This better be the wrong address, the uncle thought.
He found himself at a conspicuous mushroom dispensary. A woman was shouting into its intercom. The uncle heard the voice on the other end. It was unmistakably his nephew’s.
“Cuchulainn!” he interrupted. “What the hell are you doing?”
The speaker crackled. “Uncle?” Cuchulainn answered. “Is that you?”
“You know this asshole?” The woman looked back.
The uncle ignored her and pushed past. “Cuchulainn, what is going on?”
“Did you bring my Magic 8 Ball?” said Cuchulainn.
“I have the damn ball!” said the uncle.
“Excellent! Now if you’ll wait your turn, I must get rid of this policewoman.”
“I’m not the police!” the woman shouted.
The uncle closed his eyes and breathed. “Cuchulainn, you said you were working at a farmer’s market or something.”
“My employer is a farmer,” said Cuchulainn. “I am a psilocybin salesman!”
“No you are not! Get out here now! We’re going home! How the hell did you end up working here, anyway? Have you been doing shrooms?”
“I get a great discount, Uncle!” said Cuchulainn.
“Cuchulainn, this is highly illegal!”
“Stinko says it is actually a grey area.”
“Stinko? I told you to stop hanging around that carnival clown!”
“Uncle, please! You embarrass me in front of the police.”
“I’m not the police!” the woman shouted. She was now banging at the door.
“That is very aggressive for a civilian!” said Cuchulainn.
A second customer got in line. “What’s going on here?” they said.
Cuchulainn puffed through the intercom. “Hold your badge to the camera, pig!”
“My badge?”
“Do not play dumb!”
“Cuchulainn, is Stinko in there?” said the uncle. “I wanna talk to him!”
“Hey,” said the second customer, “what is this?”
“Apparently it is the plainclothesmen’s hub!” said Cuchulainn. “Now be gone! This is entrapment!”
“We’re not cops!” said the woman.
“Ha! I can smell your corruption through the door!” Cuchulainn laughed. “Die!”
“Cuchulainn, we’re going home!” said the uncle.
“Uncle, I am at work!”
“This isn’t work!”
“You are so close-minded! And, anyway, it is only temporary until I leave for Transylvania.”
“For the last time you’re not moving to Transylvania! And you’re not selling drugs!”
“You continue to shelter me, Uncle! You are worse than these police!”
“Honestly,” said the second customer, “what the hell?”
“Cuchulainn!” said the uncle. “If you don’t smarten up, I’m going to have to leave your fate with the Magic 8 Ball.”
There was silence.
“Where did he go?” said the woman.
“He fears the 8 Ball above all things,” said the uncle.
The door creaked open.