Who: Cyril Bartholomew & Marco Valentino What: Funny money delivery. Where: One of Marco's warehouses. When: Wednesday, past midnight. Warnings: None.
Cyril knew he was running a bit late but it couldn't be helped because he'd been stuck with a couple that had come all the way from the East Coast to see him. So-and-so had suggested it and they'd even brought a recommendation letter. A letter. As quaint as it may have seemed, he couldn't deny that it was also charming in a slightly awkward way. It turned out that the lady was of the chatty type and that her husband had never learnt how to shut her up. Thirty-something years of constant, mindless chatter. Cyril was impressed they were both still alive.
Eventually, they retired to their hotel, without actually getting to the part where they told him what the purpose of their visit was. More of this tomorrow, then. Pushing that thought aside for the moment, he focused on navigating his car through traffic without causing any accidents.
Fortunately, this part of town was relatively quiet and when he pulled up at the warehouse, the art dealer silently congratulated himself for finding it on the first try. Sometimes he had trouble with his sense of direction - nevermind that he'd been here hundreds of times before.
Lifting one of the two briefcases that were in the boot out, Cyril slipped inside and wandered towards the only source of light. "I know," he said before Marco could get a word in and put the briefcase on the table. "I got held up at work." His expression told the other man everything there was to know about that meeting.