11

“Sixty two, Sixty three, Sixty four. . . Eighty seven, Eighty eight, Eighty nine, and Ninety.” I heard a man scream from inside when they counted a Ninety dollars. I mean, Ninety thousand dollars. I heard the sound of hands clasping together in a handshake, chuckles and laughter. Who wouldn’t be happy to be counting Ninety thousand dollars? Although, off the top of my head, I knew all that money was not a hundred percent acquired through legal means. Did I say a hundred? I meant one percent. And this was unarguable. Why was I so sure of this? 

First off, they were a gang. About two cars; a black Audi and an equally black Range Rover rounded the fuel station and parked just outside the store beside the fuel station. A couple of well built men hopped out of the Audi, then from the Range Rover, a man who looked to be in his mid fifties and a younger guy who wasn’t as built as the others but muscular enough to definitely take me on. That said, yes I was