The afternoon lingers on, each of you resting up, reading up and getting showered after the morning's exertions.
Before too long, you all piled into the smelly old junker again, Knives taking the back bench seat, Mantis riding shotgun and Dunk at the wheel.
The school run had obviously just started, a mix of luxury SUV's with expensively dressed mum's at the wheel clogged the small country road at each junction, each glaring at you for having the audacity to drive something so ugly and cheap in their shiny and clean suburban paradise. You guessed they'd pass you off for hired help as domestic staff for one of the other residents of the area.
Passing the ostentatious private school 10 minutes down the road, you begin to hit bigger roads. Pavel's directions held true and you were soon heading out to an old industrial estate, turning off the main road onto a ramshackle, potholed street lined with decrepit light industrial units.
Dunk swung the car around the worst of the holes, pulling up outside unit 7 as directed.
you are parked in a large courtyard between two rows of small warehouses, each with a large steel shutter closed over the front aspect. a smaller, man sized door gives access through the larger shutter.
The area clearly hasn't been used in a while, the old redbrick buildings sport a collection of signs advertising the company names in peeling old-style paint, each looking weather worn and battered. The sign above unit 7 is, as far as you can tell in pigeon french, for an automotive garage.
Ancient, half rotted tires are piled up against the prefab concrete wall lining the borders of the courtyard re-enforce the sign's history.
The time now is 14.58 and the appointment is at 15.00
