Status: This literally came to me as I was driving to work today and I thought, "What if I was just snorting coke and yelling at cars passing me by?" I think this one will be interesting if I do it right.
A Boy, a Bike, and a Pound of Coke
My First Bike/Crime
Some people like to say I'm crazy, while other people like to get their fucking head bashed in. I guess there are two kinds of people in this world. My name is Bramly Ant Hicks. Some people call me Antics because of my, well, antics. Other people just call me Bram. I prefer my professional name, Bram the Delivery Man. I'm what you would call a smuggler of sorts. You need something? I can get it. Want me to deliver something for you? No problem. For a price, of course. Don't ask, don't tell. Fairly simple. I've been doing it for a long time, too. Like to say I'm the best at what I do. I've had competition along the way but I took care of them. I never liked competition anyways.
Here lately things have gotten pretty hairy. That's an understatement, actually. It’s gotten really fucked up. Have you ever almost died twice, every day, for two weeks straight? I have. Let me tell you that will put hairs on your chin. I'm getting ahead of myself here. I guess I should start from the beginning. Probably with how it all came to be in the first place.
It started in 1983 when I was 14. I was with my parents in a cafe in New York. This was back when I was good little shit. All of sudden, three guys in trenches came in and demanded their protection money. I just sat there while my parents and everyone else lay under their table. I was intrigued by how someone could do this in front of so many people and get away with it. One person took the money and drove off in a different car. The other left in a separate direction. From that moment on, I knew what I wanted to do. I want to do what the guy with the money did, but only better.
My plan was to get a bike and start stealing stuff and getting away fast. Foolproof. Only one problem remained. My parents wouldn't buy me a bike. Now my parents were loving and spoiled me enough but to a point where I didn't have everything. They told me I needed to learn how to earn things myself. Do chores to get money and so on. So I did. I bought myself I nice ass leather trench coat. It had built in secret pockets. The whole nine yards. Now, I still needed a bike. I noticed one of my buddies from school had one and thought to myself how expendable our friendship was. Henry used to tease me anyways. So I snuck out of my house one night, ran about three blocks up the street and snatched the bike. It was my first steal.
How did I conceal it from my parents? Well, we lived near a large sewer grate and I was able to stash the bike in there. The bike smelled but it made sure no one else stole it. Which no one ever did. Now I needed to find something big to fence. Not candy or food. Something worth noticing. Something that could catch the attention of our local newspaper. Perhaps the schools trophies? No, not worth any value. Then it came to me. The most talked about thing in our neighborhood. The largest diamond anyone has seen on this side of town.
I'm going to get that.
Here lately things have gotten pretty hairy. That's an understatement, actually. It’s gotten really fucked up. Have you ever almost died twice, every day, for two weeks straight? I have. Let me tell you that will put hairs on your chin. I'm getting ahead of myself here. I guess I should start from the beginning. Probably with how it all came to be in the first place.
It started in 1983 when I was 14. I was with my parents in a cafe in New York. This was back when I was good little shit. All of sudden, three guys in trenches came in and demanded their protection money. I just sat there while my parents and everyone else lay under their table. I was intrigued by how someone could do this in front of so many people and get away with it. One person took the money and drove off in a different car. The other left in a separate direction. From that moment on, I knew what I wanted to do. I want to do what the guy with the money did, but only better.
My plan was to get a bike and start stealing stuff and getting away fast. Foolproof. Only one problem remained. My parents wouldn't buy me a bike. Now my parents were loving and spoiled me enough but to a point where I didn't have everything. They told me I needed to learn how to earn things myself. Do chores to get money and so on. So I did. I bought myself I nice ass leather trench coat. It had built in secret pockets. The whole nine yards. Now, I still needed a bike. I noticed one of my buddies from school had one and thought to myself how expendable our friendship was. Henry used to tease me anyways. So I snuck out of my house one night, ran about three blocks up the street and snatched the bike. It was my first steal.
How did I conceal it from my parents? Well, we lived near a large sewer grate and I was able to stash the bike in there. The bike smelled but it made sure no one else stole it. Which no one ever did. Now I needed to find something big to fence. Not candy or food. Something worth noticing. Something that could catch the attention of our local newspaper. Perhaps the schools trophies? No, not worth any value. Then it came to me. The most talked about thing in our neighborhood. The largest diamond anyone has seen on this side of town.
I'm going to get that.
♠ ♠ ♠
If there's one thing I hate about books and movies, it's slow starts. I'm trying SO hard to cut through the bullshit and get to the meat of it all. Explaining origin stories and all is great but can be boring. I feel if you sum it up and get through it, you'll understand it regardless. You don't need to know what type of fork used to stab someone in the eye unless it's absolutely relevant to the story. The kickers are still to come in the middle. Hopefully by chapter 3. Origin story should be done by chapter 2.