Lean mean Larry kept a rubber cosh under the driving seat of his Sierra Scorpion - now fully taxed and MOT’d. Trying desperately to be cool and casual but unavoidably self aware, Larry eased the car around a quiet suburban street in Orpington, South London. On the straight run he jammed his free hand down the side of his seat and gently brushed a finger across the tight rubber surface of the concealed weapon. Judy, ‘the wife’, a long blonde with opaque like skin, obsessed with all things equestrian, laid a white gloved hand on Larrys’ leg. “I think we’ll do it tonight, Larry”. Larry nodded complacently. Shifting into third he eyed himself in the rear view mirror catching sight of a steroidal figure swaying antagonistically down the street. “Muscles Tony”, he muttered lethargically. Judy turned around. “Where?” “The Gordans, we’re ‘aving a get together later. He’s early”. Judy turned back and lowered the electric window on her side. Shaking her head regrettably she neatly spat a piece of chewing gum into the road. “What you hanging around with that loser for?” “I’m not, he’s hanging around with me. Anyway, it’s good to have muscles behind ya”. “Why?” Judy said, lighting a thin cigarette. Larry shrugged...

To be continued...