Three years ago, Justin would already be out of his car. He probably would’ve had someone else with him too, a plan set, dangerous hands ready to go. He wouldn’t be watching, waiting patiently for his customer, a debt laden customer that is to enter his motor. He wouldn’t want blood on his seats for starters. Leather cleans up well though. This is England, black tarmac and grey slabs on the pavement, the same colour as the sky washes away all violence better. No, not today. A few years sleeping next to his shit stains and that of his cell mate has somewhat calmed him down. He’ll wait, be patient. His reputation has already been established. It’s all about getting paid off the back of all those problems he's already dealt with. Remember Justin, it’s about the money, not the pride. He can’t remember the guy who used to say this on remand, it’s been a few years, maybe Robert he thinks, it doesn’t matter now. He didn’t listen at first. Those words only jumped out at him when his cell mate’s midnight dump woke him up and brought him to his senses. Then again, he can feel the rage building as he sees his customer put his hands up as he walks out of his house. Justin calls him in before reacting to his lesser instinct and paints the pavement.

‘Alright Justin, I’ve got some bad news and really good news.’

‘It’s been weeks, weeks, nearly a month. You’re not putting your hand in your pocket, why can’t I see notes? Why can’t I see notes? Empty hand, I don’t like empty hands Dale. Tell me, notes, where’s the notes, fucking notes Dale you little prick.’ Said Justin like he was being shaken with every single word that come out of his own mouth and was ready to explode. He only heard bad news. Empty hands after a near month is always bad news. Dale is lucky the memory of shit stains is still fresh in his mind and nostrils.

‘I’m just waiting for my pay to come through, it won’t be long.’ Said Dale, swallowing. He knows he’s made him wait long enough.

‘I’ve been waiting for three, four weeks now, I don’t know, long enough for me to forget. I’m trying to stay calm here Dale, stay calm Justin, give this little prick a chance.’ Said Justin and he was very still, holding onto those shit stain memories. It better be good Dale he thinks.

‘Today, it’s just payroll taking the biscuit.’

‘I am not joking Dale, you’re taking the jaffa. I’ll cut you, I’ve cut people for less, a lot less. Three weeks you’ve been ducking me, where’s my money at?’ Said Justin as he flicks a knife out, plunged to Dale’s throat and grips his ear before shouting ‘notes, many notes, I want my notes.’

The barely legal tint didn’t dull the shine of the barely legal blade, and even though it was black, the edge was sharpened to a mirroring glint. A small lock blade, under four inches and still legal, well, depending on how you use it. It was a multi-use lock knife, a glass breaker on the handle and a seatbelt cutter too. If he was ever stopped, it’ll be an easy one to excuse. Can’t swallow or plug a blade like his product.

‘Today, Justin, I swear.’ Said Dale.

‘Notes, now.’ Said Justin and he closed the knife, turned it around and gripped the handle with his left hand. He didn’t warn Dale, he caught him off guard. He closed the knife, looked away. He hit Dale while he wasn’t even looking at him. The glass breaker point, right on the forehead. Dale knew something was coming, he didn’t imagine something so small, yet so damn painful was going off his skull. He would’ve preferred a punch.

‘Today, I swear, I swear man.’ Said Dale putting his hands to his head. The pain was sharp, like a plug was placed on his forehead and stamped on sharp.

‘Shut up, I’m thinking.’ Said Justin opening the knife. He was tempted, too tempted to just cut this piece of shit right in his face. Nearly a month of ducking would justify it he thinks. He’s a good customer when he’s got money though. Think of the money he tells himself. The last time he didn’t think about his actions he spent too long sleeping next to those shit stains and not earning.

‘Today.’ Said Dale massaging the crown of his now dented skull. He can feel blood, wiping it on his T-shirt. His brain throbs and all Dale could think of was being thankful, not only for being hit just once, at least for now, he was also not hit in the temple. It could’ve really done some damage then; he hasn’t got the braincells to lose.

Dale knew he couldn’t even phone the police. He had it coming. It has been about six weeks, Justin has forgot. He must not have gone through his texts. Probably deleted them though he thinks. Dale wonders, if does remember how long it has been, will he get stabbed. It wouldn’t be the first. Holes in his nose have led to more than a few on his skin. He’s already added another to his growing nitty collection of stupidity. He thinks about snitching. If he cuts me, I’ll snitch he says to himself. Use the law to get at him. He’s done it before and never been found out.

‘Now, I’m going to lose my temper, I can feel it, notes, where are my notes?’

‘Today, I swear, today, I swear.’ Said Dale, all the while thinking your line is getting snitched on if you cut me. He deserves a slap, not a slice, he knows that and will let that slide. He can’t snitch on everyone who slaps him, he’d be found out. He’d love to though. Nitty aside, he isn’t a complete retard. He wouldn’t bite the hand that feeds him, especially when they’re so reliable.

Dale knew however, the law doesn’t matter and there’s no guarantees the police would even react to his anonymous tip. It certainly doesn’t right now as he contemplates every single line that resulted him sitting here, with another trickle of blood running down his face, in another dealer’s car.

‘You lie to me, you lie to me, lie to me Dale, I dare you.’

‘I’m not.’ Said Dale, thinking through all this how he’d love a bump right now. An accumulation of bumps, then lines and then more. Bad decisions leading to even more. It started in the toilet of his local pub and a very long time later he’s here, another back to the wall situation with a sore head and a soon to be empty fridge for the kids. Another dealer, another problem.

‘I’m not fucking happy, fuck this bullshit.’

‘Chill out Justin, my pay hasn’t come through yet….it will man, I swear. I just got the week wrong.’ Said Dale looking around, knowing he can’t be seen behind the darkened glass he swallows. A child cycles in the street and doesn’t even notice the hidden violence. He’s happy his kids are at his moms, time to clean up before they get back. They could’ve been out on the street today too, but he sent them away. It’s been a few weeks, he knew something was coming. At least he’ll know they’ll come back fed none the wiser. He hopes there’s plasters in the drawer. He doesn’t like scaring the kids and his youngest can’t stand the sight of blood, especially on her daddy. She’s seen enough already and has never gotten used to it. Some cuts are impossible to plaster over, and Dale knows that too.

Dale looks to the blade again, closer to his face than it is in length. Justin looks at him blankly, his unmoving eyes saying everything without his mouth needing to. It’s not the first time he’s had one out and pressed to his throat. This time, the well-earned reputation of the young man on the other end leaves trickles of cold sweat under his arms that begin to shake with beads of blood running from his forehead.

He’s ‘unpredictable’ and ‘a fucking loon’ reverberates in his little mind. He was warned not to get behind and not take the piss. He didn’t listen. Those lines of coke dulled every sense of reason in his little mind. It was a great idea to spend Justin’s money last week at four in the morning, until the lines ended again, and his nose was bleeding into the sink in the morning like his head will soon enough.

‘You, you said last Friday and haven’t answered a fucking call since. A lot of lies, so many, I ain’t being taken for a mug, especially from a little prat like you.’ Said Justin pulling the knife away and for the first time smiling. Dale is obviously relieved and takes a deep breath.

‘Fucking hell, how long have I been picking up from you mate? I never get on credit, it’s just this new job is monthly, I get it all today, it’s just payroll mate…..errrr…I didn’t know….eerrmm…I swear.’

‘I ain’t your fucking mate.’ Said Justin snarling and slapping Dale to the side of the head with his palm. Dale covers his head with his elbow and waits for another, looks above the cruck of his sleeve, Justin is just sitting back and smiling at him. ‘What time is it?’ He continued, still amused as he watches the street from his tinted glass, like a predator in the grass waiting for prey. He enjoyed this, playing with Dale like a cat would a baby mouse.

‘It’s only like three, they’re probably sorting it out now, I phoned, and they said any time before five. I swear man, I ain’t going to start playing games man.’ Said Dale looking down to the knife still held in Justin’s hand. He was warned not to get anything on credit by his cousin, he said don’t ever owe this guy money, even for a day because he takes it personal. He only lied about the week, well, the month in the end and now he’s getting a knife to his throat and blood trickling down his face. A fucking loon, from his cousin who knows a few being a coke addict like himself for nearly ten years, should’ve been listened to.

‘I’ll call later and if you don’t have my money, or you duck me again, I swear you’re getting done on sight, no messing about.’ Said Justin putting away the knife and holding an unflinching stare. He raises his palm and Dale flinches. Justin sniggers to himself.

‘I get ye man, all sorted by five man.’

‘I’ve got to call a mate, get out my car.’ Said Justin and Dale takes his moment and opens the door and scuttles away quickly.

Justin speeds off down the street just as fast, circling around he pulls up to a quiet street he knows doesn’t get much traffic and away from the police on the manor. They’ve been around a lot lately, only last week there were two men shot in a parked car at three in the morning. He only does until seven now and leaves the late-night drops to the gang members who own the night trade. He doesn’t fancy a bullet or a chase for a few grams of coke. He’s got enough to keep him going, no point getting greedy. He turns his phone on silent at around seven and sends out the multi texts after his first joint in the morning, or afternoon.

That’s his life, he chose it without hesitation when he seen his cards laid out early on. He loves this life, at least he thinks he does. He takes out his personal little bag of ninety percent pure and takes a bump. Straight off the block and up his nose. He doesn’t just cut his problems like Dale, he’ll cut the block a few times to pay for his own habit. All in a day, paid for and powered by the line while waiting for a call from the next nitty on his.

*

‘Easy Smithy, how’s your Friday going?’ Said Justin playing with his knife, looking at the little bit of Dale left on the glass breaker and smiling.

‘You’re wasting my lunch to ask me that? I haven’t got long…. what do you want?’ Said Smithy chewing on the other end.

‘Haven’t even got time to talk to your pal at lunch? Working the dream.’

‘It’s living the dream you idiot and no, I’m not, glad it’s Friday and I’m done in a few hours. What do you want?’

‘Want some work?’

‘I’m at work and you’re definitely not working.’

‘My line of work, got something big on man and need a lift from someone I trust, what you reckon?’

‘I reckon you’re having me on, fuck that bollocks, how many times have I got to tell you? I’ve got a squeaky job here, actually, it’s a bit shit but it’s sound enough.’

‘Squeaky bum time when it comes to buying new trainers too man……..some job.’

‘I’m happy enough here.’ Said Smithy as Ben the machinist walks by and bursts out in laughter, mouths ‘run’ as he skips to the kitchen.

Smithy hovered over the end call button as Justin laughs. Ben still chuckles as he empties leftovers in the bin. Did Ben hear him? He wasn’t sure until he turned around and looked him dead in the eye, while laughing, wiping a tear from his own. Smithy’s a hundred percent sure he’s just smoked a joint behind the factory like he does every lunch, so he just carries on listening to the other comedian.

‘You do make me laugh, I needed that after the sad clown I had in my motor. Can still smell the prat. These guys linger like a bad fart. Wipe the seats down daily save catching something.’

‘I ain’t got long, hurry up.’

‘Alright, love the job you do man. You need to understand something Smithy, it will get you out that bullshit dead-end factory to nowhere…..you know, put some real cheese in your pocket instead of those manky cathedral shit you eat every day on your smart price bread.’ Said Justin looking down to a little Prada bag down the side door, the zip undone with tens and twenties filling it about halfway.

‘I’m stacking now.’

‘Filling penny jars doesn’t count. If you’re going ASDA to exchange shrapnel for a few notes in the machine once a year, sorry to break it you, that’s slacking, not stacking my guy.’

‘You’re slacking on the showers. I don’t think it’s for me mate. I’ve got to finish my lunch and get back to work. I’ll think about it and talk later, alright?’ Said Smithy and Justin ends the call without a goodbye. That was polite from Justin. He doesn’t like being let down.

Not the first call he’s had like this. Maybe one or two a year since the age of fifteen when Justin was kicked out of school. At first the sell would be more prolonged and face to face over a joint or two. Now, it appears Justin has given up on dragging his friend down his path.

Smithy looks up to the clock high up on the wall above the kitchen. He hasn’t got long, less than ten minutes left until he’s back to graft. He had twenty before answering to Justin and wishes he’d just dismissed the call. Nothing worse than rushing lunch he thinks. Oh well, he knows it’s the last shift of the week anyway. The cheese sandwich tastes better on a Friday than the Wetherspoons Sunday lunch because how long it is until Monday. He’s dreading it already and the week hasn’t finished.

He only wanted a few moments with his phone without a disturbance. Looking up from it he sees a supervisor standing in front of the door to the factory. Mark the fucking shark according to his shift. He’s from the blue shift and Mark is usually the red he thinks. They call him the shark because if he smells blood in the water he goes in for the kill. Blood being weakness, the weakness is giving him one verbal inch and you’ll be taken for a mug every day.

Mark waits for the clock to strike, impatiently looking around and biting his lip. It’s as if he’s waiting for someone but he wasn’t sure who. He loudly clears his throat as if lunchtime silence is some sort of insult to his basic authority. Smithy’s never seen his handiwork, he isn’t entirely sure it’s Mark but going from the buffed-up work boots and moobs it must be him standing there with his orange supervisor high viz.

‘BARE COINS MAN, COINAGE!!’ Reads Smithy on his WhatsApp and a Giff from Justin showing a pig making it rain. Smithy smiles, looks up and sees Mark eyeing him as if a fermented frown is the only acceptable face to wear at work, he then turns away, and back to Copa del Rays highlights on YouTube for the last few minutes of his unpaid lunch.

Fucking prick thinks Smithy as he puts in his Apple Pods, peering over his screen he can see he’s still being watched. It doesn’t matter as Messi goes on a run from just inside his own half and the shark, the clock and his shit cheese sandwiches are forgotten.

Smithy’s only every been touched at work when shaking hands and even then, it’s just to be polite. He wouldn’t offer it willingly. Prefer the autistic nod. He’s heard enough guys sitting in the next stall finish their business and not even turn on the tap. He uses his foot to open the door and wouldn’t dare use the kitchen. So, when he feels a pinch on his shoulder, followed by the sweat of a man who washes his clothes on a cold cycle engulf his personal space, he was nearly repelled out of his seat. One minute he’s finishing a cheese sandwich, next he’s smelling someone’s cheesy feet cycle.

‘Oi, what do you think you’re playing at, the bell went five minutes ago.’ Said Mark, as his neck pumps with excitement and his frown breaks into an unnatural smirk. Smithy could feel his energy. He appeared to be enjoying his moment, an excuse even to create a scene. Smithy’s been here ten weeks and done well to stay under the radar. Not anymore.

‘Didn’t hear it, I’ll put my stuff away and get back out there.’ Said Smithy standing and gathering his things. Mark was already standing over him and didn’t even take a step back to allow Smithy to get up. Pulling his chair out and away, Mark followed Smithy with another step to be even closer. The shark didn’t keep his eyes off Smithy for a second, who looks down and away meekly. He then knew he just dropped blood in the water. The shark was loving it and was on the hunt and its cold heart could be felt through the moobs he was standing so close.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Dan Smith.’

‘Do you think it’s acceptable to steal company time? You do know the policy, it is in the handbook.’

‘Like I said I didn’t know, I’m on my way now.’ Said Justin and he still didn’t catch Marks eye. The shark might be sensing blood, but Smithy was starting to see red. It’s been a long week. It’s Friday afternoon for fucks sake thinks Smithy.

‘Not even an apology, not the best attitude, is it?’ Said Mark and he walks away. Smithy thought it was it, until he turns around after a few steps, joyfully raising his voice continued. ‘I’ll be writing you up to management, don’t expect to stay past your probation period if you haven’t finished yet,’ and walked to the door towards the offices situated on the mezzanine floor.

‘What? Said Smithy walking after him. ‘What are you talking about? Only sat here for a few minutes. Mistakes happen, can’t be trying to fuck a man over for a few minutes.’ He continued into a run before he leaves the canteen. It’s nearly empty, everyone’s started back at their shift and only a cleaner is left taking out some rubbish, the older lady with a limp doesn’t seem to notice as she exits with a full bin bag that drips her route. No one seems to notice the sign asking for liquids to be emptied first either.

‘No time here for wasters, I suggest you know your place and be grateful if you’re back on Monday.’ Said Mark standing over Smithy and spitting his coffee breath over his face.

Smithy’s had a few dramas at work, the red mist would fleetingly flash before him, however he never experienced this deluge. He walks forward challenging Smithy, goading a hit with hands in his pockets smirking. Pressing on, he forces Smithy to step back. The family men with mouths to feed have to take it and Mark knew exactly how far to push a desperate man. Each step back was like another drop of blood, every drop giving off a thicker mist though.

‘Now fuck off back to your line you little prick.’ Said Mark, pointing to the factory door with his blackened fingernail.

The machines started, and their vibrations reverberate, giving Smithy a choice. He doesn’t think twice, although, he probably should have.

‘You’re the prick, you fuck off.’ Said Smithy, picking up a chair he nearly went over on, picks it up with two hands high above his head and throws it towards the kitchen and off the cabinet doors.

‘You better run.’ Said Smithy as Mark runs behind the office door. Through all the drama, Smithy notices a poor patch up work by the door, suggesting he hasn’t been the only one throwing chairs recently. A head pokes through the window and Smithy picks up another chair and throws it at the door smashing the glass.

Well, he’d done it now. He really succumbs to the red mist. Years of close calls and biting his tongue gone in an instant. It was if a switch went off in his mind and there were no fucks given. The mask had slipped and every vestige of sanity with it. Every table was thrown, all chairs displaced until it looked like an earthquake had gone off.

‘Fuck off.’ Said Smithy walking away and through his mess raises a middle finger to a camera watching over everything and swivelling in his direction. Two security guards race in and contemplate taking him on. They look to the tables and then to eachother, scratching their heads at a scene only created by a man going through an episode, they step aside cautiously. They’re not getting paid enough for a black eye and raise theirs offering the door behind them.

‘You know to move, you mugs.’ Said Smithy stepping through them. The second he does he hears laughing. Mark’s smirk is now a wide beamed grin showing teeth as dirty as his fingernails. He stands there with a confused manager.

‘Well done little boy, payroll isn’t until Monday, so we’ll see who the mug is losing a month’s pay. Or, maybe a night in the cells, bet you’re used to that though, you waster. Lucky that chair didn’t hit me because believe me little boy, I would’ve been pressing charges.’ Said Mark, as Smithy turns to see Mark laughing at him, only reverting back to his frown when the manager has a quiet word with him in disgust. He probably took the extra shift to ruin someone’s life before payday thinks smithy, and he fell for it.

Smithy checks his phone. It’s only the 19th and it is just before payroll this month. The smirking prick was right. He’s just worked for four weeks, for nothing. There is only one mug here and he’s walking out the door minus all the penny jar savings for the last ten weeks. He then calls Justin.

‘Sound, I’ve thought about it, you could say I’m on the market and open to offers. Come over for a chat whenever.’ Said Smithy walking out the front gates. They were electric and they’d usually be a delay, buy they were opening as he approached. They wanted him out, he wanted to be gone and they knew it wasn’t the best idea to try and contain him. Smithy looks to the company Mercedes and back to management who fidget nervously as he passes them on their phones. It happened so quickly he didn’t even remember the journey out and towards the train station. He’d never felt this adrenaline before, guiding his soft feet as if his boots weren’t even touching the tarmac, like walking on a cloud of cuddly tunnel rage, comforting him out the door without looking back.

‘What? You’re not a second-hand car and you’ve just bombed me of?’ Said Justin, sniffing down the other end as if he’s got a cold. It’s mid-summer in Birmingham and there’s only one type of snow around right now.

‘Things fucking change, don’t they?’

‘I’ve just spoken to you, had a bump and now you’re calling me.’

‘Ye, things change.’

‘Odd man, I’ll bring the new cheese I’ve got, it’ll blow your fucking jaw off my guy.’

‘Lemon haze for me, or some of that blue sherbet you had last month would be ideal.’

‘Ye, you’re a fucking lemon alright. I’ve got a few ballers left I’ll sort you out. I ain’t got none of that sherbet you know, think there’s some orange sherbet in the next few weeks though. That stuff is fire and doesn’t last long, so make sure you reply quick to my message, I won’t fuck about.’

‘No worries, I’ll be back in an hour or so anyway.’

‘I’m busy doing a few drops, I’ll see you about six or seven man, I clock off then.’

‘Fuck sake I need a joint. I’ve just thrown a fucking chair at one of the shift leaders Mark the shark.’

‘That’s smart, one minute, Mark the fucking what? This coke is getting to me, sure you just said Mark the shark. I’ll drop one off if you want but can’t chill now. I wanna hear this story though.’ Said Justin laughing down the other end.

‘Shit story, absolute shitshow. Might end up getting nicked. Nah man I’ll wait, I’ll play some FIFA and see you later, or I’ll be taking a midday nap until dark if I start now without chatting. See how many games I can play before I get lifted by the bizzies. Fucking prick, absolute prick needs to get done it.’ Said Smithy, shouting down the other end and from the hackling laughter of Mark the fucking shark he must’ve echoed down the street.

‘Chill out man, it’s done and was a mugs job. They’re not going through the drama of police unless you hit someone, no one cares about a broken chair.’

‘Broke the glass on the window too.’

‘Ah, still not going to phone the police man, probably paying for it though. I’ll bring a pizza and see you about seven, my line is popping and got to go.’

‘Top man, make it pepperoni then.’

‘What else, I’ll make it happen and see you in a bit. Don’t throw anymore chairs.’ Said Justin shouting in return down the phone and ending the call.

Smithy didn’t even look back in anger at the factory, even with the faint laughter ringing in his ears with every step, like Mark the shark is now echoing and living rent free in his head. He knew then he wouldn’t be going on indeed and begging for a job like this again. His straight life was over, he just didn’t know how far the fork in the road would bend his path. If only he knew.