Novel & Cerita Mike Teller

Getting a cab as soon as I stepped out onto the street, I told him where to take me and we made it within the period of fifteen minutes, fuck this building was huge, and the windows were all tinted black. Walking slowly into the building with my hands in my pockets, I walked towards the receptionist and tapped my hands on her desk or whatever this thing was. "I'm here to see, Mike," I said and she took a good long look at me before standing up and folding her arms over her chest. "Mike who?" How many Mikes were here? I took out the card and read his name out loud. "Michael James Jefferson, the third in line for dick," I said and she scowled, grabbing the card from my hands and I looked at he

“But You don’t know what I am about to tell you” He pauses for a split second. “She is CIA, Mike.”

"I'm going out to talk to some people. Do a bit of research. I'll be a few hours." "Want company?" "Not for this. I'll catch you later." ***** "I'll have a sparkling water." "Coming right up, sir." "And a newspaper." "Help yourself, sir." The barman nods me to the stack of papers and I slide a couple of coins across the bar. Then, scanning the headlines, I wait and watch. It doesn't take long. There he is... Mickey Miller: small-time con-artist, purveyor of news, gossip and scandal of all kinds, the biggest flapping mouth in the City. And about as predictable as it's possible for a human being to be.

I said, my voice steady despite the way I actually felt. The teller, a middle-aged man with a stern face, peered at me over his glasses. “Vault number?” I swallowed and set the key down onto the counter. “Whichever vault this key goes to.” The teller paused, slowly picking up the key. He turned it over in his palm, inspecting the faded number in the light. And then, when his gaze shifted over to me, recognition dawned across his face. “Are you Logan Barrett?” he asked.