Thursday, August 8, 2013

Tea Sack

Right, so this is how it works. I take two words, by email or comments, and make a story about them. The words for this story are: Tea Sack.

Sit back and enjoy, The Tetley Tea Cartel.


"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Michael?"

"Well, sir, I'm sorry, but the police-"

"I don't give a fuck about the police. They can all go to hell. What I do give a fuck about, Michael, is the fact that these asses are managing to fuck up every single deal!"

"Sir, the problem is it's hard to get drugs in-"

"And that is exactly why I can keep my prices high, Michael. Do you think I want to keep losing stock? Already, half our supply, gone. We've got no crystal left, cocaine is halfway gone, and the supplies of heroin are dropping like flies, too. Soon I'll have nothing."

"Well, sir, if I make a suggestion-"

"And what the fuck would that be, hmm? Maybe just give the supply straight to the cops? Since we all fucking know that's where it's headed!"

"Something slightly different, sir. I think we can smuggle it in."

"And how's that? We fucking swallow it and regurgitate it like penguins for the fucking junkies?"

"No, sir. I was thinking, maybe, tea bags."

"What the fuck do you mean by tea bags?"

"Well, what if we just delivered in tea bags? We could buy some of those big boxes of the things, and replace the tea with whatever. Cocaine, weed, crystal. It could work."

"Oh, and the cops will just wave it on through?"

"Yes, sir. Tea is rather popular, so it gets delivered all the time. No one checks it."

"Okay, fine. We do a test run. If it goes to hell, so do you. How's that?"

"Great, sir. I'll go make the necessary purchases."


Police Constable Richard Caswell was having a fine day. Last night, the force had managed to shut down another deal, confiscating two pounds of high quality cocaine and crystal meth. This meant a few things.

1. The cartel in charge of the operation was sending less in.

2. Richard Caswell was going to get a raise.

Because it had been mostly Richard who had managed to get the information on the deals. By buying a few drinks here, giving some junkies a fiver there, he could figure out where the cartel would try to deliver their drugs next.

And due to Richard's exemplary effort, maybe he'd get an extra grand added to his salary.

All in all, it looked like a good day to Richard.

"Excuse me, officer?"  Richard looked up to the truck that had pulled up next to him. It seemed to be a Tesco's delivery van, which was strange since there was only an ASDA around this area.

"Yes, what can I do for you today?"

"Well, I'm trying to find the address of, uh, 89 Trappers road? Where's that?"

"Just up the hill on your right, mate."

"Alright, ta." The driver leaned back in, and pulled off, ascending the hill.

Richard continued on his beat. It really did seem to be making up for a wonderful week.


Roger was having a very bad day. First of all, the boss had given him a job-in the middle of a game of Monopoly no less!-and sent him to fucking Police-Ville, a lovely place where the police wouldn't accept bribes, just confessions. And now he was driving right through it, in the open.

Michael had told him that all he had to do was pretend to be a delivery guy, getting some tea bags up the road to lovely old Mrs. McGregor. Except the tea bags was about 15 pounds of cocaine and lovely old Mrs. McGregor could hit your head off with a baseball bat.

Worst of all, when he got back, Jim would have cheated and taken some of his Monopoly money.

It was with a sigh of relief when he managed to get to the address. He helped the few thugs there unload the boxes, then took a deep breath. The cops were everywhere, yet not a single one seemed to notice. Which was rather strange because (apart from the fact that he would be the go-to caricature for drug-dealer) there wasn't a single Tesco in the area.


"So how do it go?"

"How did what go?"

"Oh, the wedding of course-the fucking drugs, you ass. Did they get there?"

"Definitely, sir, I got an affirmative from them a few hours ago. They're distributing right now."

"How did you manage to get it there?"

"Well, we managed to nick a Tesco delivery truck, so no one noticed a thing."

"Are you actually mentally retarded?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Who the fuck gets a Tesco delivery in an area where there is a fucking ASDA? Are you insane? This could've gone perfectly to plan, but the fucking cops are going to find out now."

"Sir, it's just a Tesco truck-"

"And I'm 'just' a mob boss. Next time, ASDA, or you'll join Jeremy as the headpiece of my car."

"Yes sir."


Richard made his way through the battlefield of the office over to the Superintendent's office. He was about 76% sure that it would be about his raise. The other 24% was devoted to the usual 'He's going to fucking kill me' that went through everyone's head except the Superintendent's.

As Richard pulled up to the door, he did the customary check of uniform, making sure his hat and epaulettes were in place, and entered.

"Your hat is off-centre, and your epaulettes are crumpled, Police Constable Caswell."

"Yes sir, of course, sir."

"Sit down." Richard gratefully sank down into the precisely uncomfortable armchair in front of the Superintendent, who looked up at him precisely over the rims of his glasses.

The Superintendent was definitely from the last generation, and from time to time often would barge into pubs before realising that the drinking laws had changed a bit. Still, he cut an imposing figure, so he managed to get away with the barging-in at most times.

"Do you know why I called you here, Caswell?"

"Not really sure, Superintendent."

"It's about the drug problem here."

"What problem, Superintendent? I've managed to clear out a lot of the deals going on about the city, and I'm pretty sure that some junkies have just given up on ever getting drugs again here."

"Then please explain these pictures we got from the CCTV outside ASDA last night."

Richard leaned over to look at the picture. A usual drug deal seemed to be going down, very suspicious people trying not to be suspicious, therefore making themselves more suspicious.

"I don't understand, sir. I'm pretty sure the ASDA parking lot is a Tuesday deal. It's Wednesday."

"Apart from that, what else is wrong?"

"I'd have to guess that they actually have something to deal?"

"Correct, Caswell. And I have more, similar pictures from all over the city. Somehow, they've managed to get drugs into town."

"But how, sir? We've covered most obvious entrances, haven't we?"

"Not the most obvious, I'm afraid. I think they managed to sneak it right under our noses."


"Sir, the deals were a success."

"Oh, fucking really? How much did we pull?"

"Approximately £50,000, sir. We still have some more to sell."

"Wonderful! Did anything go wrong?"

"Roger complained that the job made him lose a game of Monopoly, sir. He's rather upset."

"Tell him to take that problem up with me."

"Of course."

"Continue what you're doing, it seems to be working. Come if you find any more problems."


The eternal rain of Britain had managed to come back with a vengeance that night. Richard managed to ignore most of it as he pushed on through the rain, dressed in a different uniform than he usually wore. He knew that more deals would go on tonight, so his only option was to get close enough to see how they managed to get it in, what packaging it was in, etc.

He walked up to the Very Un-Suspicious Gathering, leaning against the car in a Very Un-Suspicious Way. The trick was, Richard had learned over the years, that the reason cops never managed to get on the inside very easily was not because they didn't pretend well enough, it was because they pretended too well.

Richard's technique was flawless, though, so no one noticed him apart from the usual staring directly at him.

He felt another guy creep up on his right in a Very Un-Suspicious Way, and responded by pulling out £500 for this purpose. He felt the man take the money, and replace it with a more familiar shape.

Pocketing it quickly, he walked away and started making his way back to the station. He'd think that the others would be interested to know how they managed to get in.


"You're saying that they're smuggling it in tea?"

"Yes, Superintendent. Here's what I managed to get." Richard passed the tea-bag over to the Superintendent, who studied it very carefully.

"This seems to be marijuana. We have reports of other drugs as well. Do you think that all are delivered like this?"

"I'm pretty sure, sir. I actually think I know how I can take care of this."

"How's that?"

"Simple. There's a truck that passes through town every so often, delivering up the hill to 89 Trappers Road."

"So? ASDA does a lot of deliveries, even from out of the area."

"That's the thing. They messed up."


"You have got to be fucking kidding me, Michael."

"It was a mistake, sir, I can fix it right now-"

"A fucking Aldi's truck? ASDA and Aldi's are not the one and fucking same, Michael!"

"I know sir, but the driver had a problem getting the right trailer."

"Then next time, Michael, remember to make sure the driver isn't fucking wasted before you send him out to get a fucking Aldi's truck!"

"Right away, sir."


Roger was having a much more pleasant day. He had managed to get the truck from the parking lot, load it with the supplies, and get it inside the Police Mecca without the bastards noticing. He was even expecting a raise.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Roger turned out the window with a pleasant smile on his face, only to have it drop just a little bit.

"The name's Richard Caswell, Police Constable. Would you mind exiting the vehicle?"


"Doing better, Richard."

"Thank you sir, I made sure the hat was on centre."

"So we've managed to get the info out of the driver. Seems that they've been rolling in a hell of a lot of product into 89 Trappers Road. Most of the force is up there now, sweeping up."

"I heard, Superintendent." Richard smiled slightly, "I think we've managed to close them down on this route, sir."

"Very much so. How does an extra 2 grand a year sound to you?"


"You absolute shithead, Michael. You fucked up what could have been amazing."

"Sorry sir, but Roger had left before I could stop him."

"Well, fucking congratulations. Now what do we do?"

"Well, sir, I hear that Instant Coffee is getting popular..."

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