Milan

After Marrakesh the antiheroes returned to Europe for a while to let things cool off. Whilst on this tour of the continent they spent sometime in Milan. Now they knew they were being followed they had decided to stay as mobile as possible and had stolen an old camper van they had found parked in a lay-by in France. The occupants had probably gone out for a walk, and had kindly left the van stocked with food and wine. It would have been rude to refuse such an opportunity, so, breaking the window (“Smashy smashy!” muttered Therapist Evil) & some nifty hotwiring, off they drove. They wandered aimlessly for a while, trusting that fate would throw them a bone, and eventually pitched up on the outskirts of Milan. The van was empty by now, so some five-fingered discount shopping was required. Italian security were red-hot and as quick as bunnies, and the dastardly duo found themselves hiding in an alley behind some particularly fragrant dumpsters, trying to stifle their mad giggles. When they were sure they were no longer being pursued, they started to climb out from behind the rubbish. SheDon’tWriteNoMore stumbled and put her boot through a bin bag, revealing a large plastic bag full of white powder. After a row along the lines of “No, you stick your finger in it” they grinned at each other. They had stumbled on pure cocaine. Further rootings unearthed about three kilos, so they gathered their stuff together and made like the wind, back to the van.
Of course, these are the anti-heroes we’re talking about, so they cut it with unmentionable substances, drawing on the experience gained in Marrakesh. Then they hit the streets, selling high because of the shortage (caused by their good selves) and stayed quick on their toes, in case they met the original owners of the marching powder.
Rumours of the horrible two reached the ears of the ever-determined bangbang, who, still smarting from Marrakesh, made haste to the city with revenge on his mind. He took a room in a low-rent hotel on the seedier side of town and started asking around. It wasn’t long before he got a lead from a skinny young man with a nose bleed, and he set off in hot pursuit.
Sadly for him, the anti-heroes knew he was coming and had decided upon a little mischief. Whilst he doggedly tramped the streets they slipped up to his hotel room for a little fun. They were surprised and pleased to find he had a good taste in wine and set about emptying his cupboards. Mellowed on the plonk, they conceded that although he was a pain in the hole they were actually getting quite fond of him, but it didn't stop them covering every peice of fabric they could find with itching powder. In an advanced state of refreshment and cackling like maniacs, they decided to depart, but not before Therapist Evil had vommed in the dying rubber plant by the door; she was suffering a little after trying her own wares. That puddle of pleasantry, a cloud of roll-up smoke and empty bottles was what awaited bangbang on his return from his fruitless search in the baking hot city.
Drugs all sold, the anti-heroes decided to get while the going was good, put and egg in their collective boot and beat it. Van full stocked and pockets bursting with cash, they were in high spirits.