Kids Playing at Being Men

Kids Playing at Being MenAnother Microcosms entry, another crime tale! This time using the additional elements of businessman and car I came up with my tale Kids Playing at Being Men for Microcosms 61. Not one of my greatest tales – and probably not one of my greatest stories either but still worth a read. You’ll find it below so let me know what you think of it in the comments.

Kids Playing at Being Men

They are kids playing at being men. Who has the best car, the biggest exhaust, hottest WAG. Everything a contest of dicks and peacock’s feathers. The only thing they agree on is me and my boring family saloon. A crowd of sneers but ideal for this job. A large boot for today’s cargo of a baker’s tray of a baker’s dozen bags of flour, two rows of six with the demo bag on top. Chief Kid grabs it before my boot reaches the top of its arc. In true kid fashion, he doesn’t open the top gently; no it’s a hunting knife to the middle. A swollen tongue licks the blade clean. The scar of previous attempts bulges. The tasting is an act, he’ll buy. He always does. Either he or his WAG is addicted. The rest, six bags or so, will get sold on. Chief Kid nods his happiness. His lackeys load the trays into a bright new green sports car, memorial to anyone who gives it a second glance. The demo bag dribbles everywhere in a way the cops love. Idiot children. Another lackey hands me a wedge of green. I flick through the bills to check they are all there. They always are, least the Kid has manners. I leave at a fast, yet sensible speed. I’ve got ten minutes to spare. At the third set of traffic lights, I drop my new money into the glove box with the first payment from tonight. By the time I get home I won’t know which wedge is the pig money.]]>

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