“How is Ibrahim?” asks Bogdan. “When is he back?” “He’s all right, old son. Knocked about a bit, you know? Nasty.” Bogdan nods. “You need help with the guy who did it?” Ron takes the bag. “You’re already helping.” “I thought so,” says Bogdan. “Good, I am pleased. You know you just ask, and I do whatever.” “You’re a good lad.” Ron sniffs. “Jesus, Bogdan, what’s that smell?”
