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Thriller – Part two


Smoking in the stagnant bar area of the airport was a man who was tired of waiting. Three empty tumblers stood unchecked on the table, and the ashtray had been over-flowing when he had arrived. Nobody cared about the smokers; let ‘em rot, goddamn it…
“Let us stew,” he said aloud, and an old woman on the next table looked up and smiled. She was English, like this Lafrond guy, and just as stupid. Who takes her three year old grandkid into a bar for Christ sake? The little girl played with the cigarette pack and sang as she bounced it in time on the table.
The man watched her for a while until she reminded him of someone, then shifted uncomfortably and stared back into the middle distance. Conveniently for him, that was exactly where Lafrond was, walking with an over-confidence mixed with uncertainty that only the English can manage, straight towards the bar. He was easily recognisable by his photograph, which was a surprise – ordinary looking people so rarely are. This one was totally forgettable, or so the man had thought. But he knew him instantly, so much so that he stood up and walked towards him before he knew what he was doing.
“Mr Lafrond?” he said, not sure why he’d decided to approach him. He’d never done this before.
The Englishman looked surprised, then afraid, then covered both emotions with a practised smile. The man who had waited all day for this moment touched his gun in its holster, squeezed it, then pulled his hand from inside his jacket pocket and extended it.
“Milo Broucek. I’m your guide for today. There’s been a change of plan.”

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