He had walked nearly a hundred yards along Lime Street and it was only as he passed into the shelter of Leadenhall Market that he realised he was soaked. His hair was plastered across his head. Not a good look, he thought. At this time of the evening there were still a few people occupying the wine bars and restaurants nestling beneath the spectacular Victorian roof, but it was getting quiet. He needed a drink but the desire for a cigarette was still greater, so he purchased a cheap glass of Australian plonk at the Lamb pub and grabbed a spare outside table on the cobbles. It was cold and he was wet, but he was oblivious to such physical factors. He had been shaken to the core by Kanelos’ visit. If that had been the gang’s intention, they had undoubtedly succeeded. His immediate temptation was to call Tina. Arrange a meeting, tell her all about Kanelos’ visit – she would know what to do. It made perfect sense, but he was strangely reluctant.
