Jack & Jack: Over a Pint

            “I’ve seen what you’ve done. 8 o’clock. Sloane Square. The pub.” the note read. He looked down at it and read it again. He looked up and glanced around the pub, unsure if he was in the right place, unsure how he’d recognize the person he was to meet.

            Just before turning to leave, he saw a hand extend from a shadowy corner table and beckon him.

            As he approached the small, round table, the face of the man at it became visible. He was of middle age, a bit of grey flecked through his dark hair, especially dusting the area over his temples. There was a regal quality to his face, something about the lines of his jaw or the contours of his cheeks or the slight upward curvature of his nose. The seated man smiled as his guest approached, a warm smile that revealed teeth that had been well kept.

            “Good evening, Jack,” the seated man said as he slid a pint of stout towards his guest.

            “My name’s not…”

            “Shh…it is tonight. Please sit.”

            The younger man remained standing for a moment, looking uneasily from the smiling face to the empty chair before him.

            “No need to be nervous. Sit and have a pint. Let’s talk.”