Just when I thought it was all going so well. That bastard, my so-called life-long friend, Freddy the Fence, has done me up like a kipper. I was all set for an old age of easy, fun-filled gin and tonic gargling and now I’m totally stuffed. When (and there will definitely be a when) I catch up with him, I will be settling his account for good. We went to school together, Freddy and me. I was always a bit more up for trouble than Freddy. That’s why I’ve ended up like I am, I suppose. Freddy was always more of a wheeler-dealer type. He was good at the chat. He could talk just about anyone into anything. Me, I was more of a doer really. No one from our school went on to university or to a job in the city or some other nice nine to five. It was never on the cards for any of us. A lot of my school mates (if you can call that venal shower of evil sods mates) just disappeared along the way. Either the booze or the drugs got them. Most did time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, me included. Funny the things that give Her Majesty pleasure, who’d have thought having a load of blokes slopping out would cheer her up? Luckily for me it was just the once and I was still young enough to benefit from going to Crime School. Anyway, I was more successful than most and unlike some, I never hurt anyone along the way. Well not physically anyway. I was a villain, for sure. A nasty one really, if you judge by the value of stuff I ‘liberated’. But smarter than most. I did warehouses and bonded stores. Stuff most people didn’t care two hoots about. But loads of money. Wheelbarrows full of money. Freddy was always my go to ‘Mr Shift it’. He had the connections to convert merchandise into cash, for a ‘small’ consideration, of course. In fact, Freddy and I had a good thing going for years. He would identify a customer and I would obtain the customer’s order for them. It was all nice and clean. Tidy. I got cash rich over the years. More cash than I could spend. But things have changed since I started out. Nowadays cash is a problem. The Filth are on it straight away if you try and flash a large wodge of the readies on, say a decent motor. I’ve got older. A lot older. I’ve had enough actually. I haven’t got the energy anymore to do the jobs. The adrenaline still flows, but I had a small heart attack last year and now none of it feels so important. I’m ready to retire. When I think about it I’ve wanted to retire since that first time inside. I talked to Freddy about it over a pint or two down at our local boozer, the old Grunting Futtock. Freddy said he felt the same and had been trying to work out how to tell me he was throwing the towel in. He’s always a step ahead is Freddy. But here’s the thing, It’s all very well dragging on the carpet slippers and putting your feet up to enjoy a well-earned retirement. I mean, it sounds great. But the thing is, you have to be able to afford it. Nowadays, if you knock it all on the head at, say, sixty-five you can reasonably expect maybe another twenty years before handing in your pail. That costs moolah and whilst being a lifelong villain does not come with a final salary pension scheme, I’ve got a lot put by. The problem is, I can’t spend the cash I’ve got in any exciting way or the rozzers will be right on it with their proceeds of crime crap. What’s worse they’ll raise the paperwork and it goes straight to the old Special Branch, as was. I don’t need that sort of attention. When I was younger I’d always dreamed I would emigrate to Spain with suitcases full of dosh, but that’s all buggered now. Bloody computers. So I thought about somewhere else. Freddy tells me there are thirty three places without an extradition treaty to the UK and the best among them is Kyrgyzstan. That is not my idea of fun, a bloke like me can only eat so many horse-meat sausages in a lifetime and, according to Freddy, that’s the main event over there. So I set Freddy on the case. He can do the converting cash in a suitcase to money in a bank thing. He’s got access to the right people and a string of nail bars and tanning salons to do the converting. He’s supposed to be on with converting my suitcases full of the folding into money in the bank. It would’ve cost a tidy sum, of course, he takes thirty percent. But still, I was properly looking forward to a great time, let me tell you. It would all have been worth it. The only problem is, I haven’t heard from Freddy since I set him on the job. He’s got all my cash. I called his number, no answer. I went round but no-one was home. He hasn’t been seen for the last week. You better watch your back Freddy. You might be smart and good with the chat, but just remember, I was always the man for the action and I’ve just un-retired myself. I haven’t changed Freddy. I’m old but not too old to see you into a cold hole under a flyover. We will meet again and it will be a short meeting for you, my old school mate.