And There Was Ninja Moustache (Chapter 33)

    I know it was you who tipped off the cops. That took some balls. No hard feelings, you did what you had to do.

    Prison is unpleasant. Eight years they gave me, but some influential people are in favour of my early release, so I’ll be out soon enough. Some of my competitors are trying to cut in on my business while I’m in here. Can you believe that?

    The shortbread in here is terrible. I have to get Red Ned to bring me the good stuff. He escaped sentence. Squeaky clean, see?

    I’ve been thinking about how you called the police. The only people who tried that on me before were stupid, and none of them are around anymore to try it again. You didn’t strike me as stupid. Maybe you’re crazy, or you just don’t give a sh**. Maybe. I think you called the cops because you know how it is. Not many people know how it really is—they are blissfully ignorant and expect everyone to play by some sort of rules. But you and me, we know how it really is. There’s no way out except to take a blowtorch and burn the whole thing down. None of it matters.

    Anyway, you killed Terry, and Terry was a friend of mine, so I am going to kill you. There must be consequences. You understand. I think I’ll kill that clown friend of yours too, make a spectacle of it. I believe in fair warning, Rory Zanzibar, and this is yours. Enjoy what time you have left.


    —A letter delivered to Rory on 21st February 2006.

    Dear Biscuits,

    Thank you for the letter, and the warning. I can’t say I am sympathetic toward your discomfort in prison, but I hope you are able to make some good use of the time.

    I saw in the newspapers that some London mob bosses died in mysterious suicides. Perhaps this will be the end of the business troubles you mentioned.

    You have some interesting insights as to how the world operates. I must disagree, though, with one phrase you used— “None of it matters”. Many little things matter more than we realise. I painted a picture about this, and I’ve included a photograph of that painting. I hope you see in it what I tried to convey. I have also sent two packets of shortbread—the good stuff.

    Regarding your plans of vengeance, Terry Ward was a drug dealer, extortioner and sex-trafficker, and he got what he deserved. You gave me fair warning, so let me return the courtesy—men have tried to kill me before and failed. It would also be in your best interests to leave my friends out of this.


    —Rory’s response to the letter. Sent 25th February 2006.


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