Devon
Devon sits at the bar and orders a drink.
The bartender has never seen him before, so he gives him a funny look. In a small bar like this, he must know everyone who comes in here. He hopes to hell that Bernard was right about this. He came a long way, and he isn't going back without getting this done. He even tore a few stitches earlier. He makes a mental note to go to the clinic as soon as he's done with this.
He takes the photo from the inside of his coat and slides it across the table. The bartender looks at him funny but leans over to take a good look at the photo. "You know this woman?"
He snaps his gaze back to Devon's. "Depends. Who's asking?"
"The CIA, the FBI, Interpol, what does it matter? Just answer the f*****g question." He knows that the mention of these normall
