West Walls Waltz.

Paul Wilson had spotted his mark as soon as he’d left the Board Room Pub on Castle Street.
The old guy had finished his pint and while getting ready to leave, he’d dropped his wallet causing at least a hundred or so in tenners to spill onto the floor. The old coot had then dropped his walking stick with a loud clatter as he stumbled to pick up his money.

This was an easy mark…and Paul Wilson like those.
The old duffer had turner right out of the pup doorway and headed towards the looming Cathedral gates.
The towering structure was great to look at in the day time with its flying buttresses, gargoyles and classic stained glass windows…all of which were lost on Wilson at night.

Night time was for drinking screwing and rolling old codgers like this one for some easy money.

The old dude was thirty feet ahead when Wilson followed him out of the bar. He allowed himself a little smile. Granddad there was gonna get the shock of his life in about two minutes time!

The mark was heading towards the old archway which led onto the old city walls.

The West Walls were the original boundary for the fortified city of Carlisle. Thick sandstone battlements had protected the ancient city against the Scots in its most turbulent periods and now served as a mildly interesting area for witless tourists.

Paul followed quietly behind as the old giff turned left through the archway.

Maybe the codger had a car in the car park on the other side of west walls. Paul quickened his pace so as not to let the old dude and his money slip away.

No fears, the fella was leaning against the wall some twenty feet ahead. The ale must be kicking in…

Then Paul stopped in his tracks. He could hear voices…

“Give me your wallet you old git!”

“I…I haven’t…”

“Give me your friggin’ money or I’m gonna open you up!”

Then Paul grasped the scenario is disbelief – some other shit heel was mugging the old dude!

Paul ran forward swearing – “Hey that old twat’s mine!”

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