You're an out of work beekeeper who hit the bottle pretty hard after your wife died (she was killed by bees). You decided that there's no point in continuing to keep bees if you can't even keep your own wife from getting stung to death (in fairness, she was highly allergic but kept that a secret from you because she was afraid you'd leave her for having weak blood).
Today your old boss is going to knock on your door. You'll be passed out under some whiskey bottles when he pushes his way into the unlocked apartment. The place will stink of vomit and honey. Your old boss will smack you awake and tell you what he needs.
"I need the best. I need you. These are some nasty bees and if they aren't kept by the end of the month, I can kiss my little girl goodbye."
You'll remind him that you're out of the game.
Your old boss will say, "The people who have my daughter. They don't mess around. And neither do I. I wouldn't have come to you if I didn't think it was the only way to get her back into my arms."
You'll pace a little. Then you'll pick up a picture frame. It will still contain the photo of the baby that was in it when you bought the frame from the drug store.
"You know," you'll tell your old boss. "We bought this frame thinking one day we'd replace that with a picture of our own baby."
Your old boss will tell you that if you do this beekeeping job and rescue his daughter from the Chechnyans, he'll help you get that baby you used to want.
Correct him. "No, we wanted to have a kid. Me and my wife. But she's dead now."
Your old boss will say that he's in a hurry and he needs to know if you'll do the job. Say yes. A little girl is tied to a whole bunch of hand grenades somewhere. Go keep those bees, beekeeper.
Happy Day Of The Beekeeper Day!