Beyond Green Fields #7 - Savage: A post-apocalyptic anthology by Adrienne Lecter

Author:Adrienne Lecter [Lecter, Adrienne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-02T22:00:00+00:00

We touch down in Prague just after morning rush hour abates. There’s no driver waiting to pick us up, which is just as well. All three of us are in the most indiscernible civilian clothes known to man—not suited for actual work but great for blending in. We split up—Miller taking a cab on his own while Romanoff and I do our usual couple-on-holiday routine. Clever timing and not-too-ambitious taxi drivers work out well, meaning that with different drop-off points and some walking, we arrive at the hotel I picked out of the tourist listings thirteen minutes apart to assure nobody will preemptively connect us to each other. While I pretend to be extra particular about the amenities, Romanoff browses the complimentary tourist brochures, entertaining everyone with his brash comments about the offerings. To the staff, we are henceforth known as the unassuming single guy on a business trip, and the bitch with the funny husband who must see something in her that nobody else does. You get hundreds of those every week in every single hotel—no better way to blend in.

We have another two hours until we meet our contact and only twenty minutes of commute, so we take the time to tour the sights and fall into the worst, most obvious tourist trap in sight. All three of us have been to the city enough times before to know some true local gems, but anyone who may still be on the lookout for anyone suspicious would have picked up on us going there. Instead, going for overpriced beer and lukewarm, greasy pork knee makes us disappear completely. It’s still authentic Czech food so it’s delicious, which I’m sure will be the only highlight of this mission.

Miller joins us halfway through the meal, aided by the layout of the restaurant—long tables with benches where it’s customary that several parties share a space. We pretend-introduce each other while Miller gives the waitress a somewhat cringeworthy American-businessman-wooed-by-European-beauty performance that makes me want to double the tip we’ll be leaving—but I won’t. We’ll overtip all right but not outrageously so, just enough to leave a good impression but not a memorable one.

Miller is digging into his duck roast when Romanoff—on his second beer—turns the conversation to the point that must have been burning him for going on a day now. “What is it with you Americans and banging prudish women?”

To Miller’s credit, he doesn’t choke on his food—or even pause—but the look he sends Romanoff is far from friendly. “What—or who—I do is none of your concern.”

The rebuke has no effect, of course, other than to put what Americans would call a shit-eating grin on Romanoff’s face. I wince at my own mind’s stupid pun. What do they say—they need brain bleach? But that is too close to the mouthwash comment.

I fucking hate that I even know this about a man I usually respect.

I realize I must be doing a shit job hiding my thoughts when Miller sends a wry smile my way.

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