***
A few weeks later Henry sat at his usual table for his customary Friday Afternoon pint in the Globe and Compass Public House. Johnny, one of his regular drinking partners, had just left and Henry couldn’t help but laugh to himself about Johnny’s tendency to excessively exaggerate. At least he wasn’t wearing that tinfoil hat of his again. Henry’s thoughts were interrupted by an older gentleman sitting down opposite him, and it took Henry a few seconds to recognize the gray-haired, sharp-featured man across the table. Instinctively Henry’s hand went for the gun in his shoulder holster, only to remember that he hadn’t carried a weapon since his retirement decades ago. The man opposite put up a placating hand.
“Henry please,” the main said in a soft Russian accent, “I am not here to harm you. I am not even armed.”
“Gregori, this is a surprise,” Henry replied, relaxing a little, “forgive me if we don’t shake hands.”
“Henry I’m retired,” Gregori laughed withdrawing his hand, “I have not had to use the toxic handshake for many years.”
What can I do for the great Gregori... da Nayk is it now?”
“Ah yes, a change of name, a change of identity, routine housekeeping in professions like ours, eh?”
“For some of us,” Henry replied coldly. “What do you want Gregori?”
“To apologize,” the old Russian replied gently, “and to save your life.”