Token Attempt

Mike was the banker in the family, just like his father before him.
I suppose you could say he inherited the position because he was named
after his dad, that's how these things are in families such as the
Small's. Like father like son. However it was Graham who was originally
destined to be the banker, being the eldest, but he was caught
stealing, and everyone felt that once a thief always a thief. That is
the real reason Mike got the job. He was the next in line, the second
choice. The story of his life. Where Graham went, Mike followed; it was
that way ever since the brothers were very small Smalls. Pushing up his
glasses he wiped the perspiration from his brow. Iron Mike was about to
make it; for the first time in his life he was going to get the better
of his elder brother.

He acquired the nickname Iron Mike at the beginning of the current
campaign; his mother thought it most appropriate, and felt it might
give him that bit of steel needed to succeed. He quite liked it, Iron
Mike. He repeated it, Iron Mike, sounds good, he thought. Not that he
liked Iron Mike Tyson, no way. Mike thought he was a thug and a bully,
but Iron Mike Small had a nice kind of ring to it. Yes, he
approved.

Looking across the table at the lady in his life, he noticed how tired
she was looking. He knew she didn't enjoy these long, late sessions;
she said that people tended to become impatient and argumentative, and
much preferred the peaceful life, sitting in front of the fire with a
good book. But she supported him; even tonight weary as she was, she
supported him. She always had done. Unconditional love, that's what she
gave him. Whatever he did she was there for him, even when the going
got tough, she was there to take him in her arms, and soothe his
furrowed brow.

He smiled grimly at his brother, the bane of his life, the brother who
always looked down on him, always appeared better, always won. He saw
in those narrow slit eyes, and the way his thin lips were set, that
Graham was anxious, worried that he was about to lose it, lose the
upper hand, lose the supremacy over his brother. This time it would be
different, this time it was Mike's turn, this time Iron Mike would be
victorious. They were so unrelated in looks, and no one would ever take
them for siblings; Mike tall and blonde, with dazzling blue eyes,
whilst Graham was shorter and dark with cold grey eyes, shadowed by
heavy eyebrows, unusual for someone of his age. He scowled back, a
sneer curling one corner of his mouth, issuing a portent of the
wickedness to come, should things go against him.

It wasn't easy, and there were times when Mike thought his brother
would crush him beneath his feet like a big, black, slimy slug. Graham
wouldn't care, he had a ruthless streak and trampled on anyone who got
in his way, he was a thoroughly nasty piece of work, but today he would
get his comeuppance, and victory would taste so sweet. Yes, Iron Mike
would prevail.

Mike suffered the bad times in silence, times so bad that he was
virtually reduced to bankruptcy. Shamefully and desperately, he
resorted to his brother's tactic, and transferred money from the bank
to his own meagre balance, rather than throw it all in. Not a lot, just
enough to keep his head above water, until suddenly, chance intervened,
and an unexpected windfall gave him the impetus to push on, to restock,
rebuild, and get back in the game. Then came the low point.

Through no fault of his own he was sent to jail. No amount of pleading
could save him; he was confined to suffer the ignominy of a spell
inside. Oh how humiliating it was, how frantically he strived to gain
his freedom, but freedom comes at a price, and he must pay; scraping
the bottom of the barrel to do so, and that meant a bit more light
fingered dexterity. No one noticed, nobody knew. He didn't steal much,
simply enough to get him on his feet again. Nobody queried where his
new-found wealth came from, because he was shrewd enough not to splash
it around, not to lash out on rash purchases.

The Fleet Street incident followed almost immediately, before he became
accustomed to freedom. Graham kicked up a fuss, shouting his name from
the rooftops; Iron Mike, fresh out of jail, with Fleet Street waiting
to welcome him with open arms. He dropped straight into his brother's
lap. Graham loved it; rubbed his nose in it. It was the worst thing
that could possibly happen, but the episode strengthened his resolve to
fight back and triumph over his adversary. Blotting out all the other
competition, he determined, by fair means or foul, to achieve the
hitherto unattainable, to gain supremacy over Graham.

And now the end was in sight; the silver sports car moved slowly, ever
so slowly, inching it's way towards the hotel, towards the definitive
moment, towards Iron Mike's moment of destiny. The clich?s were all
used up, the die had been cast; the dragon was about to be slain; the
end was in sight. Nearer and nearer the car came, moving onward ever
onward, taking an inordinate age, prolonging the ultimate act, until
finally it arrived. And went past&;#8230;&;#8230;

"Mum, he's cheating. He threw a six."
"I threw a seven."
"You did not."
"I did. A four and a three."
"Four and two, I saw it. Cheat, cheat, cheat."
"Boys, boys. If you can't play properly, then it's time to pack
in."
"Aw mum. I won, he threw a six, and I've got a hotel on Mayfair. I won.
Didn't I mum?"
"Look at the time you two, it's 9.30, well past your bedtime."
Graham picked up his brother's token, a small silver iron, and laughed.
"You lost, again."