'One of you is a traitor, but which one?' he muttered.Dark thoughts of revenge stirred in Bowen's mind, and his brow tightened into a knot. He snarled... and sliced a knife across the palm of his right hand.Without any emotion, he squeezed his injured hand into a fist, and pumped fresh red blood into a universal bottle. Once filled, he awkwardly tightened the cap, and tied a clean handkerchief around his wound, tying it with his clenched teeth. Throughout the odd ritual Bowen said nothing, he. Mike indicated one of the tables further into the magnolia painted room. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ he said. ‘No, this is fine,’ she said picking up the glass and sipping. She laughed inside at the internal struggle that Mike the old fart was having with the concept of a woman sat at the bar. ‘Right,’ she said with a smile, ‘about this night for Brian, the old boy on the door tells me that the entertainment committee doesn’t meet on a Thursday anymore?’ ‘No,’ said Mike almost guilty, ‘I… forgot…’. More

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