A café, the moody kind of café, where most of the alcohol is used to drown worries.
But also the kind that attracts folk... not so keen on the law. Most of them are your average troublemakers who come here for a regular drink. But this evening, this grey rainy evening, there are some not here for second grade drinks, or the barely covered waitresses. 
There is one bloke sitting at the bar, seemingly nervous and keeping a constant watch on the metallic briefcase on his right. In the left corner is a group of men, mercenaries by the look of them, keeping a constant watch on the man and his briefcase. On the other side of the room are three men, Axis symbols on their jackets, keeping their eyes on both the mercs and the man. And finally, in the middle, a lone individual drinking from the only cup here that doesn’t hold alcohol. This one is keeping his profile low,   
a good idea with the mercs and Axis presence here. 
Briefcase man obviously knows he’s being watched, and yet he justs sits there. Or maybe he’s waiting, simply waiting for that one person to take that silver metal from his hands.
The door opens, a brown haired man walks in. Briefcase man turns his head for a second.
Could that be him? Is he the Driver?
“Hey Marcus!” The bartender greets the new arrival. So do the waitresses. He’s clearly not the man he’s waiting for.
“Damn.” He quietly mutters. 
As the minutes pass by, patience is beginning to run thin. The Axis group makes a few calls, most likely orders to ‘stay put’. And the mercs are running out of cash for beer. Mr. Lone Wolf in the middle is the only one who doesn’t