'Hello Mr Soloman. Tony Peters asked me to call and have a little word with you about home improvements.'
Sol had taken three minutes to get out of his TV chair, negotiate the coffee table covered in empty fag packets, empty lighters and full ashtrays, and get to the entry phone. He wasn't happy.
'Well Mr Tony's exceeded his fuckin' pay grade sister.' Still, the tiny TV screen showed a decent amount of cleavage under the bottle blonde hair. His finger hovered over the entry button.