"Ding-ling-ling," Jimmy was napping on the couch when his phone rang, and he picked it up: "This is Jimmy, who's this?"
"Jimmy, it's Woody, Woody from the bar. Are you home? Can you come over?"
Jimmy was surprised. He had indeed given Woody his phone number, but that was just for arranging seats. "Woody, what's up? I'm at work."
Woody: "I remember you said you're a cop, right? I think I need your help at the bar."
Jimmy: "Woody, my friend, what exactly is going on? I need to know what it is before I decide when to come to see you. I'm not at home right now."
Woody paused for a moment before stammering out: "My friend is here with me, but he got too excited. I've never dealt with this kind of thing before, and I remember you're a cop, you should be able to get that, what's it called, let me see the name, oh, Naltrexone, yes, that's the name."
This time it was Jimmy's turn to be silent: "Woody, you didn't get mixed up in that stuff too, did you?"
