Fuck All Them Fuckers

Cracker was revelling in the sense of power his new uniform gave him.  Black, tight, with a nice badge on it proclaiming him a Security Officer of Downbelow.  He couldn’t believe that the Crew had given him and his fellow Lightboys authority over the dirty Greasers.  It was a dream come true.

The rules were that they couldn’t kill them unless there was no other choice.  Didn’t mean he couldn’t smack them around a lot though.

He watched as one Greaser, a middle aged man, stepped into his sector.

“Time go to work.”  He told his crew.

The other six swarmed out and surrounded the man.

“Why you here, Greaser?”

“I’m heading to my station.”

Cracker laughed, “If that true, show ID.”

The man reached for a pocket and Slick jammed his baton into the man’s gut.  “Going for a weapon.”

The others jumped in and soon the man was a bloody mess on the ground.  Cracker smiled at his team’s efficiency.  A laminated card was near his foot, speckled with the man’s blood.  It was an ID granting him access to the machine behind them.

“Back up.  He good for here.”

Cracker tossed the card and a handkerchief to the man.  “Clean self up and don’t let us catch without ID again.”

The man looked like he was biting back a retort and Cracker smiled.  He was learning at least.

Cracker signalled his guys and they all melted away into the shadowy nooks of the machinery, just waiting for the next Greaser who caught their eye.

The word would spread.  The Greasers would soon learn who was in charge of Downbelow now.




©  Robert Spalding 2011

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