"To Europe?" Scott asked.
"Amsterdam. Sin City. Diamonds?"
"No, I wish," Scott laughed. "News. A story brought me here for a couple of days."
Chris finished weighing Scott's purchase on a sensitive digital scale that measured the goods down to the nearest hundredth of a gram. Scott handed Chris $10 in Guilders and pocketed the pot. "Um, where can I get some papers?" Scott asked. Chris pointed to a glass on the bar with a complete selection of assorted paraphernalia.
"Hey, why don't you join me," the American asked. "I've been to
Amsterdam before."
"Is it all right to smoke in here?" Scott asked looking around.
"Sure, that's what coffee shops are. The only other thing you can buy in here is sodas. No booze." The American spoke confi- dently as he lit up a joint and passed it to Scott.
"Thanks," Scott coughed as he handed it back. "Oh, I don't think
I caught your name.
"Oh, just call me Spook."
THE Spook? thought Scott. What incredible synchronicity.