Winfield Blue

Tommy Bannister, just 17 years old but already as tough as they come. Leaned against the cracked, decrepit brick wall with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He took a took a deep soothing burning drag trying to forget the good awful taste of cheap tobacco and chemicals, the roughness in his throat made it hard to swallow. But the smoke clawed it's way down his throat like it was on a mission with 0 chance for failure.

Tommy curled over, hacking out a rough cough that echoed through the narrow, silent alley.

"Holy shit," he gasped, spitting between the cracked pavement. "these hit harder than a fist to the stomach."

From within the smoke of the alleys entrance a deep chuckle rumbled. Tommy looked up, squinting his eyes adjusting to see through the smoke and dim lights, then he saw him. Mick "The Blade" James, a man who commanded respect, even from a young kid like Tommy. Mick was much older, broader, with a face that looked like it had seen just about every fist fight there ever was.

Mick strolled over, with the slight hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "They hit hard, eh?" He said, his voice gravelly, thick with the weight of too many late nights and even rougher mornings.

"Have you even smelt those fuckers? They stink like burning hair, I could smell it from a street away and thought someone might have been burning a body."

Tommy glanced at the cigarette in his hand and wrinkled his nose. Now that Mick mentioned it, the smell was pretty fucking rank. He threw it to the ground and crushed it under his boot, more out of embarrassment than anything else.

Mick shook his head, still smirking. "You want something proper?" He reached into the deep pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a sleak, glistening packet. With a quick flick he tossed it to Tommy.

Tommy caught it with ease, turning the pack over in his hands. "Winfield Blue," Thw name was unfamiliar but the packaging was clean and sharp. A far cry from the crushed pack he'd just ditched.

"Those bad boys," Mick said, lighting one for himself and taking a smooth, measured drag, "are the real deal. None of that shit you've been poisoning yourself with. Go on, try one."

Tommy hesitated for a second, before pulling a cigarette from the pack and lighting it up. The difference was immediate, no rough burn, no bitter aftertaste. The smoke was smooth, rich and strong in a way that didn't make him feel like he was choking on ashes. He took a second drag, longer this time, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs and then exhaling slowly.

"Now that," Tommy said, savouring the flavour "is a proper bloody smoke."

Mick nodded, seeming pleased with himself. "Damn right it is. Consider this a lesson kid. Sometimes you have to upgrade to get the respect you deserve."

Tommy pocketed the pack, feeling the weight of it, a reminder that maybe he was ready for more than what he had been handed. "So what's the catch?" He asked, always wary of favours that came with strings attached.

Micks grin widened, "No catch, just figured a kid like you, tough as nails and smart enough to know when he's getting a raw deal, deserves better. But if you're interested in earning more than just a better smoke, maybe we can talk."

Tommy took another drag, considering Micks words. Tommy had heard about Mick "The Blade" James, about the jobs he ran, about the way he liked to handle business, it was clean, efficient and without mercy. Tommy wasn't stupid, he knew an offer like this didn't come out of thin air.

"What kind of work are we talking about?" Tommy asked, his tone cautious but interested.

Mick leaned back against the wall, his own cigarette burning steadily between his fingertips. "The kind that pays much better than the shit you've been doing. The kind that gets you out of alleys like this and into something that might actually be worth your time."

Tommy's eyes narrowed slightly, his mind racing. He knew this was more than just a conversation about cigarettes. This was the start of something bigger, something that could pull him out of this dead end life he'd been living. But it was dangerous and once he stepped into Micks world, there'd be no turning back.

But hell, Tommy thought, looking at the Winfield Blue between his fingers, when had he ever been one to back down from a challenge?

He met Micks gaze, his expression firm. "I'm in."

Micks smile turned sharp, a predator's grin.

"Smart choice, kid. Let's get you started."