‘Come in.’

Nice clean house, not a gun in sight. Nice clean gun dealer too. Joseph was in his mid-twenties, crew cut and Miami Vice casuals. Loose shirt, pants and, we hoped not loose-tongued. He had a corduroy face as if someone sat on it and it didn’t bounce back. Dark eyes with fire. Doc hadn’t mentioned the guy was a dance short on his card, light on the feet. Not yer screaming queen but it was there. He gave me the smile, puts lots of teeth in it, asked, ‘See something you like?’

The accent was Kensington muted. Let you know he had class but not pushing it. I said, ‘You’re a bit young.’

‘How many gun dealers have you met?’

‘Son… how many would I want to?’

He let it settle, then decided to take it lightly. Or else… shoot me?

‘And how is the good doctor?’

‘Keeping well. Keeping stum more like.’

‘Some refreshments?’

‘Whatever.’

‘Let us then to the penthouse.’

He wasn’t kidding. Upstairs was the Heal’s catalogue come to life. I liked it a lot, said, ‘I like this a lot.’

He locked eyes, weighed the consequences then went for it, ‘Killer.’

I settled in a couch that had the personality of a hypnotist, whisperin’, ‘Sleep, you’re getting drowsier and drowsier.’ Joseph said, ‘I have some vodka here, has the personal approval of Yeltsin, thus quality.’

‘I thought he went for quantity but yeah, give us a belt of that.’

He did, then, ‘Yasseu.’

‘Only yesterday I despatched a beautiful Ruger SP-101, a true work of art.’

I didn’t know if regret or admiration was expected so I gave neither. Concentrated on the drink, it tasted cool and cold, a gentle kick that promised endurance. Mostly what it was like was more – lots and lots.

Joseph asked, ‘Are you familiar with,

“if I have seen further than other men

it is because I have stood on

the shoulders of giants”

– know it?’