Gin, dry vermouth and olives. The liquid swirled in the cool martini glass like a python stalking its prey. Strained to
perfection yet dirty in every sense. Crisp. Salty. Devine. He sat at the bar, adjusted his suit and briefly
glanced around the room. The lights flickered on and off as the room went dark. An eyebrows raised. Two men pressed their bodies behind him as he let out a breath of unease. Thwack. The next morning he woke up. Sore head. Sprawled out like a starfish on his bed with a bunch of spy magazines on the floor.
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