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At last! Vienna! The opera was tomorrow but it was bound to be heavily guarded. I had to get inside!

Without the Ordo Nostra to back me up, I was forced to rely on more…unsavoury means of getting where I needed to be. My first destination was Cafe Central, where I found a sneaky little toad named Gunther Graft.

He told me of a legendary wheeler-dealer named Gary Lemon. He could get you anything, cigarettes, stockings, motor oil, dicey off-brand flu inoculations, the works. ‘Shame he’s dead, though,’ he added. But, maybe if I hung around the Wiener Prater amusement park, someone else might help.

So I went to Wiener Prater, bought myself a bratwurst, waited around a bit, and Literally Peter Lorre showed up. Unfortunately, tickets to that particular opera performance were at a crazy premium, unavailable to the general public and invitation-only. The only man in town who might have been able to scrounge one up was Gary Lemon. ‘Shame he’s dead, though,’ said Literally Peter Lorre.

I was despondent, wandering the bridges of the Danube for anything that would help me reach that opera. Even a passing stray cat couldn’t lift my spirits. The cat disappeared into the shadows, and a Third Man stepped out to greet me.

‘I hear you’re hankering for some opera, friend,’ the Third Man spoke in a sly American accent.

 

I told him everything. I just wanted someone to talk to, you know?

 

‘My, that’s quite the airport thriller you got there,’ he grinned, ‘I knew Senor Garcia, he was good people. Anything that catches the rats that got him is fine by me.’

 

The Third Man handed me an envelope with a gold-leaf ticket inside.

 

‘Consider this a down-payment,’ he slid back into the shadows, ‘I’ll be expecting a return later.’

 

Wow, that was lucky! That Third Man was an interesting character, I wonder if he knew Gary Lemon?

 

Shame he’s dead, though.