Espresso Espionage.
The Hitman of Coffee!
I needed a coffee. The coffee shop I had picked out was packed, so I decided to look for something else for my quick caffeine fix. A few hundred meters down the road I spotted the coffee shop. The Coffee Shop was the actual name of this place.
As I approached the shop, I took notice of the mat black door that was slightly undersized for most “normal” people. As I entered, I noticed the decor being that of the 1940s. Dark wood wall paneling with tufted leather benches and dark wooden chairs. What was very interesting was the barista. He immediately caught my attention. He was tall, and skinny and immediately I noticed his OCD. Cleaning every cup, measuring out every coffee bean and bit of water and milk that would go into my latte. He was meticulous in his preparation. The hitman of coffee, I thought to myself. Because of the decor and the vibe in the place I barely noticed the quiet couple seated next to the bar. Quiet coffee was the word of the day. It was nearly dead silence in the coffee shop. As my latte was being prepared another two people entered and sat down. They ordered a double espresso, black extra strong. I didn’t take notice of this as it seemed normal. Minutes later they separately entered another small door. Thinking they went to the washroom I didn’t notice until my coffee was on the bar. The barista slipped the coffee before me and with perfect precision, he placed the small spoon, the sugar, and a napkin before me. When I looked back the couple had not returned. Where did they go, what did they do for that long? My curiosity was driving me crazy. I had no choice, I had to go to the toilet. Opening the door to the toilet I was faced with a choice. One door on the left and one to the right. One door was labeled toilet. This was easy, I opened it and it was empty. Which only left me the next door to appease my curiosity. Should I or should I not take this chance? I had to take the chance.
Slowly I opened the door and stepped into the unknown. The air grew cooler as I found myself in a long, dark hallway, the walls lined with vintage sconces that cast an eerie glow. The faint sound of jazz trickled through the air, a haunting melody that seemed to beckon me forward. With each step, the sense of time slipping away grew stronger, as if I were walking into a different era.
The hallway opened to reveal a secret coffee shop, a speakeasy of sorts. Buzzing with an undercurrent of danger and excitement. This was no ordinary café; it was a hub for the city’s underworld, a place where the mob held court. Patrons, looking like they stepped out of a noir film, turned their gaze towards me, their eyes filled with stories untold.
A figure detached itself from the shadows, a man with a presence that commanded the room. “Welcome to the Underground Grind,” he said, his voice smooth but strong like the coffee they served. “Here, we trade in favors, not currency. You may enter, but you cannot leave until you’ve completed a task for us.”
I realized then that I had stumbled into the lair of the coffee mafia, where every shot of espresso came with a price. The couple who had disappeared were likely on their mission, a task that could range from the mundane to deadly.
The barista, the so-called hitman of coffee, approached me with a cup that seemed to hold more than just a latte. “Drink,” he instructed. “Your task will reveal itself in time.”
As I sipped the rich, dark brew, I felt a rush of adrenaline. The coffee was exquisite, but it was laced with the thrill of the unknown. I was part of something much larger now, a game of shadows and debts to be paid. And as the caffeine coursed through my veins, I knew there was no turning back. The Underground Grind had claimed another soul, and my adventure was just beginning.
