the smuggler’s bible


Children are playing in the street outside on the day Malkin chooses. They settle in very early, while the birds are still singing. They have a man upstairs, one across the street and two in the café itself. Malkin waits around the corner in the car sipping black coffee out of a thermos. It’s bitter, terrible stuff.

Moll comes around eleven with a satchel under his arm, and Malkin sighs. He’ll have filled it with junk. They’ll have to dig for the rest.

“Anything else before we go?”

“Check his shoes and coat-lining. Remember, Roger wants it all. Every scrap.”