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we picked up this massive man recently. . .could have been a basketball player. I understand he’s getting lonely. Needs a friend.”
    â€œHey, hey,” the little man protested. “I came to you, remember. Soon as I heard something might be going down.”
    â€œThen take me to your contact,” McLean said.
    â€œNo can do. They’ll see MI5 coming a mile away.”
    McLean considered his options, taking a long drink from his beer. He didn’t have many. He shifted in his chair and reached for his jacket.
    â€œWait a minute,” Dixon said. “What about a little help.”
    Moving back to the center of the booth, McLean said, “You want money for telling me you might have something to tell me? That’s incredible.” But he also expected the man would ask for it, so he was ready. He reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a debit card, then slid it across the table at the man, who quickly scooped it up with his stubby fingers and looked it over front and back.
    â€œWho the hell is Amus McCloud?”
    â€œThat would be you. That’s how you get paid from now on. There’s fifty Quid on it now. You give me what I want and there’ll be much more.” He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to the man. “Sign it.”
    â€œFifty Quid. That isn’t much. How do you sign Amus? Let me practice a couple of times.” He scribbled on his coaster a couple times and then made it official on the debit card. Then he put the card into his wallet, which was so stuffed it was hard for him to find a spot for another card. “What if someone asks for additional I.D.?”
    â€œRight.” McLean was also waiting for this. “Here.” He handed the man a new driver’s license. “Sign this also.”
    â€œWhere’d you get the photo? Wait a minute. . .that was my last booking shot.”
    â€œRight. Well, we had to Photoshop it a little.”
    Then he looked more closely. “Hey, I’m not three six. I’m three seven, maybe eight on a good day.”
    â€œClose enough.” McLean sucked down most of his beer, slid to the end, and got out now, putting his long jacket over his shoulders. Then he leaned closer to Dixon and said, “I want a call by noon tomorrow.” He left without waiting for a protest.
    Out on the sidewalk the rain had slowed to a light mist. He looked across the street at an alley no wider than three feet. Alleys like that were all over the old town area. They cut off distances, but had also been known for their underground activity across the centuries. McLean saw a dark figure slip down into the shadows, so he crossed the street and made his way to the alley.
    By the time he got to the edge, he checked his watch and then slid around the corner, stepping lightly down the wet cobblestones. His only lighting came from a building around the corner ahead, giving him a distinct advantage. He could see better than anyone from that side.
    A couple more steps, where the alley widened slightly, he stopped. A hand touched his arm.
    â€œI thought you would come in,” McLean said. “Watch my back from there.”
    â€œNo, it works better this way,” came a soft woman’s voice. “What did he tell you?”
    â€œNothing. . .yet.”
    Her hand moved from his arm to his crotch. “You gave him the cards?”
    McLean cleared his throat. “Listen. You work for me. What do you think? Of course he has them. And you can bet your ass he’ll drain the money from it as soon as he gets a chance.”
    Her hand moved from his crotch to his buttocks. She squeezed down and said, “That driver’s license is brilliant. Are you sure the embedded GPS will work?”
    â€œAs advertised. State of the art.” What the hell was she up to this time? She was an attractive woman, but not quite his type, for she was an inch shorter than his contact Gary Dixon. She had