This took way too long in coming and for that I am sorry. I want to thank the awesome SevenSeize for helping me by editing this.

Now, the long awaited return of the super spies of sexiness. The Regulars

The Regulars: Chapter 11

It's a pretty nice bar just outside Miami. While not quite resplendent, there is a spice in the air to remind the people who come in from good jobs toiling towards greatness that they still live in a beautiful part of the world. It'll be a few minutes now before that crowd starts drifting in. That's all Brian will need.
The sun is harsh against his back as he opens the door. He makes a show of lighting his cigarette and taking that first draw even as he steps in. "Sir, you can't smoke in here." The bartender tells him with a kindly professionalism.
"Oh, if that's your worst problem by the time I leave, I'll count us both lucky."
The bartender, Lloyd, is not a frail man. In his eight years working here he's seen this place deal with its share of interesting people and he knows to play the game until he sees just how interesting this stranger is.
Brian leans down and supports himself on one long arm against the bar while the other hand holds tight to the burning, noxious ember. He takes another draw and exhales it while deep in thought. "This is a nice place. Seems like somewhere someone new in town would come to make a connection."
Lloyd looks him over. "The kind of connection you're looking for, you'd have better luck downtown." This makes Brian smile.
"Is this where I lose my temper? I know who I am. I know who you are." That's a lie but it doesn't sound it. "What I'm interested in is an influx talent for jobs no one's dumb enough to use locals for. From what I'm told this is where they meet and greet."
Lloyd turns serious. "I just work here." He lays down the glass he was polishing and looks extremely ready. This amuses Brian further. He makes his own move. He tosses away his current cigarette and while reaching in his suit jacket for the pack makes sure the holster holding his especially scary looking gun is clear as day. No one's fool, Lloyd decides to live to see his next paycheck. "There's a new Russian crew in town. They come in here, don't talk to anyone and drink exactly as much as the stereotype would lead you to believe."
"Discipline with the drink is such a rare trait. But then again look who I'm telling that." With a smile he lights his latest cigarette and lets that first puff out into the air. "If I didn't believe you I'd be putting this out on your oh so polished bar. If I come back with less reason to believe you, use your imagination." He turns to leave, crushing out the spent cigarette with a sweep of his foot. And when he steps back outside it's another beautiful night in Miami.

It's less beautiful in uptown Dublin but Penguin was never the fair weather type. In nice weather people are up and about with any or no purpose at all. In a mean drizzle like this a youngish man with a days beard growth, light gray coat and the slight scent of training would only be walking the same path as you from a respectable distance if he had a reason. The kid is good at what he does and they were smart to send someone like him. Penguin can feel true spook from a mile away. Who's that clever? He'll have to ask. That pub up ahead looks like a nice place to talk.
The closer he gets the nicer it looks. It's the right ratio of real quaint to tourist quaint to attract the casual drinker. Bet you anything there's a picture of a farm inside.
But his first glance inside isn't at the walls. It's at the crowd. Just as he had hoped the bulk of it was made of young tourist types come to do the one thing they know Ireland for. There were one or two locals who looked bemused but not enough to venture to another watering hole.
Penguin is lucky enough to find a seat at the bar, where he orders a delightful local draught. While sipping at it he does take a moment to check the atmosphere. There's an overall air of joviality and the barkeep had, likely through practice, taken no offence to yet another American crowding the place. On one wall there's a picture of a field that might be part of a farm but not surely enough to call it. There's one thing he noticed the moment he came in, that the place was far too crowded to make getting a seat at the bar this easy.
Almost on cue there's a tap on his shoulder and a stranger, very politely, returning from the bathroom and looking to reclaim his spot. Penguin nods with a smile and relinquishes the spot, drink still in hand. Such nice people here. Damn shame.
This is plenty of time for his follower to case the entrance and decide to come inside and make sure he hadn't slipped out some back door. And there he is in the corner of Penguins eye. Penguin takes a sip of his drink and moves towards the back as if for a seat. Along his way he passes some young men standing and conversing. As he passes he bumps one exactly right in the elbow to make him jump and have his glass empty on the back of the nice young lady here with the athletic fellow. As he's rushing to explain the long past interloper, hilarity ensues.
Chaos, as a rule, does not take long to break out. The fight is joined by one and another until people with no idea what happened have chosen sides. The stranger at the door stands apart not knowing what he should do. Should he leave? Should he make for whatever exit was being smoke screened? Should he....."We need to talk." Penguin cracks against his jaw with a hard fist and then pulls him down into his knee. Once he's well and truly out Penguin props him on his shoulder and exits the building, looking to all the world like he's helping his sloshed buddy out of a bad situation.

In London, Imp sits alone drinking whiskey in a pub down the street from his apartment. He's been here before but today is special. Today is his birthday. It's his second birthday since he moved here. It's his second birthday since anyone in his family had talked to him. It's his second birthday since it all fell away. It's his second birthday since he stayed off the street by accepting a job from someone who didn't care he'd never have a medical license in all his life. Tonight he is determined to drink until that time is melted away. He drains his glass faster than a weakling could and then orders the next.