Elsie and I go way back, used ta have this sweet little operation running guns to the abstract expressionist rebels in the Danish mountains. We sent them guns, they would pay us in tulips and bacon which we would process and sell to the salted meat and flower junkies on the Campden streets. Like I said, it was a sweet little venture, everyone getting what they wanted and no one getting hurt. Except the people that got hurt, but hey, life is dangerous, even on the brightly lit legal side of the street you never know when you might stumble on a loose paving slab and twist an ankle, or have your body shredded in a hail of automatic gunfire. As the case may be.
I remember one time we were at this sleezy bar in downtown Vinderup, there was stax cover band playing and we had a big deal going down that night. It was a hot and balmy night, the dusky danish dames were looking almost as attractive as the cool danish lager we were cooling down with. I remember that the band had just started a particularly melancholy rendition of dock of the bay, sad in a way that only scandanavian soul can be. Suddenly the doors blew in and there was tastlessly magenta smoke everywhere.
It was a bust!
My view of the door had been blocked by a panicked Danish broad with ample bosoms, after she sasheyed hurridely away I could see that it was a police raid. They were of course armed with the traditional haddock the Danepolis used instead of truncheons (naturally enough given that they were an island nation), while we were there armed only with twin mangnaported detonic automatics in my case, and Elsie with his lucky colt python, the one his great grand-daddy had killed his first wolf-man with.
Well we were damn lucky to escape that night I can tell you, out fished and out numbered, the only thing that saved us was that the police knocked off at 5:30 sharp, as is the custom over there, and being that they were already in a pub they voted unanimously to make a night of it, we got the first round in, and they the rest, by the time they were meant to be restarting work the next morning none of us were really feeling like doing anything much at all. After some brief haggling it was decided that if we were to accept a ticket for double parking with intent, then they would forget all about the gun-running. This sounded good to us, especially as the guilt over my lack of parking skills did nag at me.
Ah those were indeed, verily, and oh so ever so much; the days.
Unfortunately not long after he discovered the joys of hand painting silk, the thrill of which made the day to day grind of international arms trading pall by comparison, and I had an extended date, with Ethyl. Ethyl Alcohol. So we sold out the few remaining shares of our business to Microsoft and went our seperate ways.
hasta manyana baybEEE!
