I woke up with a snort. Wiping drool from the side of my mouth, I blinked and looked around, trying to get my bearings. I heard the chime of my WristPod going off again. Uhhh, where was that damn thing? I looked up Granddad’s ancient analogue clock. Shit! I was going to be late for work!

  I stumbled from Grandad’s chair and immediately the adventures of the previous night crashed into me like a tsunami. Pain screamed through my body, starting at my hand and radiating up my wrist, arm, shoulder, neck, and straight into my brain.

  Groaning, I scrubbed my eyes and then my stomach joined in, mournfully growling while my bladder felt like it was about to burst. Not exactly a noble start after a heroic night. After relieving my painfully full bladder, I shoved stale, but piping hot, instant noodles into my mouth to take care of my painfully empty stomach. A fistful of painkillers were washed down with another multivitamin drink and I was out of the door still blinking sleep from my eyes.

  I pulled my faded green backpack over my shoulders and noticed that my grubby white sneakers had a fresh hole in them. I frowned down at the sight of my big toe.

  “Morning Alex,” a cheery old woman said to me.

  “Morning Margaret,” I replied, trying to give my friendly elderly neighbour a warm smile. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine my dear, how are you? You’re looking a bit peaky this morning?” Margaret said, eyeing my more than dishevelled appearance.

  “Oh, I’m fine, just late for work.” I said, wiping my nose nervously.

  “Oh dear, well make sure you have something to eat, don’t be going out on an empty stomach. And how’s your Grandad?” Margaret asked, sending a stab of panic into my chest. “I haven’t seen him in quite a while.”

  “Oh he’s fine,” I lied.

  “I should knock for him and invite him over for a cuppa,” Margaret said.

  “No… he’s not in,” I said quickly. “He’s taken up eel fishing again. He’s gone most of the day.”

  “That man,” Margaret tutted and rolled her eyes. “At his age he should be slowing down!”

  “Yeah right.”

  “Well, give him my love.”

  “I will do. Bye Margaret!”

  I raced off, my heart hammering in my chest.

  No one knew my Grandad had passed. It had happened so suddenly. Grandad was ex-military so they took care of the funeral arrangements. The flat was a part of Grandad’s military pension, and if the council found out, they would have taken it off me and put me into care as I was still 17. It had been surprisingly easy to keep up the lie. On the Mulberry Estate, people learned to keep to themselves.

  I raced down to the street, my shoes flapping, hitting the puddles and soaking my socks. I barely made the electro-rail, which would have been the last one for that hour and would have meant at least a wet slog through the Borough. I would have definitely been late, and maybe even stabbed or mugged on the way.

  The electro -rail was always a depressing place, but it was particularly so this morning. Everyone looked dishevelled and tired; the place had the reek of wet bodies that hadn't been washed in a while. Everyone had their faces buried in their wrist pods. No one wanted to glance up and acknowledge that anything else other than themselves existed.

  I alighted from the tram onto the busy thoroughfare and made my way to Mark's Florist. Mark was a good man. He had known my Grandad from way back, and he owned a little flower shop just off the main broadway. Strangely, in these modern times where technology could do everything, small luxuries like flowers, actually grown outside, were quite popular. Mark did a fairly good trade, although increasingly fewer and fewer people could afford such a luxury.

  I raced into the shop, red in the face, the whole left side of my body aching, my hand desperately clutched against my chest. I threw down my backpack and looked up at Mark behind the counter. He was a rotund man, going grey and bald in the middle, with crazy tufts of hair sticking out the sides of his head. He wore round glasses that were too thick and magnified his eyes like a demented insect. He gave me a half-serious look, peering down his spectacles at me and then up at the clock.

  "Morning, Alex," he said, tutting. "Doing a half day today, are you?”

  "No, I'm sorry, Mr. Miller," I mumbled as I threw down my pack and pulled out my apron. "I just… the tram was late and…”

  "Save the excuses," Mark said, waving me on. "Go get yourself some breakfast and a hot drink and then get to sorting out the petunias. Marilyn's already back there hoofing the boxes; go help her out.”

  "Sure," I said, giving him a brief smile and then hustling away, thankful that today wasn't the day he'd finally gotten sick of me.

  I pulled my apron on, grabbed a coffee and some biscuits, before walking into the back work area of the shop.

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  "Morning, sleepyhead," I heard Marilyn's sweet voice ring out from somewhere behind the petunias.

  "Morning," I mumbled shyly.

  I heard Marilyn laugh, and then she appeared carrying an armful of flowers. She placed them down on the table and began cutting away thorns and loose leaves.

  "Go grab those roses and give me a hand," Marilyn said to me.

  I nodded and did as she said. Marilyn was only a couple of years older than me, but she seemed decades ahead in terms of maturity and understanding of the world. She always made me feel like a gawky kid. Marilyn had gone to the same school as me, but she mysteriously dropped out after only a few years.

  Marilyn was tall, almost as tall as I was. She had brown hair with golden highlights, freckles, and eyes as green as the flowers she chopped. She was always smiling and so friendly. The cynical part of my mind thought that was suspicious, but I can't lie: I enjoyed that a pretty girl actually talked to me. Most of the time at school, they would just pull faces or make fun of how dirty my clothes were. But Marilyn was never really nasty to anyone or anything. She'd even pick up ladybirds if they got lost in the flowers and take them to the window to free them.

  "What happened?" Marilyn said sharply after looking up at me and seeing my swollen lip and how I hugged my injured arm to my body.

  "Oh, nothing. I fell down.”

  "You fell down?”

  "Yeah, down some steps," I said lamely, cursing myself and wondering why I hadn't come up with a better cover story.

  "How many steps? And what did you do to piss them off?" Marilyn asked, putting down the shears and walking around the table.

  She looked at my hand and then gently prised it away from my chest. I tried to resist, but it was so painful that pulling away from her was worse than letting her touch it. She turned the hand over, noticing how bruised and swollen it was.

  "You should go to the hospital," she said.

  "Who's got the money for that?” I said with half a shrug.

  "You should at least go to the free clinic. You might have broken something.”

  "I don't think so," I said, shrugging again. "It looks worse than it is. Honest.”

  I could see in her eyes she wanted to say more but then she sighed and let go of my hand and picked her shears back up.

  “You can still work?” she asked and I nodded. "Good, Mark needs this to go out by the afternoon.”

  We worked for most of the afternoon in silence, with Marilyn humming along to music that crackled on the old analogue radio. As the day went on, my arm became less painful, and I was able to use my hand a bit more, but even so, I was slow and clumsy.

  We had just sent out the day's shipments and were getting ready to close up when someone walked through the front door. I heard Mark's muffled voice, and then the door opened again, and the tone of Mark's voice changed. I couldn't make out what was being said, but he suddenly sounded worried. Marilyn looked up at me, her brows creased in consternation. I walked around the table and peeked through the door, and my heart froze. It was Goldilocks and his three goons from the night before! There was a blade on the countertop, and Mark stood there practically quivering, trying to remain tough in the face of the thugs.

  "Now listen, old man," Goldilocks said very matter-of-factly. "All this is, is a bit of casual shakedown for protection money. Do not turn it into something more. You know the deal. You pay Brick or we rob the place, clear it out, and set it on fire. The choice is yours.”

  Mark looked at him with hard eyes.

  "Son, I've lived in this area longer than you've been alive, and I've shaken hands with real bad men and real thugs from around here who didn't take from their own like this.”

  Goldilocks rolled his eyes and looked at his mates.

  "Yeah, yeah, we've heard it all before, old timer. Things have changed. Brick doesn't give a shit about the old rules. If you work in this area, do business here, and make money, then you pay Brick. If you don't like it, then you pack up and move somewhere else. Simple.”

  “Simple,” The Urinator growled from behind.

  "I'm not going to be threatened in my own store," Mark said, jabbing a meaty finger at him.

  "Oh, I'll do more than threaten you," Goldilocks said, and his three friends chuckled.

  My heart was pounding. My good hand had curled into a fist. What did I do? Had they come here because of me? No, there was no way they could have known I was here. There was no way they could have recognized me. I swallowed and started to think. I had to do something but I didn't have any of my gear with me. I was just vanilla old me, and I couldn't take on those four last night when I had everything and the advantage of surprise. I looked around for a weapon and picked up the heavy shears. Marilyn saw me and her eyes went wide. She placed a gentle hand on top of mine and shook her head.

  "Now, old man, we'll be back here tomorrow, and we want our money. And if it's not here, then… well you’ll be having a real sudden going out of business sale, understood?" Goldilocks said, speaking slowly as if Mark was dim.

  Mark grimaced and didn’t respond. Goldilocks slapped Mark across the side of his face hard, sending his glasses flying. Mark stared at him, too stunned to react.

  The thugs all laughed at Mark and left the shop, kicking over a couple of flower bins, on their way out.

  "Tomorrow, old man, make the right decision," Goldilocks called over his shoulder as the door banged shut behind them.

  I felt sick. I didn't know if it was fear, anger, or self-loathing, but I wanted to vomit. I should have done something. How could I let them hit Mark like that? I slammed the shears down, my body quaking with anger. Marilyn rushed past me to Mark’s side. An angry red handprint had started to form on his cheek.

  "It's okay, it's fine, I'm okay," Mark said to her. "Calm yourself down, dear."

  "Those bastards," Marilyn spat angrily. "They’ve been doing this everywhere, you know. They threatened Mr. Hollister, they threatened the bookmakers, they threatened the coffee shop, they even threatened little old Deirdre that runs the grocers. Everyone has to start paying this Brick person."

  Mark sighed and wiped his glasses before putting them back on.

  "It's the way things have been going, I'm afraid. This area, the criminals here… they used to believe in something. They left good honest people alone. Now, these young punks, they couldn’t care less." Mark ran his hand over his bald head. "I can't afford to pay them and the rent, and the taxes are due as well." He sat down heavily. "Is it really even worth it anymore? I should just retire, like your Grandad," he said to me.

  I swallowed again, shame burning my face.

  "Don't worry, Mark," I stammered out. "It'll be okay, I promise."

  And my mind was made up. I was the only person who could stop those thugs, and they would not be hurting Mark or anyone again. I swore my life on it.