The fuckwits came to get him at work. The pigs actually came into the shop and told the boss they needed to talk to Mr Patrick Irvine White. It was close to knock-off time, but he’d still get docked for leaving fifteen minutes early. Whitey doubted he’d keep his job after this. Sacked ’cause the pigs were stupid, stupid fuckwits. Whatever the fuck that was, it had fuck-all to do with him. Going on and on about Natalie and some other chicks. Giving me a piss test. Asking about Lebanese blokes who I sell to. Same shit as last time. And some other crap about forcing women to have sex. For a second Whitey had feared that Sonja’s parents were trying to have him charged. But the questions were too wide of the mark for that. The only worry was the piss test. He hadn’t had a smoke for a few days, but it was probably still in his system. Well, they’d let him go for now. But the pricks wouldn’t give any documentation to prove that they’d fucked-up. His boss’d never believe that he was innocent of whatever it was they’d pulled him out of work for.
