The Govna and Dannyboy chapter 1
The damp Warsaw drizzle did nothing to take the shine off Dannyboy’s newly polished shoes, though the mood inside the cab was considerably darker. “I’m just sayin’, Govna,” Dannyboy muttered, adjusting his cuff links for the third time since leaving the Chopin Airport terminal. “When you said we were coming to Poland on 'official diplomatic relations', I assumed there’d be a red carpet. Maybe a mayor with a key. Not us ducking into a cobblestone side street behind a bakery.” The Govna didn't look up from his pocket watch, its gold casing catching the amber glow of the streetlamps outside. “Diplomatic protocol is flexible, Dannyboy. True understanding between cultures isn’t forged in municipal halls over bad filter coffee. It’s cultivated in environments of refined luxury, discretion, and quiet gentlemen’s agreements.” “Right,” Dannyboy said, peering out the fogged window at a neon sign flickered gently in Polish. “And these 'gentlemen’s agreements'... t...