What Happens Next?

The Cafe Anglais is oddly vacant
You sit at the bar and order a drink
You take out your pen and write down a name
On a currency note you leave as the tip
The door from the street is softly opened
Someone approaches and calls out your name
They pull out a gun and point at your head
You don’t move a muscle you’re sure that you’re dead
You knew that they’d find you
And now they have
You know we all need to know
What happens next.