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Rated: 18+ · Chapter · Crime/Gangster · #1240751
Part one of a story about three vagrant youths who make their own laws
Thrills of the night lay in wait, and only in their engagement was enjoyment to be found. Adrenaline, alcohol, sex and narcotics were always a choice on the menu of decadence. They served the test of time well, with many people submitting their existences to their causes.

We are slaves to darkness, wallowing in it’s seductive grasp.

Speeding along the intersection provided sufficient adrenaline for the upcoming job. After slowing slightly on a bend, Fionn eased the car back to the previous fender-bender velocity that was surely making this car’s journey it’s last.

A sudden thump was heard, along with a violent shudder of framework.

“Hey, I think you hit something. Shit, slow down!”

“Fuck that, we’re making good time. And how many times have I told you not to be such a pussy?”

Decker was silent once more, keeping his opinions to himself yet again.

The matchbox of a motor gave away it’s arrival with its guttural wrenching that was emanating from its core. A cheap car, which had been stolen anyway, for a cheap job. It had survived the wrecking ball, it would seem.

This car had only one use now; other ones would follow for subsequent jobs. Its occupants always selected a new car for each of their outings, it was less complicated that way. They made no pretence about borrowing these cars, because there was never any intention of returning them.

The selection of a vehicle for a job was as good as a death sentence for it. It would either burn, drown or become a sacrifice for the trains. It was far more satisfying to see a car on the tracks than a coin.

As wolves the three stalked closer to their prey; a late-night off-licence. The hotwired horseless carriage was left running in the car park; this would be a quick and efficient job. All they required was enough liquor to get sufficiently drunk and bold for the night. It does not do to be sober on such a pleasant evening as this.

Molloy’s was a well-kept, respectable establishment not far from the busyness of the main shopping area of the town. It’s interior lights illuminated the stretch of concrete ahead of it, casting a soft white glow. The large front window was immaculately kept, not tarnished by posters or advertisement stickers.

This worked to their advantage, because they could instantly see the only soul inside was that of James Molloy. Although he had firmly and frequently denied them the privilege of buying alcohol and cigarettes at a younger age, they had decided to be gentle with him, seeing how he was such a pillar of morality in society.

The three donned their hoods and approached the floodplain of light with quick and direct steps. Upon their entry James did not move for the phone. He knew exactly what was happening.
There was no silent alarm. In a small outlet like this, and in such a decent area of town, there seemed little need for one.

Walking in direct lines to each of their planned items, they arrived at the till simultaneously to stop and chat with James. The three of them each had knives waving about freely, but James had a twelve gauge under the counter. Their raised voices and threatening manner seemed to do their job, just as Fionn had said. He stood rigid and made no effort to react.

Something about the shopkeeper unsettled Fionn. The others seemed to not pick up on anything unusual, but to him something about James’ reaction sent alarm bells ringing. His expression was of a smug grimace, as if he knew something the lads didn’t.

“Alright, now if you tell anyone about our little shopping trip, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you tell anyone”.

Still James Molloy remained sentient.

Piling the bottles of whiskey and cigarette packets into the back of the car, they sped into the night. Decker and Lee whooped with joy and the buzz of another hold-up.

Fionn was quiet. He was sure they had slipped up. Surely the old bastard hadn’t installed some sort of silent trip-alarm, he thought. Something about the was he was so calm and quiet, and wholly unafraid. From his reaction and out-of-towner would swear they got robbed every week, judging from his reaction.

There had been only one other incident at Molloy’s prior to this one. That was when the three lads had still been stealing money from their mother’s purses to buy cigarettes and Mars bars.

That hold-up became the subject of much ridicule. It was without a doubt the most disastrous of jobs Fionn or any other had heard of in all of their careers.

Four men were involved.
One kept the engine running around the side of the building. The other three rushed in shouting and brandishing lead pipes.

In broad daylight.

During rush-hour.

The driver noticed a young woman crossing the street, one who bore a remarkable resemblance to his at-the-time girlfriend. He figured the others would be a minute or two, so he decided to surprise his girlfriend. Sneaking up behind her he playfully tweaked her backside.

It wasn’t his girlfriend.

A case of mistaken identity and a slap in the face later, he returns to the car.
Only to find a warden writing up a ticket for parking in a loading bay. Fear ricocheted around in his mind as he realised the dire consequences of this.

The government now knew the location of a stolen car, in the direct vicinity of a liquor store robbery, with the times synchronising perfectly.
Any second the others would emerge, clearly making a getaway with armfuls of booze and cash. Under no circumstances would the warden let them leave, not without paying the on-the-spot fine, anyway.

Even if they had miraculously overcome all of these obstacles, the traffic was crawling along at a snails pace, leaving little room for getaway cars to perform their usual bouts of stylish weaving dance between other vehicles.

He considered his options, and found the only appealing one was to run as far and as fast away as possible.

Of course they all got caught and it was the subject of everyone’s conversation that this town was now home to the country’s dumbest criminals.

Upon returning to their safe house, Fionn, Decker and Lee surveyed their haul with satisfaction. They had taken more than enough in their frenzied haste. More than enough for tonight at any rate. Three litres of whiskey, two of vodka, three hundred cigarettes and a novelty ashtray that had caught Lee’s eye.

Fionn was more agitated than usual when drunk that night. He was fucked-up mentally anyway, but when he got drunk or intoxicated, the wolves really came out to play. They partied all night long, with Fionn becoming increasingly more angry and violent as the night progressed. He seemed sure they had not heard the last of that job.

The next morning Lee was woken up to loud banging on the front door.

“Police, Police”

Lee sat up, still reeling from the effects of last night, his mind and body groggy.
As he came-to on the mattress on the floor, he wondered what they would do now.

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