First Time

Fergus was a nervous wreck. No, forget that! He was spazzing out! The dusky-skinned eighteen-year-old clutched his yellow and red rucksack to his stomach as the tube rocked along, still several minutes from the station. He had boarded forty-five minutes ago, anxiety growing steadily since, not only over his destination …

Prison Blues

Goldfinger leaned back on his bed, smoking a cigar. Twice a week, one of the guards brought him a new package containing supplies for the week. His Cuban cigars, a stash of cash and cigarettes, a new burner phone baked into a fruitcake and a stash of sweets. He extracted …