Ronnie appeared ambitious when he first moved in with Timothy. "I am in this town to do a business," he told Timothy with a bold tone. Imports and exports: this is the good business for this country economy. Money moves crosses boundaries faster than you think. Impressed was Timothy, who had spent years residing in the city. Ronnie presented himself like someone meant for success, spoke charmingly, and wore sharp. Out of curiosity and compassion, Timothy let Ronnie share his room. It would after all assist Ronnie in saving costs as he established his so-called business.

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For many weeks, life was quiet. Always dressed well, Ronnie came and gone at strange times. Seeming knowledgeable about world markets, he uttered expressions like "foreign trade" and "global contacts." Delighted by the attention, Timothy told Ronnie about the city, where to eat, who to trust, and how the markets operated. It almost seemed to be friendship.

But then came the evening everything changed.
One evening, Timothy came back much earlier than normal. Not expecting much, he opened the door softly. What he saw brought him to a complete stop. Ronnie crouched by the bed, a black bag open in front of him. He wasn't going through financial records or counting money. Instead, he set up a bizarre collection of tools: steel cutters, drills, saws, skeleton keys, even a magnifying glass. Timothy next spotted the object lying nearby: a tiny pistol.

Timothy's heart raced. His brain shouted issues. Why would a businessman in import and export need burglary tools? Why did he have a gun? He faked a cough so as to make him aware of his presence. Ronnie look surprised and grinned.
Ronnie said, while sliding the pistol back into the bag he brought it out, "Oh, Timothy, you scared me."
"What is these instruments for?" Timothy asked, his voice was shaky.

"These instruments? Oh, simply tools. For some particular shipments. Customs can be tough."
That excuse was too weak. Timothy was not stupid. A frigid terror descended into his chest. Those tools were not for customs. They were for offenses, for breakings. He said nothing more, but inside, his faith in Ronnie fell.

Timothy started watching him closely over the following few days. Ronnie left late at night and returned at dawn looking weary but happy. He never had documents, products, or anything near to commercial action. He carried his bag instead all about. Timothy recalled how Ronnie had amazed him with discussion of global commerce, but now he questioned if all that charm was a façade. Might Ronnie be a robber or worse, a spy acting in the shadows?

Timothy confronted him one evening straight.
"Ronnie," he said softly, "I don't believe you came here for business; I saw your tools. Tell me the truth, who are you really?"

Ronnie stared at him for an extended period, his face blank. Then, in a low voice, he said, "You're smarter than I thought, Timothy. Business is one approach to characterize what I do. But the kind of business I run doesn't appear on paper. It deals with secrets, motions, and possibilities other people can't deal with."

Half confession, half threat. Timothy felt his skin crawl. Melodrama seemed to pour out of Ronnie’s words, like a villain from a play who reveled in halftruths. Timothy pressed further, but Ronnie only smiled and said, "Some things are better left unsaid, my friend. Safer for you."

Timothy woke fitfully from then on, always checking the door. He thought of going to the police but worried Ronnie could find out. Did Ronnie act as a burglar? A double agent? Timothy don't know. One thing was clear, though: Ronnie was not the guy he claimed to be.

The end come all of a sudden. One day, late in the evening, Timothy woke to flashing lights outside. Police sirens noise was everywhere. To Timothy's astonishment, officers invaded the building and dragged Ronnie out in handcuffs. From an officer's hand hung the toolbox. Later Timothy discovered that Ronnie had been monitored for months. He was not at all a businessperson; he was member of a burglary ring attacking banks and government facilities, a man living double lives and flourishing on deception.

Alhough Timothy never saw Ronnie again after then, the memory was like a scar on him. He came to understand how readily charm and ambition could hide the darkest of intents. Ronnie had been a liar, a thief, perhaps even a spy. And Timothy, once fooled, had learnt the hardest lesson of all: appearances could be fatal illusions.

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