*sips da tea*

Cameron

"One more."

"Make that two more."

"Fuck off."

The bartender dismissed my glares and eye warnings, blatantly, and listened to the instructions of the pervert beside me.

Bastard.

He placed both shot glasses in front of me in a hurry to serve another woeful customer, so I swiftly took advantage of that by gulping down the contents of both glasses. The burning sensation brought chills down my spine as the aftertaste made me feel nostalgic. I shuddered and shook my head before looking back towards the bartender.

"On second thoughts, give me the bloody bottle." I reached into the back pocket of my jeans, pulling out and chucking a few notes on the bar. I then proceeded to tell him to keep the fucking change.

I momentarily swayed as I turned and got to my feet. I chuckled to myself, I am having one of those nights.

I made my way to the back booths and sat in the one I sit in every week.

I may or may not have these 'nights' every week, or more specifically, every Sunday.

I took three large sips of the bottle. My comrades. My friends. My family.

I shook my head and took another gulp. The bottle felt pretty light so I held it level to my eyes, blinked and saw that the bottle of vodka was half empty.

Oh for fuck's sake. Like my night could get any worse.

One would think that by buying off someone every week, being a loyal customer and by never causing that much trouble you would get a discount or at least a full bottle of vodka when you've paid enough for fucking five.

I was rudely intruded from the conversation I was having with myself when the same drunkard from earlier slid into the booth. And then I recognised him as that drunkard. That, meaning the one that comes here every other week and sots, drinks and stares and me. Last week he tried to get into my pants and left the pub with a broken nose and the inability to make babies.

I sighed in frustration and decided to keep quiet before laying my head down on the table. Though, I put my head down at such an angle that I could still see him from the corner of my eye and watch if he does anything stupid. Stupid as in trying to take my drink.

Just in case and being aware of the hazard, I placed my drink underneath the table and between my legs.

A few minutes passed and I could still feel his eyes burning into the back of my head. To say the least, I was surprised. This jackass had a lot to say last week and him, being so silent, yet so close to me, crept me the fuck out.

I huffed in annoyance and took another swig of vodka before placing it between my legs once again.

He had been watching me for at least five minutes now without uttering a single word. Not even a conversation starter, like last weeks: 'Hi gorgeous'.

"Hey, gorgeous." He gave me his signature smile as well as his signature quote, except he has spiced things up a little with a 'hey' instead of a 'hi' this week.

"The fuck do you want?" I replied icily. He paused and hesitated before answering, his smirk disappearing into a frown.

"I need a favour," he trailed off before putting a suitcase on the table. He smirked at me as if he knew something I did not.

I sat confused for a few moments before raising my head from the table in anger. I swear the nerve of this prick is gonna get him killed. I slammed my fist on the table, furious of the clear meaning behind his words.

"You slimy bastard I am gonna rip your tiny balls off and shove them so far up your arse you'll be able to taste them n your fucking throat. How's that for a favour, you cunt!"

"Whoa, as much as we would both love the experience, I need more serious and less sexual favour." He ran a hand through his slicked-back blonde, almost white, hair and fixed his collar as he said this.

After all those shit sexual innuendos he had thrown at me last week you would think he would feel very relaxed around me. I then realised he was wearing a dress shirt, a blazer and his hair looked thoroughly combed today. His sudden change in behaviour and attire perked my interest and I was now curious about what this favour included, it must be very important to him if he tried not to dress like a slob for once.

I leaned back in my seat and nodded at him to continue as I started taking a few more slow sips from the bottle of vodka. This is gonna be, entertaining.

"I need you to track someone for me."

I spit out the vodka I had been swirling around in my mouth directly onto his white dress shirt, saw the reaction on his face and laughed at him. He opened his mouth to speak but I put my index finger up to his face while my other hand was still holding my stomach. He began to look slightly irritated and that was when I realised how serious this was to him and so I bit back my laughter and composed myself.

That was for about ten seconds before I burst into fits of laughter once again.

I think I had a couple of sips too many vodkas.

And now it was his turn to get angry.

"Look, I could always find someone who would be more competent, qualified, mature and sober than you, but me being the nice guy, assumed you could do with the money."

"Wait, so you are serious?" I asked honestly.

"Yes, I very much am." He gritted his teeth while responding as I biting back on what he wanted to say. I appreciated that of him this once, usually, he throws innuendos around like they are for free. Well, they are for free, but that's not my point. Ugh. I don't know why I bother trying to explain my cynical ideas.

And I am no better, in a way, throwing around insults and swears just as many punches. And so I put down the bottle and composed myself.

"Continue." He complied.

"I am willing to pay you a lot of money if you do this for me. I need you to find information on this man for me, you may have heard of him before, his name is Raffaele Bianchi."

He slid a picture of a man across the table before he continued. The man wore black quality clothing, and in this specific picture, he was climbing out of a black SUV. This guy was loaded with cash. It seemed strange seeing such luxury, and it was hard for me to believe a person as rich as this residing in this shitty area of London.

"Let me guess, tax evader!" He sighed and attempted to look annoyed but I caught the corner of his lips lifting in a slight smirk. He lifted my bottle and took a large sip before his face turned sour with disgust.

"You British people drink this piss?" He semi-joked. I shrugged, my previous mood and energy leaving me as I waited for him to continue.

"He is an incredibly successful CEO, but let's just say he is not a particularly well known or legal one." He paused momentarily so I nodded in complete understanding. Mafia.

" He is currently doing business within this area, which is abnormal as he originates from Italy and lives in Italy. Meaning all his business was kept within Italy. But we have received information from sources that place him in this area London. And he's brought a precarious number of 'friends' with him. This has helped put him in a certain spotlight for us. I have dug out this much and some more information about him but it is too dangerous for me to advance as they know my face and who I work for. " He paused again as I thought, who did he work for?

"So, this is where you come in, I need you to go undercover and get involved with him in some way whether it is with him directly, which would be near impossible, or with one of his trusted pawns. After that, I need you to get close enough to learn any information you can about what he does and who he does it with. Or even better, locations of his warehouses or businesses. You bring enough information back to me and the deal is done. You get the money and you will never see me again. Pretty simple if you think about it."

Simple? Which part of that was fucking simple?

All that talk made my head hurt.

"Wait a minute. So what you are trying to tell me is that you want me to be your little spy and get involved in this Mafia, or whatever the fucking shit, for money. What about my bloody safety? And who the fuck are you anyway?"

"My name is Ivan. And firstly, I would like to... umm, apologise for my past behaviour, I had to observe you for certain qualifications before I was able to approach you"

He took a deep breath before continuing as if what he planned to say next would kill him.

"I sincerely apologise for what I have said and what I did.. I kinda deserved the punch." He laughed. My right eye twitched. He was lying. But I kept my emotions in check. The word 'observe' threw me off. So he had been stalking me, I knew I wasn't off it.

"You see, that is one of the reasons I knew you were right for this job. You can fight, and quite obviously, professionally. I am apart of a secret agency, a legal one, and we bring down criminals like him who endanger the life of the innocent. It might sound unbelievable but it is true. This guy runs horrid businesses like drug and human trafficking. To put it simply we are the good guys, and he is the bad guy. The Kingpin. " Twitch

"And, about your safety. It has been taken care of. You shall go under a new name, Cameron Smith, keeping the first name the same just in case someone who you know is involved, and we have created a fake profile of information about you because they will probably check to make sure you are not a spy. We will give you everything you desire for where your safety is concerned with certain limitations. They will not find out who you really are or what you are up to as long as you play by the rules and don't do anything extra or a rash that may cause suspicion. We will try to monitor you as far as possible but there may be certain places that we do not know about and will not able to contact you in. But I am sure you will be able to handle and take care of yourself. You will do a good job, no doubt about it." Twitch. He released a big breath before sliding over a wad of paper which had come from his briefcase.

The wad of paper was a contract and seemed neatly kept. The papers were of good quality and it was stapled very neatly, as if with great precision or practise. Taking one more look at his attire and briefcase I realised he was not the broke pervert I thought he was. But a somewhat successful agent, or whatever the heck he is. He worked for a good agency. They taught him to lie well, but I was taught better.

"I need time to think. Next Sunday." I commanded more than asked, before walking out of the bar, the contract in my hands.

"Any day next week!" He shouted after me.

Whether I would be dumb enough to come back here next week, only time will tell. But for now, I thought as I stumbled out the door, I need my beauty sleep.

Penny for your thoughts?