She sat with her back to the room, curled brown hair trapped loosely beneath a scarlet beret. Vicious red nails on bone-white cigarette; long, deep draws into delicate smoke rings.
As I crossed the floor, her chiselled calf pushed a chair aside for me to sit. I sat beside her. We each watched the leather back wall of the booth.
“Mr Ansa. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Who are you?”
“That’s not important right now. But you can call me… Awely. Miss Awely.”
“Why are you following me?”
“There’s a ship, Kurt. Well, a derelict. Out beyond the third buoy.”