Page 64 of Reset

Pushing through the heavy wooden door, they ducked to avoid the hanging flower baskets that adorned the front of the pub. Each strategically placed to cover areas of flaking plaster on the exterior wall.

A yellow light illuminated the bar name, Cock & Bull. Right beside it, some helpful vandal had drawn a huge dick in black marker pen. David wondered how long it’d been there because he couldn’t see the owners making the effort to paint over it in a hurry.

“They’re heading to a curry house in Brick Lane,” Dimitri said through the comms unit. “Are we picking him up before he loads up on curry? Because I don’t fancy an interrogation after he’s eaten.”

David and Harvard casually strode along the narrow, one-way road that led to Brick Lane at the end. Brick Lane had once been famous for its exotic markets and for being the stomping ground of Jack The Ripper. Now, it was known as Banglatown because of its large Bangladeshi community and many curry restaurants. But it wasn’t all curries and spicy food; there were weird little shops selling everything from cheap Chinese knock-offs to handmade ceramic toilet seats.

As they turned into Brick Lane, the street became busier. Some people were still shopping, while others were out for an evening meal. Orange street lights illuminated the vast range of graffiti that seemed to cover every building. There was everything from unreadable tags scrawled with hasty black ink, right through to gallery-level murals that covered whole walls.

Dodging around trash bags that had accumulated on a corner, they continued up the narrow brick-lined street to the area housing most of the Bangladeshi restaurants.

“They’re heading for Curry King,” Joe said with disgust.

“No taste,” Dimitri added. “All these fantastic restaurants, and they choose a chain.”

“The beer doesn’t care if it gets a gourmet,” David pointed out. “The beer just wants to be fed.”

“And this is why you shouldn’t drink warm beer on an empty stomach,” Harvard said.

“Or at all,” Joe amended. “The English need to catch up with the rest of the world and refrigerate.”

He was preaching to the choir. All four of their current team hailed from the States.

“We need to get him away from his boys,” Joe said. “Don’t want a showdown in the middle of the street.”

“How do you want to play this?” Dimitri said.

Harvard glanced at David. “They’re the decoy?”

David nodded. They were closing in on the three men; only a few feet separated them.

“There’s a good chance Prentice might recognize one of us, so you two hustle his boys into the restaurant while we pick up the package.”

“Copy that,” Joe said.

As Dimitri and Joe approached the Curry King, they became rowdy and loud, laughing at each other as they played their parts as hungry drunks. To the annoyance of the three men, Dimitri and Joe elbowed their way in front of Prentice, crowding him out as they followed the other two into the restaurant.

It was all the gap David needed.

As Harvard came up on one side of the mercenary, David took the other.

“Hey there, Prentice,” David said as he jammed a gun into the mercenary’s ribs.

“What the fuck?” Prentice executed a move to free himself, but Harvard grabbed him and held on tight.

David rammed the gun further into Prentice’s side, making the man grunt. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you.”

Prentice growled at David. “The fuck you will. We’re in the middle of the fucking street.”

“Language,” Harvard reprimanded, drawing his attention.

Prentice’s head spun around to face the former spy, and he visibly paled. “Fuck.”

“Been a while.” Harvard kept a friendly smile on his face as they frog-marched Prentice past the restaurant doors. “I see you haven’t learned any new words. How have you been, Prentice?”

“What the hell do you want?” He craned his neck, looking for his friends, who’d been waylaid by Joe and Dimitri and wouldn’t get to him in time.

Angling Prentice toward the next corner, they made their way up Hanbury Street where one of their SUVs was parked. All the while, Harvard continued to smile and chat in that easygoing tone of his. “We want to talk. A nice, easy conversation between professionals. That’s okay with you, isn’t it?”