Even in Australia's late summer afternoon sun, the place was cool and dusky, and even seedier than the team's base, briefly stirring up the memory of the last time James had been in an establishment of this sort in this city. At this time of day there were very few patrons around, but Evans was sitting reliably at the bar. Ford walked in, past Benji who was already seated near the door and of course paid no attention to him. Provocatively, he took a seat right next to Evans.

"You got any good whiskey?"

The zombie-esque bar man simply nodded, and turned around to pick the bottle. Satisfied, Ford felt the stare Evans was giving him.

The man took a large sip from the glass in front of him. "Rumour has it you're dead."

"Be a friend and buy a dead man a drink."

The bar man placed a glass in front of Ford.

"Give me one of those, too," Evans said to him.

Without batting an eyelid, the stoic man placed the bottle between them. Evans refilled his glass.

"What are you doing here?"

"Isn't that obvious? I'm catching up with old friends." He raised his glass, grinned, and drank half of it.

Evans simply shook his head, disbelieving.

"Where have you been all the time?"

"I could ask you the same thing, and you wouldn't tell me one bit."

"Still same old Mills," Evans now laughed.

"They call me Sawyer these days."

"What is he doing?" Benji whispered into the comm.

"He's improvising," Jane's voice sounded bitterly. She was standing at the other end of the room, apparently absorbed in some newspaper, blocking the back door.

"Sawyer," Evans said, testing the sound of it. "All right. Good to see you again."

"Wish I could say the same."

Evans looked puzzled.

"A fine leader, who doesn't recognise that he's been tricked and gets his pals handed to the authorities."

"Hey, I had nothing to do with it." He looked suspicious. "You know who ratted us up?"

Ford leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you?"

Evans turned back to his drink. "I still suspect Jordan. He's never been true to his word."

"So you killed him."

Evans laughed briefly. "I've always liked you, Mills. Sawyer. You're pragmatic."

Ford shrugged, and downed the rest of his drink.

"I didn't kill him. He's good at denying everything. You know you can't win an argument with him." He picked up the bottle and refilled both glasses. "So I kept him close by."

"So you know where all the boys are?"

He nodded. "I've found them, one by one. Took me long enough."

Ford smirked.

"You're on to something, aren't you?"

"Indeed I am."

"Forget it," he said immediately. "Schmitz got all respectable out of nowhere, trying to build himself a business. Bad idea, I told him, but he won't listen. And the rest of them..."

Ford's grin never seized. "They just need a job. A well-paid one."

"There are no well-paid jobs for us anymore. Half of the gang is doing time," he sounded slightly exasperated, and drank again.

"I know this guy."

"You always know a guy," Evans rolled his eyes.

"I know, but this guy. He is what could get us back on the road again. But we need the whole gang, otherwise he won't talk to me about details."

"Sounds a bit fishy."

"Oh, you wanna talk? You come in here every damn day, drinking yourself to death in broad daylight. I'm not sure you're in the position to be picky."

Evans stared at him wide-eyed.

"I've had an eye on you for a while now, Evans. I saw you before you even got up this morning."

"He's enjoying this, isn't he?" Skye murmured outside the bar where she was waiting with Ethan.

Evans took one more slug of whiskey. "Who's this guy supposed to be?"

"He calls himself Jeffrey Spoone."

Evans almost choked on his drink. "And how did you get to negotiate terms with Jeffrey Spoone?"

"Don't insult me. And also I haven't negotiated anything yet. Which is why I'm here."

"They say he once shot a man because of eighty dollars."

"I thought you liked pragmatic."

For about five seconds, Ford held Evans' glare.

"When?" he finally asked.

"Tonight. Nine p.m. The Dusty Dragon."

"You didn't fall in with a bad crowd, did you?" Evans grinned, hinting at the Dragon's reputation.

"Bring the gang. And don't be late," Ford grinned back. Then he swung himself off the chair and made to leave.

"Hold it there, you're coming with me." He grabbed Ford's jacket, but the shadow that action sent over his face made Evans let go immediately. Still he persisted, "Can't wait to see the boys' faces when you show up."

Grinning, Ford sat back down. "You really think they could stomach that?"

/\/\/\/\

"I'm afraid we need that exit strategy after all," Jane said, who had been watching the entire time.

Outside, Skye looked agonised when she turned to the team leader. "Can't you go in?"

"I think he might be more susceptible if you chat him up," Ethan replied.

"Can't you start a bar fight or something?"

"We're one a schedule."

She sighed deeply at his asking glance, and ignored her annoyance when she detected the hint of a grin twitching around his mouth. I'm only doing this for Jane, she told herself. That helped. She could hardly burden Carter with that task. Defeated, she opened her ponytail and shook her hair briefly to loosen it. Entering the bar, the agent undid the top button of her blouse.

/\/\/\/\

"Excuse me?" a thin British-scented voice sounded.

Evans turned around. So did Sawyer. So did everyone else in the bar. Even the bar tender seemed to wake up.

"Um, hi," said the woman who had entered when she'd tentatively walked up to the bar. Nervously, she played with a strand of her long white-blond hair. "Could I just use your phone for a minute, please?"

"And who would you need to call?" the bar man said with a slimy grin creeping over his face, revealing bad teeth.

Evans could see the poor girl shrinking back. "I, um... it's just, my car broke down – I'm not from round here..."

Just when he wanted to speak up, the man formerly known as David Mills turned to her.

"I can give you a ride, sweetheart."

Bastard. Bloody typical that the day he chose to rise from the dead was the day a gorgeous woman stumbled into this dump.

"You'd do that?" she said, adorably relieved.

Naive chick. Would have been exactly his type.

"Of course," he said, giving her a dazzling smile. "You got that, don't you," he added into Evans' direction, indicating the considerably decimated contents of the whiskey bottle. "And don't forget about tonight. Nine o'clock sharp." With one smooth motion he slid off the chair again and simultaneously put an arm around her shoulders. "Now. Where're you headed, sweetheart?"