Drop Off

Merrydown nodded towards the old guy who’d just exited carrying an aldi carrier bag and a walking stick. A rolled up newspaper under his arm completed his ensemble.

“Fuckin’ hell – piece of cake!” laughed Andy.

“Easy as pie” chipped Simon.

Merrydown and the wide-headed Gerald just glanced at each other then smiled in silent agreement.

The four set off in persuit of the old scrapper that some called ‘Mc Murder’.

Merrydown couldn’t believe his luck. The old soak was heading down a side street; away form prying eyes and passing traffic.

They caught up with their target in the car park of an old decorating and home-ware centre...wallpaper and duvets; that kind of thing.

The old dude was fishing in his pockets, maybe looking for the keys to his car that would be parked up in the free car park. Old Skinflint.

Knowing better but feeling juiced by his back-up; Merrydown laughed out loud, “You tryin’ to find your dick in there, old man?”

The old man in question jumped with fright and looked around nervously at the four young men. Each was in their mid to late twenties.

The old man gave a weak smile, “Evening lads.”

“Evening to you, you old fuck-nut!” spat Gerald.

“What? What’s up?” asked the old guy.

“They call you ‘Mc Murder?” challenged Merrydown, his face a scowling effigy.

“Mc Murder?”

“Yes...Mc Murder!” Merrydown over emphasised every syllable, as if talking to a simpleton.

The old man laughed nervously, “No I’m not Mc Murder…he is!” pointing behind the group of four.

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