Bad Deal

Smitty was driving the car east to Mayfair. It was 7pm on the 21st of June and surprisingly nippy. To say that he was angry would be an understatement. He was well thought of in the Corporation but if this kind of thing happened again, his name would be worse than mud and it wouldn’t even be worth having a name. He’d personally brokered the deal with Boardman and his clowns and the merchandise not only arrived late, but was crap.

All this for a cool three million. So much for Boardman’s honour.

It was clear that it was down to him to correct the situation. He brought along the Drood. The Drood was what everyone called Packer, who was from Glasgow. When you asked him his name, he’d say “Pal, I’m just a Drood”. It took you quite a while to understand that he meant ‘Druid’. The Drood was six feet three inches tall and almost as wide. The good news was it was all solid muscle. He was an impeccable dresser and could handle his fists and guns with flair.

So could Smitty, but as he wasn’t as big as the Drood, he was put to the test more often, or so it seemed to him. He parked near the Curzon and they both got out.

Smitty clicked the 38s safety off and put it back into his lapel pocket. He was actually twitching with anger and with the expectation of what they’d have to do. Tough jobs were okay, but this was life or death. Anyway, whatever happened, if he didn’t win, he was dead. The Drood knew him well. He smiled. “Take a few deep breaths, pal. We’ve got it covered.” Smitty nodded and almost smiled back.

They walked up the stairs and were about to press the bell next to the ‘Boardman Enterprises’ nameplate, when clown number one came out of the door, trying to look menacing. “Why don’t you kiddies say bye bye and come back another day?” Clown number two was sniggering and nodding behind him.

Smitty pulled out his 38, shoved it hard against clown number one’s neck and grabbed the collar with his other hand. He could actually feel himself shaking with rage and so could the clown. He put his face up to the clowns and said slowly and in a loud whisper: “We’re not sadists like you, but we’ll blow you away right now. And we’re ready to die, if we have to. See, after the way you’ve all behaved, We’ve got nothing to lose. How about you?”

Clown number two had his hands up as the Drood, with a broad smile, had his sawn-off shotgun pointed at his chest.

The door opened again. “Boys, boys” said Mr Boardman. “You’d better come up.” He smiled and said “If I knew you were coming, I’d have brought pastries.”

David C. Flynn 26th June 2007

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