MY GOD, THE DEVIL LIVES IN MUNICH
“So hey, these are the boys? Nice to meet you. Nice. Thierry’s been telling me lots about you. Good to do some business with countrymen.”
Jerome was bald. His Hawaiian shirt was sweat-stained despite the quietly rotating fan above their heads. Jerome was about fifty. He was dirty. If ever there was a dirty man. He was the kind of man to buy fifty kilos straight off a dodgy hippie bus from Europe.
The room was dirty, too. Dan looked at the old man with hopeful eyes.
“You look like a good bunch of lads. But let me tell you something.”
Jerome had three chins and a ponytail. He shook his head, vibrating his three chins slightly. He had no neck.
“I have grave news, my friends. The devil lives in Munich. I know. I commute out there every now and then. He d
