Conspinkey

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This Week’s Theme: Conspinkey. Don't look that word up, because it doesn't exist. But you're going to use it in your entry. I walked into the Iron Arms and was momentarily blinded as my eyes adjusted to the gloomy smoky bar. I scanned the room as nonchalantly as I could. Then I saw him. I almost missed him; he blended in so well with the other guys at the bar, but the beat-up stetson on his lap set him apart. I walked over to the bar and stopped behind his chair. I coughed the word discreetly into my hand, "Conspinkey." He casually said, "God Bless you. Or is it more PC to say gazundheit nowadays?" I smiled, relieved that I had picked the correct man and that my instinct had been dead on. "Either one is fine with me, thank you. It got chilly early this year, don't you think?" He nodded and replied, "Can I buy you a hot toddy to warm you up?" His innocuous words chilled me to the bone. I squeaked out my answer, "No thanks. Warm drinks don't sit well with me," and I walked out as quickly as I could without calling attention to myself. I needed to make my way to a private contact point as quickly as I could; there wasn't much time to warn headquarters. I'd been prepared for a shirley temple or even a pint of guinness at the worst, but a hot toddy was the worst possible scenario. There was nothing left to do other than getting as far out of the city as possible. This time tomorrow there would be nothing left.

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