"Aziraphale, eh? So that's his name." John nodded once to himself. It would have to be something like that. Though he wondered whether the old boy had any idea how ironic his choice of the name 'Fell' sounded. He rather thought not; even at a distance, he'd struck John as rather naive. "I don't know him personally, but I know of him. Bloody shame what happened down in Soho, it was a nice little place. And Crowley's a mate of mine from down the pub."

He was inclined to take affront at the implication that he'd come here to do the unlikely pair any harm--if only because he wasn't stupid enough to try something so clumsily obvious. He took a step closer to Adam, his manner now just shy of belligerent. "And you needn't worry about what's in the package," he added brusquely. "I'm not looking to make trouble for 'em. Just from what I saw in the shop and the car, I'd say someone's messed about with 'em more than enough already. Speakin' of which, it isn't the Bentley that concerns me, it's the passers-by. Didn't it occur to you a demonic vehicle left to its own devices might hurt somebody? Like a police officer leaving a damn ticket, for example?"

Realizing then that he was letting his temper get the better of him, which likely wasn't healthy, he let out his breath in a frustrated puff and retreated a step, automatically reaching for a cigarette. "Sorry, kid, I'm just a little hacked off right now. I don't like it when decent people get hurt for no good reason."

"I'll wait, if it's all the same to you; I'd rather give it to 'em personally." So I'll know it makes it there un-fucked-with, was the unspoken addendum.