I counted seven of them; passed out on the floor surrounded by smoking paraphernalia and empty jello cases. The faint strain of a Marvin Gaye song came from somewhere in the decrepit apartment.
“What the hell does your boytoy want, Gwen?”
Gwen motioned me to follow her in.
“This is the guy I told you about Stu. He’s the one who wants….”
“Yeah yeah.”
Stu walked in from the toilet, wiped his hands on his khakis and plopped himself on the stained couch. The room reeked of cannabis and urine. There were copies of High Times, Extreme Golf and back issues of comic books I’d never heard of strewn about. In one corner of the room, there were giant stainless steel boxes that had wires going in and out of them. Temperature controlled vaults. Nonetheless, the place was the antithesis of what I had expected. Weren’t these people supposed to be a bit more, disciplined?
Stu sized me up and let out a condescending chuckle. I took that he wasn’t too impressed. I looked over to Gwen who seemed to be showing no emotion. Enter paranoia.
“I told you I wouldn’t sell to any wannabe latte sipping yuppie after last time Gwen. Why do you bring these little fuckers over?”
I tugged at Gwen’s sleeve but she didn’t seem to notice. I didn’t want to inconvenience the man any further. He probably had vegetative substance to get back to.
“He isn’t like the others Stu. Besides, why do you care for what he does with it?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t care what he does with it Lady Guinevere. You do. We all do.”
“We’re not having that conversation again. Stop being an elitist prick and just give him what he wants.”
Second thoughts now. An unemployed pothead was on the verge of putting me through another bout of existential angst. And from the looks of it, it’d take more than three bottles of vodka and a Dario Argento film to fix it.
Stu seemed to be contemplative all of a sudden. He picked his nose and drifted off for a minute.
“Alright, but I don’t have it sweetheart. You’ll have to see this Chinese kid. Peng.”
He turned to me, “And no asswipe, he doesn’t live with his mother.”
Hours later, I was trying to keep pace with Gwen as we raced through dingy streets and shady alleys. Screw Melbourne, this was Australia’s best kept secret. We waited by the Indian restaurant as instructed over the phone. Peng was a lot more like I’d imagined. He looked the type. Dressed in a Green Lantern t-shirt and jeans, he walked over and we shook hands awkwardly.
He seemed shy and didn’t make much eye contact with Gwen. From what I could make of his broken English, he wanted fifty more than we had agreed on. I shrugged and gave him the money. Too exhausted to haggle.
“You very lucky man. You take care of this, okay?”
I tore open the paper cover like an impatient schoolboy. Two years. Two whole years of tracking people down, forging unlikely friendships and promising unusual favors. It all boiled down to this.
I felt Gwen’s hands on my shoulder.
“Now, about that other thing.”
Having watched quite a few 
