sparkplug with a roof

“Sounds quite exciting Daniel?” Red said across her cup of builders tea.

“Well it would have been more exciting in your Jag, rather than in a half knackered Trabant.” Daniel replied.

Daniel and Red were in what had slowly become a regular haunt, the back right table of the greasy spoon Daniel had taken Red to months ago. They were generally left alone once they’d ordered food and could see anyone who entered the premises, so they were assured of their safety from prying eyes.

“How did you get the car across the border?”

“I didn’t, I ditched it about two miles out. Gave the keys to some kid who is probably locked up in some gulag somewhere now and did the rest of it on foot. Got a bit hairy at the checkpoint, but I got through. I heard the balloon go up when I was in the safehouse on the western side. Bloody close one.”

Daniel pulled a small flask from his jacket pocket and poured a slug into both of their mugs of tea.

“Shame about that young couple.”

“Yes, much worse when they’re young and innocent, but it gave me an idea for you know what.”

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