Handbagged!

It’s a busy day in Café Luxor. All the tables were filed with patrons; most of them old ladies in velvet hats and coats sipping cups of tea. Occasionally there was the odd table who had opted for something stronger, mainly the locals who propped up the wall tables. Through the window a blue light flashed through the window opposite. A few moments later, two heavily coated men walked into the room. One wore a black pork pie hat and black gloves; the other wore a plain red beanie and white gloves and carried a large red handbag. Ignoring the Maître’s post, they made straight for a vacant table by the window heavily piled with browning cups of tea. They sat down and both slid out the menus from underneath the pile of dirty crockery in one smooth movement and buried their faces in them.

‘Get that bag out of sight! Put it under the table!’ said the smaller man.

‘Sorry boss’ said the other.

‘Don’t call me boss right now, call me Damian.’

‘Why Damian?’

Just then the Maître’s came over.

‘Excuse me monsieurs, this table is not yet ready. If you would kindly wait by the dais I can seat you somewhere much more comfort- ‘

‘Here’s fine’ said Damian.