Broken Compass Vol 1: Blue Cobblestones

Part 2

Jack rubbed his hand along the stubble on his chin and looked around the room. Graffiti and business cards covered the walls and ceiling. The dim lights cast long shadows on the other tables. The long haired bartender, well past his prime hippie days, was hunched over the ancient cash register trying to keep up with the early evening crowd and their thirst for cold beer and local rum.

Jack had arrived on the island two days before on a direct flight from New York's JFK. He had traveled light and his gear was stashed at Hotel El Convento across the street. He did not plan to be in Puerto Rico long and, luckily, it hadn't taken him long to find what he had come for. That was a good thing because he needed to wrap this job up quickly. He was almost broke had rent to pay on his studio apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. The organization that had hired him had promised enough of a payday to get through the next three months. He wished it were more, but it would have to do for now. This meeting was crucial. All he had to do was authenticate the goods and make the exchange.