Twist & Shout
Ik ken een leuke vrouw die er de hele dag fijn mee mag spelen
… So we made arrangements. I was desperately in need of something more powerful if I was to even put a dent in a beercan at 50 feet. I needed a bigger gun. The other guy needed the money, I could smell that a mile away. He needed the money bad. What the heck, I could even smell it over the phone…
The guy - let’s refer to him as “Jeffrey” from this point on - offered me a very nice deal. He was a truckdriver and we agreed that we would meet up at a parking lot at the A50, near Heerde. “What are you driving?”, I informed. Jeff told me I had to look out for a big green trailer combination. “And I’m driving a red Mazda”, I said. Actually, I was really driving a bordeaux-red Mazda, but you never can be careful enough. That was the bacon question: could this man be trusted? The answer was crystal clear: you simply cannot know. Never.
I left my home and drove off, not knowing whether this would turn out to be just another nice and clean deal or that I would I be pushing up daisies by midnight. I arrived early, got out of my wheels and phoned Jeff. Jeff got stuck in traffic near Zwolle so there was a delay of some ten minutes. I was growing slightly nerveus about this “inconvenience”, but knowing that you can never show such fatal weaknesses I straightened myself up and tried to outfit myself with a dark “back-off” appearance that would prove ideal in these kind of situations.
A green trailer drove up the parking lot, and made a stop in the exact middle of the area. Eager as I was - too eager - I walked up the vehicle. A fat man got out and started pissing on one of his front tires. he seemed somewhat disturbed by my move - as I said, way too eager - and quickly zipped and got back into his cabin. Before he could shut his door I asked him the magic code words: “Are you Jeffrey?” “No” was the answer. He gave me a very strange look and drove of immediately. This was getting on my nerves and I found this to be very annoying. Where was this Jeffrey, if that was even his real name? Should I stay or should I go-go?
I chose the first. A wise choice, or so it seemed. I was getting my relaxed groove back and finally a big eighteenwheeler approached. This had to be my man Jeff. A tall guy jumped off. This guy had something trustworthy about him, I thought. Maybe this was getting somewhere and I could finally make my deal. “Cops?” I asked. “No cops”. After a firm handshake and some chit-chat he pulled out the merchandise. A fine piece of Californian hardware, or so it seemed. He had it tuned up with a nice and special Charlie da Tuna trigger device, imported from The States. I couldn’t even spot a scratch on the thing. I tried not to look impressed. “No buying without trying”, Jeff stated. Couldn’t be more true. He loaded the gun, cocked it, and handed it over. “Just try the kliko over there”. Seemed like a nice plan, and I looked trough the scope towards the target. The view was clear as cut, I thought, I laid my finger on the trigger and just when I was about to make the shot I was rattled by a Land Rover driving up the parking lot, almost 40 feet in front of me. “Don’t worry about it”, said Jeff. That’s just another one of them queer homosexuals. He won’t talk. Indeed. He wasn’t. The man anxiously stayed in his car while I was popping holes in the kliko. No need to be found injured - or worse! - in a place where you shouldn’t have been in the first place. Smart guy..
“Off course this is highly illegal”, Jeff said. “We should bag this deal up”. We quickly wrapped up and switched goods. I handed over the money and I layed the hardware on the rear seat of my Mazda. After this we talked for a little while. Jeff turned out to be ex-military, specialized in gun maintenance. Sounded logical, judging the perfect state of my recent buying. “Are you, by chance, military too?” - “No, I’m in customer service. I sell schoolbooks.” - “Uh huh. Sure.”
After some conversation about optimal ammunition use and some other interesting subjects I can’t really remember anymore we both went our own ways. And so it ended. This deal hadn’t gone sour, I concluded while driving home. I made my first parking lot handover, a satisfying thought while driving home, into the setting sun, looking out for trouble and new adventures.
hot hot hot