"Fine," he said with what was supposed to be a sigh but ended up sounding more like a chuckle. He pulled out, driving a road he knew almost like the back of his hand at this point. They reached the shop, which was almost deserted, other than one rather battered looking car from beneath which emerged a pair of oil-stained trousers. "Oi, Skip," Tom said, leaning on the back of the car. "We need your CCTV tapes from the last week."
"I told the others I don't care what you say," came the gruff response. "You ain't got a warrant, you're not seeing the tapes."
"Skip, yo-Wait, what do you mean 'the others'?" Tom asked, dragging the trolley from under the car and revealing a man not much older than Faith.
"Oh, Tom," Skip said, turning red with embarrassment. "I didn't recognise your voice. I had Feds coming through here, claimed there was a drug smuggler around here. Minute I mentioned a warrant they looked like they'd seen ghosts and left without another word. You though, you can see the tapes. I think you'll find them...interesting."
"This stinks," Tom said to Faith. "If these are Feds they aren't acting anything like you'd expect them to."