Sunday 30 December 2012

The Scottish Play: The Car

Banks opened the passenger door to be hit by a strong smell of Indian cooking "Smells worse than an Indian whorehouse!" Two flimsy bags with takeaway meal containers sprawled against the back seat. An empty foil container already sat crumpled on the dashboard.

Banks "Where's mine?" At that moment both rear doors opened. Sandy and Bruce got in simultaneously. The doors were barely shut before Colin gunned the engine and roared off down Crown Street heading out of the city.

Colin: "How was your old pal then? Everything on the up?" The others were divvying the food as he spoke.

Banks: "Yep. Had a job offer for us. How would you gentlemen like to moonlight as security consultants and make some money from this oil bonanza?"

Bruce: "What! Every part-time secretary is driving a convertible in this town?  I want some of that!"

Banks over his shoulder, "How were things at the house?"

Sandy "Quiet. She's a looker apparently. Spent most of the evening on the phone with a drink in her hand." Banks amused himself with the thought 'no change there then'.

Iain had watched the house. To his neighbours and current workmates he was a roughneck. He'd been on the Thane exploration rig when the discovery was made. He was on rotation, this was his leave, and tonight of all nights, he had sat in his Astra with a pair of high powered binoculars, a flask and a cheese and pickle sandwhich, watching some posh bird when he could have been out hitting the town with Kim. 

The Cortina kept just within the speed limit as it sped down the A92 towards Stonehaven, then Montrose and finally Arbroath. The men inside were wolfing down their Indian scran using the Nan to scoop from each others foil containers.


Whitehall. The lights are burning late in D Wing.

SigInt: "Sorry to bother you sir. Message from Cauldron regarding Banquet."  He hands over a transcript.

Nigel: "At last. Let's see. Good. Good! Tony, arrange breakfast with the Minister. The witches are in play"

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