Good Things Happen to Bad People

The three main characters in this story are Frank, Harry and Sam.
Those aren't their real names but they are real people. For that and
other reasons that will shortly become apparent I won't be using their
real names.

So Frank, Harry and Sam. Frank and Harry are bad people. They are bad,
bad men. If you met them you would know it straight away. They have a
calmness about them that seems unnatural. They dress in suits they
could not possibly afford. Frank always, and I mean always, wears a
tie. Harry is a big guy. He intimidates people with his presence, just
by being there. You would think he was the brawn and Frank would be the
brain, but it's Harry who does the talking, and very eloquent he is
too. Frank's role becomes more apparent after the talking.

Sam isn't like Frank or Harry. If you draw a chalk line on the ground
around good and bad Sam sits on that line and moves with it. Meeting
Sam would be an all-together more wholesome experience than the Frank
and Harry package.

I've established two of my three key players at the bad end of an
arbitrary moral spectrum but it's important to show you that all three
have their finer points.
Frank for example loves animals. I mean passionately. Loves them. His
house is a menagerie of cats, dogs, goats, fish, spiders, and lizards,
the whole works. It must drive him crazy keeping the hairs off his suit
but he loves each one of them.
Harry is more of a boatman. He races speedboats, cramming his enormous
frame behind the wheel, filling his trophy cabinet despite his weight
disadvantage.
Sam has never really had a hobby as such but I like to think he's the
sort that you can depend on, loyal to his family and always willing to
help a friend in need.

They are key players in this story and key players in their market in a
little pond way. Our little pond is a generic midlands town that's got
too big for its own good. At the moment it's finely balanced between
success and desperation. But it has some active campaigners including
Frank, Harry and Sam who are keen to fight for the cause.

Take today for example. Its only half past eleven and Harry has already
put a number of shopkeepers straight on some matters of concern. Frank
is disappointed because as yet today he has been unable to stretch
himself. When they come into my shop Frank is not looking happy.

"Morning Ab" says Harry helping himself to two Bounties and a Double
Decker. Harry has adopted nicknames for all his clients in an effort to
improve customer relations. Where he gets the names from is unclear but
according to the butcher three doors down there is a sophisticated
system at work.
Now he's done with the pleasantries Harry adopts a more direct approach
which involves Frank accidentally dropping a crate of Lucasaid onto the
floor.
"Insurance's going up Ab" says Harry. "Its very difficult to keep our
premiums down when things keep getting broke." Frank laughs
unnecessarily.

I know this already. Each shopkeeper down the row has phoned, "Frank
and Harry are on their way". I've had plenty of time to restock my
chocolate counter with the special selection.
Frank is looking for more glass items. Then spies the magazines.
"Harry mate, have you seen these mate?" He's tugging at the top
shelf.
"They're all fresh in this morning," I tell him, as he tries to peek
under the greyed out wrappers. "Why don't you take some? There's this
months copy of Fish Owner Magazine too, second shelf down."
Frank's eyes fill with childish delight, as if this same routine
doesn't happen every week, as if he wouldn't just take them any way. I
know Frank loves coming into my shop not just because I'm easy to
intimidate but also because he always walks out pilled high with
goodies. I toss him a Lion bar.
"Complements of the house." and he catches the chocolate and grins like
a big kid.
Harry clears his throat to refocus the attention on him and the
conversation switches to business. Harry examines my books for the
week. He congratulates me on my increased revenue. He explains wearily
that not all the traders in the row are as honest as I am.
"You remember that hairdressers Ab? Cut and Run was it? What was it
called Frank, that hairdressers that burnt down? Hair Today? Well they
were keeping two books Ab, and that's a very bad thing to do. We had to
ask them to stop didn't we Frank? Frank?"
"Singe the Fringe" calls Frank, engrossed in the fish magazine. "Any
chance of Snickers mate? This is going down a treat."
Harry shakes his head, tosses him another bar and continues. "But
you're a good man Mr Ab, one of our best clients, we give you special
attention so you don't need to worry."

I'm telling them how grateful I am for their service when the door
buzzer rasps and a ten-year-old girl comes in. Harry and Frank both
glare at her but fail to intimidate her out of the door. She is the
daughter of the butcher. Every Saturday morning for the last two years
she has attended the local drama school. Now its time to show her
father and his friends its all been worth it. Today she has a cameo
appearance as cute local kid #1 to reassure our principle players that
the wares in my shop are fit for human consumption.

Nothing is said while she's in the shop. She takes her time, singing
faintly under her breath. She stands by Frank at the magazines rack and
picks out a copy of 'My Little Pony'. Frank has progressed to his other
magazines, but he looks up when he sees an animal and briefly she makes
eye contact. He turns red and tries to hide his discerning selection of
titles in amongst each other.
She squeezes past Harry to the till where as arranged she picks out a
Flake and bubble gum, my heart pounding as she reaches for the right
snack. She gives me a handful of change without looking at me and is
eating the Flake before smiling at Frank and skipping out of the door.
According to Harry "That's chocolate for women", and according to Frank
"It's never tasted the same since they changed the wrapper." So we kept
the Flake safe.

It's about then the reality of what we're doing sinks in. The reality
of what I've done sinks in. The two most violent people to ever stand
in my shop have just scoffed enough horse sedative to put down a pony,
smiling as they did. Cold strangulation creeps around my guts and I try
to look relaxed, as if this is a normal day of extortion. I'm shortly
to be a murderer, an executioner, and dead if they should
suspect.

Harry turns back to me, hand outstretched for payday. I'm struggling to
control the panic rising inside. I want this over and finished. I fill
two flimsy carrier bags with hard earned bundles of tens and twenties
and push them into Harry's giant paws. At the edge of vision Frank
sweeps two of packets of crisps and a packet of Hob Nobs into his coat.
I guess he never grew out of lifting from the corner shop. I can see
him hiding in a guilty corner stuffing his bounty. Stuffing until he
was sick. Well some things don't change.

I'm willing them out with a subtle mind trick that only works in slow
motion. They edge towards the door. Harry reminds me about next week.
Frank does his best Schwarzenegger. I can't hear what either of them
says thanks to a carpet which envelops my head. Harry is through the
door but just as his foot is over the line Frank turns. He's remembered
something he had forgotten and heads straight back towards me.

On his own Frank doesn't look the part. The only clue to the
retribution Frank dealt my brother before he torched the salon is
hidden in slate flashes behind his eyes. Now he's just another customer
in front of my till asking for an instant slice of lottery highlife. He
hands me a dull round pound coin.

I'm almost touched. This man could take anything from my shop without
payment or fear, this man brought our town to its knees. This man who
will be a corpse in a few hours, slumped with his associate across the
leather upholstery of their Jag. This man with so many enemies that our
special wrappers will flutter away without investigation.

I pass him the card, trying not to make it feel like a last wish. He
has the same ten-second fever of excitement, of possibility for change,
of hope as any other customer. He rubs and looks up at me with a guilty
grin, the grin that sunk a hundred careers, the grin that is forever a
child's.

"I've won a tenner mate!"

He is genuinely excited, even though it's a fraction of what I have
already donated to his cause. I pay up and he walks out of my shop
happy at last.

"Goodbye, sir" I murmur as he leaves.