chapter ten

Scrunched into the little Volkswagen, Mr. Black sat, surrounded by two lithesome, yet tired henchmen on either side of him. It was not exactly an evil genius’ wheels as they saw fit, but Mr. Black did and so it was to them to disprove it. And they did not want to. Mr. Black hurumphed. Damned Lisbon. It is not nearly so warm as they claim it to be in the Fodor’s guide in spring as he wished that it were. Lisbon passed by. The little black (of course) bug chugged through the streets. Old town. The streets were narrow and winding along the seacoast. Lights and fog. He was to meet the sea captain at the ports after midnight.
The alabaster angels gloomed in the night sky hanging onto the crests of buildings.
From here, Mr. Black could see the beginnings of the wharves, low hanging wooden buildings squatting in the dark. The smell of salt water in the air. They drove down a tiny cobbled street and could see the lights near the piers. Soon, the captain would have his report on his voyage out and come bearing good news. He hoped. Recuerdo Santocristo-Timex Sancristo was one of his best right hand henchmen, though Recuerdo was himself a lefty, which made him an anomaly and a good one at that for Mr. Black.
The sea hung in the air like a solid cape waved in front of a bull and Mr. Black tapped his driver on the shoulder.
“Faster.” He pointed a finger straight ahead. The driver nodded, half expecting a poison needle to strike him in the neck. You just never knew with these evil geniuses, he knew. Even a transparent plexiglas divider to come sliding, hissing up like a snake in a basket and sealing off Mr. Black and his two remaining henchmen in the back from the poison gas that would begin hissing, would not have been unexpected for this night.