Cold Hard Cash

Image: Pixabay

“You’ll give me the money,” said Jaze, “and I’ll give you this.”

It was a watch, glittering in the street lamps across the street, where Jander wished he was now.

“And if not,” Jaze continued, waving a black jagged shape in front of his forehead, “you get this.”

He could feel the cold of the metal chilling the air above his heated skin. The choice was obvious. He withdrew his wallet, spilling ten, twenty, forty dollars onto the pavement with a scuttling sound.

“That’s good, that’s good,” said the smooth criminal, scooping up the paper with two quick pinches. “I like you. We’ll see you again.” He grinned, a smile Jander wished to never see again.

The enveloping night hid the two rich boys, and Jander wandered off home, keeping to the lighted parts, and the lighted porches. Wishing for the dawn – he would not sleep – and to miss his dad on the couch when he asked where the cigar money went.

The sound of fists gripping money. The cold skin and hot breath of a runner. The satisfied sneaker tread of an ‘entrepreneur’.

The rolling of night, into day.



Didn’t know there was a States of Jersey!

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