He had become a diamond smuggler. A grand job for the Sauvé gentleman. A gesture to the himself he wasn’t dull, or an illusion to others the he was mysterious. Aparently he was a very successful smuggler. No actual proof backed that up, I think it was an assumption based on the fact that he hadn’t been killed or caught. We knew nothing else about the job, not even small details or a general outline, what countries do you even need to smuggle diamonds into these days anyway. Besides all that nonsense he did wear it well though. Thick aviator sunglasses, pencil moustache and Panama hat. A call back to the olden days of smuggling. I constantly badgered him trying to ascertain how he got into this caper but always to no response, just diversions and distractions. He has given only one skerrick of information, a tiny glimpse into a smugglers mindset released under heavy intoxication at a family affair.
“The only bad thing about being an international diamond smuggler is that having your underpants chock full of diamonds is quite uncomfortable but still even this has is upside. It leaves your crotch smelling of diamonds, and the ladies love diamonds.”
An intrigueing fact if true or if it were just a comment in jest. This lead me to wonder about what my brother was like under the cool bland veinier he had lived under for so long.
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