::Being impatient isn't going to speed anything up, you know::
::Awaiting answer::
"Screw it."
::Call ended::
"Has the ship docked?"
::Information encrypted. Would you like to decrypt?::
"Nae, that's ok."
::Really? But why not?::
"Just...call Riley Mackenzie!"
::Well, you don't have to shout, Mr. Grumpymorning::
::Awaiting answer::
::Awaiting ans-::
"You've reached Riley's Psychic Subgenius Trucking Company. We know who you are and what you want, so at the sound of the tone, hang up."
"Oi. It's me. drop me a line when you return to 'burrah. I want to know if you're in the know of anyone who knows about a Gallic vessel in the Islay fog. Later mate."
Dimi storms back across the alley and into his apartment; emerging angrily less than a minute later, heading towards the Upper Islay docking bay carrying a dose of sodium pentothal and a machete.
