23 March, 2009
Blackfires Millennium Pier
Temple, London, United Kingdom
4:43pm

A drone echoed in his ear like a distant aeroplane as the line picked up and died after being for the third time, redialed.  One button.  Pause.  Ringing.  His foot tapped impatiently as he lurked in the shadow of the ancient muggle corvette.  For a ship which once served a gallant purpose for Queen and Country, it was ironic that it now was nothing more than an overblown floating party boat. Of course you could find one of those about every 500 meters down the Channel - on both sides - if you had use of it.  If they didn't pick up this time, there would be a body in the water before morning.

"Operator."

"The Blackfriars Millennium Pier .  Half past Six.  Have the boat here with the necessary documentation and so help me by the Guard if you're late, I'll kill you myself."

"Bu' that's...."

"Move.  Fast.  Get. Here. Am I clear?"

"Yessir Mr. Desmond....quite."

Conversation over.  That left more than enough time for the meet, the deal, and the insurance.  Another anonymous client meant another risk of set up, capture, or death and yet it was these sorts of tip-toeing dealings that he preferred.  On the level was always two things: incredibly boring, and rarely entirely on the level.  The tail had be with him since he came down from Kelshall three days ago and while he was curious as to who he'd pissed off this time (one does need to be aware of when to add a new page to lists like that); he didn't rightly care what they saw as long as long as they didn't try to reach out with bullets or spells.  Once you cross that line well, you're no longer on the approved guest list.

He removed the parchment from his pocket once again and examined it.  Date.  Time.  Reference.  Everything was there for this to be a reliable transaction.  Sufficient payment had already even been routed.  Everything but  an idea of his cargo - although most contacts in this form rarely carried such information unless they were repeat business.  Although he was far more curious as to why a magical client would wish to meet somewhere so ... muggle.  London was of course obviously used formidably by the muggle side of his operations, but usually the wizarding clientele preferred very much to remain within their own comfort zone - barriers gone between the two worlds or not.

Fifty-seven degrees, overcast sky with a slight northerly breeze and a twilight nearing it's end to darkness.  The shipping markers flashed on the water and the local waterfowl had nearly all gone to roost. It was quiet, or at least as quiet as any piece of London's waterfront could be at the end of most standard business hours.  A check of the time; a glance toward the last place he'd seen that two-door red vehicle and he ducked away into the warehouse to set up a few protective charms... after all, even magic  only let you live once.