Manhattan bar

[Malaclypse 666]

"Pops" Waverly walked into the IND private salon looking like forty miles of bad road...

"My Goddess, chaps, I'd forgotten how cramped the cockpit of a fighter can be. Three hours of flying, and I may never get these old joints unkinked!

"The John Prine is reasonably ready for escort duty. That's some little "entrance exam" you blokes put together for the Epsilons. I must have missed a bread crumb or two along the trail. I've got one pair of the required codename boomsticks, and a line on the laser cannon, but missed the other codenames. I do have a hold chock full of other goodies for he armoury, though. Hopefully that will suffice for my vetting as one of the Escort ranks.

"What's this then? A package addressed to me from Gran Canaria?" Pops queried, as he accepted a largish box from one of the robot barkeeps and began to unwrap it. "Boys, will you smell that? Exquisite! Haven't seen a cheroot with a "nose" like this in a month of Sundays!"

Pop visibly relaxed as he flicked his antique Zippo and drew deeply on the cheroot. "Ah, that's the bloody ticket! I'll have to give Mal a big wet kiss next time we cross paths."

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