dinner

“Well, this isn’t quite what I meant when I said somewhere British.” Red said, as she sat and looked at the various vagabonds and layabouts, propped up inside the 24 hour cafe that Daniel had bought her to.

“This, is Britain though. The people in this room faced the blitz; V signs in the air. They may look like a bunch of alcoholic, unemployed no hopers, but when the chips are down Brits pulls through.”

Daniel almost believed himself, but he knew, deep down, that he was talking bollocks. Britain was on the ropes, only maintaining its place as any kind of world power due to its position as America’s special friend. Which, Daniel knew, came at a cost.

“What can I get you loves?” The comely waitress said, squinting through her cigarette smoke.

“Two coffees and two bacon rolls please.” Daniel responded, handing her the menus before Red could complain about not even opening one yet.

“So what do you think happens now?” Red asked across the table.

“About my boss? Well we won’t be wanting a repeat of Burgess et al, so I’m guessing he will quietly be disappeared.”


Daniel drew his finger across his throat.


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