Southside

“Give me a Southside.”

“And what gin would you like?” The barmen replied.

“Bluebird,” I said, “Make it a cobalt,” I continued giving the man a codeword. The bartender raised his brow ever so slightly. He made a show of mixing the gin with lime juice and syrup, then stepped away into the back. Moments later, he returned with my Southside, adorned with fresh mint.

“Enjoy your drink.” The barmen layed a square napkin down as a coaster, presenting me with my beverage. I took a few sips of my drinks as I enjoyed the ambience of the club. You have to take the time to enjoy the good things in life. As I raised my glass, I slipped the napkin out from under it. Scrawled upon the tissue was the intel I needed. VIP, 2 on door. My target. I had time. Behind me the band continued to play as I savoured the drink. The angelic voice had disappeared, but the beat was good.

The tempo picked up, and I found myself tapping my heel in time. It got me in the mood. I slugged back the rest of the drink, and stood up. You don’t get that burn with gin like you do with whiskey. It’s smooth. Which is how my movements felt as I made my way to the back of the club. Dodging people in conversation, dancing, generally having a good time. My travels led me to a more secluded area. An alcove in the wall where two shadows flickered against the floor. I moved in.

Confirmation. I saw two chuckleheads guarding a door as I turned the corner. “What do y-” One of the goons began as he moved in my direction. I flicked my wrist and pressed into my watch. A stream of liquid flew out from the device into his eyes, blinding him in what I was told would of been excruciatingly painful. To my benefit his screams were covered by the sweet sound of music. The second minion looked at me dumbfounded. “Care to Rumba?” I said to him raising my fists.

Shock only lasting for a second, he sprang at me. I’ll give him this, the man was fast for a boulder. His first punch glanced off my cheek but it was the second I was waiting for. The momentum encouraged a second blow. As it came in my direction I blocked with my forearms. Locking his elbow and lurching him forward. A resounding crack resonated through the anteroom as the hard head of the second man smashed into the, just as hard, head as the first. Strike! Both collapsed on the floor in a loving embrace.

Being the professional, I am, I checked the hallway to see if our commotion had drew any attention. Blessedly the coast was clear. I made my way to the door. Listened for any sound of alarm. Filled my lungs, ready to make my grandstand entrance. I pressed the handle down fast and swung the door open stepping into the room.

Low and behold. My target. The Nazi sympathiser laid sprawled on the floor in front of me. Unconscious. Atop of him. Pinning him down with one slender leg stood the incredible songstress from earlier. In her hand she held what I sought, the microfilm. “Madame Blanche, French intelligence I presume?” I inquired. She looked me straight in the eye as she took the microfilm and, with a wink, placed it between her cleavage.
“SOE, British on my father’s side. I guess we beat the OSS to it this time,” she replied as she threw me an audacious smile.
“It seems so,” I confirmed as I took a step towards her. “I am afraid I can’t pass the buck on this one. I’ll be needing that microfilm,” I said.
“Well let’s not flog a dead horse,” She exclaimed, to my puzzlement. “It’s a shame, you’re not a bad looker for a yank,” she continued as she also took a step forward.

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