THE SWEENEY - Log 6
Apr. 18th, 2026 08:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_changeling posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsKevin meets up with an old contact for a talk.
“Anthro, been awhile. I hear that MI6 finally cut you loose.” Kevin settled into the pub table. He’d collected his pint from the barman, who dropped off the pickled egg on the side as he went past. The man across from him was lean and spare, a speckle of white stubble bright against his dark skin, with that nebulous look that could make him ten years older or younger than his calendar age.
“Retirement. Hell of a thing, innit? Still, robin to know some people remember my skills.”
“I do.” Kevin said, reaching into his pocket and passing over a thick envelope to the man before taking a sip from his pint.
“And have proper lights on.” Anthro opened it, flicking through the bills with his thumb before disappearing it into his leather jacket. “There’s new trick popular white. Andorra and Symkaria are still Mae West destinations for routing through shell accounts but they found new wrinkle North Africa using new economic rules to obfuscate EU tracking Shame Britain walked away it."
“Origins are French then? Bounced through Andorra and Symkaria and then… what, shadow accounts buried in Morocco?”
“Throw in some transfers in Gibraltar and you’re isles.” They hadn’t passed any names back and forth. That wasn’t how this business worked. Instead, he’d just given Kevin a map to follow, which was almost as easy for him to follow.
“I’d asked how you found this, but I know a magician never reveals his tricks.” Kevin took a bite from the egg. “You ever need more stable work, let me know.”
“Appreciated but I’m good with freelancing. Never figured out if you are a proper bobby or not.” He said, as he got up and left the pub without a look back. Kevin smiled, finishing off his egg before he pulled out his phone and his laptop. There was real work to do now.
“Anthro, been awhile. I hear that MI6 finally cut you loose.” Kevin settled into the pub table. He’d collected his pint from the barman, who dropped off the pickled egg on the side as he went past. The man across from him was lean and spare, a speckle of white stubble bright against his dark skin, with that nebulous look that could make him ten years older or younger than his calendar age.
“Retirement. Hell of a thing, innit? Still, robin to know some people remember my skills.”
“I do.” Kevin said, reaching into his pocket and passing over a thick envelope to the man before taking a sip from his pint.
“And have proper lights on.” Anthro opened it, flicking through the bills with his thumb before disappearing it into his leather jacket. “There’s new trick popular white. Andorra and Symkaria are still Mae West destinations for routing through shell accounts but they found new wrinkle North Africa using new economic rules to obfuscate EU tracking Shame Britain walked away it."
“Origins are French then? Bounced through Andorra and Symkaria and then… what, shadow accounts buried in Morocco?”
“Throw in some transfers in Gibraltar and you’re isles.” They hadn’t passed any names back and forth. That wasn’t how this business worked. Instead, he’d just given Kevin a map to follow, which was almost as easy for him to follow.
“I’d asked how you found this, but I know a magician never reveals his tricks.” Kevin took a bite from the egg. “You ever need more stable work, let me know.”
“Appreciated but I’m good with freelancing. Never figured out if you are a proper bobby or not.” He said, as he got up and left the pub without a look back. Kevin smiled, finishing off his egg before he pulled out his phone and his laptop. There was real work to do now.
