Outside the Spanish Bar the early evening summer crowd had spread across the narrow street. Situated between Tottenham Court Road and lower Oxford Street, the bar was another excellent rendezvous for someone who wanted to check themselves. You could double up on yourself, slip into an open door around a curve in the street, or disappear completely into the melange of main streets that bordered the cut-through. The choice was yet another example of Red Cap’s professional skills. Drunk and distressed though the agent may be, he was still the real deal.
Once inside, it took Eli a couple of moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, the cork-coloured floor tiles, wood slatted bar, the brass and wrought iron, the mahogany light stand set in the floor, black chipped stools and the deep red
