The Boss

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The streets, at the edge of the town, were cloaked in darkness, decorated by a row of clubs, like short terrace houses. The warehouse like buildings sat together in a thick, neat clutter. Lights spilled out from within, onto the dark gravelly street in front.

The clubs were all the same, cheap and noisy, places. The same amount of people stood outside each door, longing to be granted entry. The bouncers outside looked identical to each other, all clad in black, their figures huge and their muscled arms tattooed. The muscles of their bodies bulged from under their T-shirts and they glared around like they had nothing better to do.

The long street itself was filthy. The streets littered with wine bottles and take-out wrappers. Stray mammals wandered here and there, poking their noses into greased paper in hope of a few bits to eat. So far they seemed quite lucky. The people here had more to worry about than their usual diet.

The road was crowded with cars and youngsters stood around on the road, drinking and laughing. Among them was a hooded figure, followed closely by two teenage lads. All three kept their head down and moved silently through the crowd.

Standing alone, in a much cleaner place, a street away, was another club, larger, more grand and filled with double the amount of people. It had two storey's and stood majestic. It had its own car park and the bouncers here were dressed in suits, though were still all bulgy and frightening, looking more like large hit men.

It was towards this club that the trio made its way. Leaving the noisy crowd behind, they entered the private car park and mingled with the more sophisticated lot here.

The car park was alight with the golden light that spilled out the open doors of the club. The bouncers blocked the view from within and the queue, that was waiting to be allowed in, was long, snaking around the parking lot, consisting of all kinds of aged people; young teens with fake IDs to old men with white puffs on their bald heads. Truly this club was a spotlight. Music pounded out onto the streets livening up the night air.

Robert glimpsed some girls hitching up their skirts and re-applying their gloss to catch the attention of the firm looking bouncers. Still the men looked on, their hard faced unchanged, their gaze locked straight ahead. The girls stirred nothing in them.

Robert walked in the lead, eyes darting here and there, on guard. No movement was missed by his sharp green eyes. Moving his hand behind him, in a very subtle manner, as if to scratch his lower back, he signalled for his two boys to stand watch, while he, stealthily, slipped into the alleyway behind where he knew a client was waiting for him.

When Jared Boston said he wanted his load delivered behind the famous club - The Pit - he thought the man was crazy. But his customer had, in the previous transactions, proved to be quite a clever young man, and was skilled in evading danger, so Robert had paid less mind to it and worked on figuring the price of his tonight's sale. The estimated was enough to bring a sparkle to his eyes. No doubt he would go home with a thick wad of notes, or either a cheque with several numbers printed onto it. The thought made his mouth water.

Slowing his pace, Robert walked down the alley, his figure casting a gloomy shadow on the opposite wall. Some moonlight had managed to escape around the club. The sound of the blaring music, that had been so loud when he had been in the parking lot, dimmed a lit. The sound of the chatter and the drunk giggles were a hollow echo here.

Jared Boston was waiting in the darkest of shadows, his whole profile hidden, his frame camouflaged by the complete black suit he wore. As Robert stepped forward, he did too.

The man was tall, at least six foot seven, his shoulder wide, straining under his neat jacket. He was good to look at with shiny blonde hair, naturally tousled, and baby blue eyes that belonged anywhere but on a criminal's face. Jared was not only a drugee, but a man who dealt with robbery. The long scar that spoilt his otherwise flawless face, running from the left corner of his hairline, diagonal, over his eye, stopping halfway on his nose proved his harsh way of living.