| |
Behind the couple a man came to the Apple Vendor and dropped a pound note on his counter. “Nice couple.”
“Indeed, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Did they say anything about where they were going?”
The Apple Man looked at the stranger.
The man was tall and wiry, with a thick handlebar mustache wrought with silver that ate into his lips, which were thin and almost cruel. His eyes were hard steel that could have been forged in the fires of a volcano, they burned so sullenly. His face was gaunt and stern looking. He had a tiny scar that ran from below his right ear to his shoulder.
He wore a Gautier Vest and Jacket. Longshore Pants from Paris to match and highly polished Armoine shoes that could reflect a face if one got close enough. The man was obviously quite wealthy and just a bit on the dangerous side, judging from the way he had looked at the Apple Vendor.
Not even taking into account that the Armoine shoes were made strictly from the kills of African hippos.
A dangerous kill even by the best of hunters. The hippos could run you down as fast as you could shoot a bullet and many a man had had that happen to them exactly when they thought they were being the newest and most successful African hunter yet.
Not all luck is good.
“I might.”
The man smiled and laid down a ten pound note.
“I’m all ears.”
The Apple Vendor looked at the note, then at the Stranger.
He swallowed.
Hard.
