The group of five men sat huddled together in a little restaurant located in the largest city in Morocco. Located in Casablanca and situated on a little side street, the cafe was all but empty. It was late in the evening and the presence of the strange men gave the female bartender an uneasy feeling.  She thought it best not to get close to them and only go over when they needed her to fill up their drinks. The bartender could not understand them as they were speaking in languages she was not familiar with. She thought she heard traces of Russian but wasn't sure. There was also someone who seemed to be an interpreter who they were speaking through. This one conveyed the messages to someone who looked to be Vietnamese or Thai.

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       The interpreter waved to the bartender for a round of Berber whiskey to bring over to the group. She poured five large shots, set them on a round tray and then carried it over to them. The men were talking amongst themselves in whispers and the interpreter was looking on his cell phone at a message he had received. He looked up at the woman that had brought over the drinks and rudely told her to just put them on the table and leave. She turned to walk away, holding back a rude remark of her own and seen a very large handful of bills get passed over from the Vietnamese/Thai looking fellow to the big Russian looking individual. She quickly snapped her head around and hoped no-one had noticed her glance at the big stack of money being exchanged.

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         The group stayed for another fifteen minutes ordering one more round of drinks before they stood up to leave. The interpreter of the group put his cell phone back into his pocket and turned to walk out, looking towards the bartender. A rough voice called to him and the interpreter turned around to look at the smaller looking Russian glaring menacingly at him. The woman at the bar did not understand what they were saying but was willing to bet it wasn’t anything nice. The short Russians voice rose quickly in volume and the bartender could see his fists clench. The interpreter reached into his pocket and threw a hand full of bills onto the table in disgust, obviously paying for the drinks all the men had. Although the bartender did not understand the words, she was pretty sure the interpreter had just sworn at the man. The short, stocky man loosened his clenched fists and patted his very large comrade on the shoulder, laughing as he did so.............................

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