It was an outdoor café in Morocco this time, and the other was reading a volume of Shakespeare’s plays, reclining at ease in a hard metal chair that shouldn’t allow such comfort. Typical.
The man slid into the other chair at the rickety little table, deliberately jostling it so his opposite’s coffee rattled and slopped over the sides of the cup. That got no more reaction than a single raised eyebrow, disdaining such childish tactics, but the man didn’t care. He was an opportunist in the purest sense, after all; just because not every gambit played out the way you wanted was no reason not to take them anyway.
“So, you must feel you’ve been very crafty,” he told the other, leaning back and sipping from his own cup, and grimacing. He’d never been a fan of coffee.
His opponent smiled, marke
