Wallace sat down exhibiting a bonhomie that was quite false. He didn’t feel well. The after taste of that damned meat pie, purchased from that street vendor and hurriedly eaten, was still present and it was even causing the back of his neck to sweat. ‘I have already ordered a whisky for you,’ Kalim said. ‘How do you like the place?’ ‘Pretty good,’ Wallace confessed as he looked around the establishment, which caused him some discomfort as he experienced a momentary slight dizziness and nausea. Damn that meat pie! The tables were all set with white cloths, with red napkins and vases of flowers. There was a definite Asian look about the place, in fact the facia outside had indicated that it was an Indonesian restaurant, which filled him with some unease as he was not too adventurous with regard to food when he felt the best, which at present he did not. Wallace remembered his friend Clive Passay telling him of the night he had been in a restaurant in Thailand with business connections, his companion had apparently ordered something for him, which turned out to be drunken prawns, which had been placed alive in alcohol, where they had become inebriated and then cooked alive.
