‘I ain’t joking Dale, I’ll fucking cut you, where’s my money at?’ As a knife is flicked out on demand and plunged to the throat of Dale sitting in the passenger seat of his dealer’s car. The darkened glass didn’t dull the shine on the blade, and even though it was black, the edge was sharpened to a mirrored glint. It was a small blade, under for 4 inches and still legal. Dale knew however, as he seen his eyes in the sharp edge, the damage would be deadly and his dealer was serious.

  ‘Chill out Justin, something’s wrong, 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. Dale looks to the blade again, closer to his face than it is in length. It’s not the first time he’s had one out and pressed to his throat. This time, the reputation of the man on the other end leaves trickles of cold sweat under his arms that begin to shake. 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 though, they dulled every sense of reason in his little mind.

  ‘You said last Friday and haven’t answered a fucking call since, I ain’t being taken for a mug.’ Said Justin pulling the knife away and 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 darkened 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 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 and now he’s getting a knife to his throat. 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, I swear you’re getting done on site, no fucking about.’ Said Justin putting away the knife and holding his 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 to 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 just turns his phone on silent at seven and sends out the multi texts after his first joint in the morning.  

  ‘Easy Smithy, how’s your Friday going?’ Said Justin playing with his knife, flicking it in and out.

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

  ‘Want some work?’

  ‘You don’t fucking work.’

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

  ‘Fuck that bollocks, I’ve got a squeaky job here.’

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

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

  Smithy pulls the phone away from his ear. Justin laughs down at him at the other end and 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, laughing at him and wiping a tear from his own while pointing. 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 need to understand something Smithy, it will get you out that bullshit factory….ya know, put some real cash in your pocket. All you need is balls man, don’t even need to be that big. Do you not want cash in your pocket?’ Said Justin looking down to a little Prada bag down the side of his door, the zip opened and bundles of tens and twenties can be seen poking through.

  ‘I’m stacking now man.’

  ‘Filling penny jars doesn’t count.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s for me Justin. Alright, err, I’ve got to go back to work anyway, I’ll speak to you later about it.’ Said Smithy ending the call. From the clock above the kitchen, it’s less than ten minutes until he’s back to graft. Last time he looked it was twenty and he’s barely finished his lunch. He was clock watching for the last twenty before lunch and it dragged like an hour. 

  Smithy looks up from his phone and a supervisor is in the doorway to the factory. It’s the one he’s been warned about from the blue shift. Mark the fucking shark according to his shift.  Mark waits impatiently for the clock to strike, as if he’s been pulled into a shift he wasn’t supposed to be on and can’t wait to let someone know. He clears his throat as if readying himself to unleash once the bell rings. Smithy doesn’t even need to see his handywork to know what a jobsworth he is. Far too chipper for his one pound extra an hour for Smithy’s likening and believes the whispers he’s heard.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  ‘BARE COINS MAN, COINAGE!!’ Reads Smithy on his WhatsApp and a Giff from Justin showing a man 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. Within seconds Messi goes on a run from just inside his own half and the clock’s forgotten, Messi hits the crossbar soon after from range with a screamer and he’s replaying the footage in his own little world.

  Smithy feels a pinch on his shoulder however moments later, followed by the sweat of a man who washes his work clothes on a cold cycle engulf his personal space. ‘Oi, what you think you’re playing at, the bell went five minutes ago.’ Said Mark as his neck pumps with excitement and his frown cements itself with an unnatural smirk of a horrible man enjoying the fact, he now has an excuse, an excuse to create a victim. Smithy’s been here for ten weeks and has done well to stay under the radar. Not anymore. He looks down to his half-eaten sandwich and then the clock.

  ‘Didn’t hear it, I’ll put my stuff away and get back out there.’ Said Smithy standing and gathering his things. He tries not to hold eye contact, so his lack of fucks didn’t transcend too clearly and encourage the little man to push for his exit.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Dan Smith.’

  ‘I’ll be writing you up to management, don’t expect to stay past your three-month probation if you haven’t finished it yet.’ Said Mark and he just walks away, heading to the office where management is situated on the mezzanine first floor.

  ‘What? What are you talking about? Only sat here for a few minutes. Mistakes happen, can’t be fucking a man over for a few minutes.’ Said Smithy running over 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 cleaner, an old lady with a limp does not seem to notice as she exits with a full bin bag that drips her route. No one seems to notice the sign asking liquids to be emptied first either.

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

  He walks forward as if challenging Smithy to a fight. Goading a hit, with hands in his pockets and smirking. Pressing on and forces Smithy to back-track, like he’s done it a thousand times before and knows how far he can push a desperate man. All those family men with mouths to feed have to take it. The mortgage doesn’t pay itself and with every step he was gaining confidence, realizing he had another weak one to bully and get his kicks out of. He speeds up until Smithy’s pacing back and bumping into a haphazard chair not tucked under the table.

  ‘Now fuck off back to your line you little prick.’ Said Mark with his finger pointing to the factory door. The machines have just started, and their vibrations reverberate, giving Smithy a choice. He doesn’t think twice. Although, he probably should have.

  ‘Fuck you, you fucking prick.’ Said Smithy, picking up a chair with his two hands and throws it, crashing into the kitchen, rattling the cabinet doors as Mark creates his own ‘near miss’.

  ‘You better fucking 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. It was like 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 just went off.

  ‘Fuck off.’ Said Smithy walking away, middle finger to the camera watching over everything and swivels in his direction. He walks towards two security guards as they enter quickly. They contemplate taking him on and ready themselves for a scrap. They then look to the tables and a scene only created by a man going through an episode and step aside. They are not getting paid enough for a black-eye and just raise theirs and offer him to the open door.

  ‘You know to move, you mugs.’ Said Smithy stepping through the security, before hearing Mark behind laughing. The security guards stand between Smithy and Mark with folded arms.

  ‘Well done little boy, payroll isn’t until tomorrow, so we’ll see who the mug is losing a month’s pay.’  Said Mark, as Smithy turns to see Mark laughing at him. He probably took the extra shift to ruin someone’s life before payday the sociopath thinks Smithy, and he fell for it.

  Smithy checks his phone. It’s only the 19th. One day 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. Hearing the faint laughter follow him out into the carpark, he takes his phone out and calls before turning around and receiving a sentence and a black eye.  

  ‘Sound. I’ve finished early, you could say open to offers, come over for a chat, I’m interested.’ Said Smithy walking out the front gates, management watching with a phone to their ear behind. It happened so quickly he didn’t even remember the journey out. 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.

  He finally peer back as he exits the gates, Mark stands there calmly with his arms folded as if butter would not melt. Now it was worth the extra shift. He personally gets to fill in a form and engage with management, in the faint hope they’d notice what a useful little prick he is.

  ‘What? You’ve just bombed me off.’ 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. He doesn’t just shot the gear, none rarely do. He makes more money off the weed than he ever does powder if ‘wastage’ is accounted for.

  ‘Things fucking change, don’t they?’

  ‘Safe, I’ll bring over the new cheese I’ve got, it’ll blow your fucking jaw off.’

  ‘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.’

  ‘That’s smart, fucking hell man, 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. 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. Fucking prick, absolute prick.’ 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. I’ll see you around seven most likely, I’ll bring a few pizzas.’

  ‘Top man, make it pepperoni.’

  ‘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. 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.