The Smack, Crack and Cocaine Emporium
Someone has smashed the windows of the Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium. They're all boarded up. Police have visited and it's all very quiet now. The six foot seven enforcer, sorry financial advisor, who advises people to pay up, has gone to ground. No one has seen him. Which is amazing because you can't miss him he is so big. The steady stream of addicts who trail to and from the Emporium like an ants has dried up. This has happened before. The police bust the joint it all goes quiet for a while and then they start up business again and all the druggies come back. So I expect normal service to resume in due course.
Meanwhile my man turns up with a spring in his step and a can of strong lager in his hand; he's been celebrating.
"So it's all good then?"
"Yep and a few quid left over for household expenses." he holds up his can to show me the sort of household expenses he's talking about.
"Just out of interest where did you get the gear from?"
"Oh an old army buddy just back from Kandahar."
"That takes some organisation doesn't it? I mean you only found out about your house the other day and you had a deal in place already. How does that work?"
"It's been months in planning."
"The less you know...."
"You REALLY don't want to know. You're a friend. You don't want to be in my world. Hell I don't want to be in my world. But here I am. Best you don't know. Alright?"
My curiousity is going to get me into trouble one day.