Between your lips, a Viceroy cigarette, imported from the United States and with a distinct cork tip, currently sold, at my estimation, at no more than four, perhaps five, tobacconists in the whole of central London, all of whom would not struggle to give a description of the young man who purchased those cigarettes should the police come asking. Matched with a set of prints, even a half-competent detective would have no trouble tracking you down. So by all means leave your fingerprints and your cigarette butts scattered around willy-nilly when you are working on your own, but please, not when you are working with me.”
Between your lips, a Viceroy cigarette, imported from the United States and with a distinct cork tip, currently sold, at my estimation, at no more than four, perhaps five, tobacconists in the whole of central London, all of whom would not struggle to give a description of the young man who purchased those cigarettes should the police come asking. Matched with a set of prints, even a half-competent detective would have no trouble tracking you down. So by all means leave your fingerprints and your cigarette butts scattered around willy-nilly when you are working on your own, but please, not when you are working with me.”
London, 1944. Betrayed during a daring art heist, a young thief sets out for revenge and unearths a conspiracy that makes him question everything he thought he knew about the war, his life of crime and his legendary mentor.
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