I found this story lurking in one of my writing books, and did a little polishing to get it here. This is for #FridayFlash. I hope you enjoy reading it!
Carl Murphy looked harmless, with his white socks pulled halfway up his shins and one hand in the pocket of his plaid shorts. Not even the well-worn Metallica t-shirt gave any indication of his true danger. When he walked into the dilapidated house, several people looked up to smile and wave.
“Yo, it’s Murphy! What took you so long?” A man with stringy blond hair walked up and gave him half a hug, holding his cigarette at arm’s length.
Carl nodded a greeting. He didn’t even need to talk anymore. His strength was in being both charming and vague, attaching a wisp of personality to his constantly changing face.
“Here, man,” said another guy, this one sporting a well-trimmed goatee and a pair of greasy cargo pants. “We saved this one for you.” Goatee held out a small roll of paper, a fresh joint.
Carl took it with a smile. “Thanks, man,” he said. No one ever used names. It was part of the scene. In his mind, they were Goatee and the Scruff, but ‘man’ and ‘dude’ tended to get the job done.
Carl took a moment to glance at the crowd. He recognized a few faces from previous gatherings, but not all. He wouldn’t feel bad for any of them, except maybe a few of the girls. The girls looked young, too young to be here, but old enough to know better.
The Scruff shoved a purple lighter in Carl’s face. Carl smelled stale cigarettes and saw the yellow stains on Scruff’s fingers. They matched the yellow stains on the man’s teeth.
“Fire it up.”
Carl looked at it, feigning suspicion. The Scruff leaned in close and half-whispered, half-shouted the words Carl was waiting for.
“White Widow, man! There’s more where that came from.” Scruff lowered his voice slightly. “Pierce scored three pounds today. We’re gonna be rich!” He broke into a chortling laugh that ended in a painful-sounding cough.
Carl grinned, but not for the reason Scruff intended. Carl avoided looking at the door and kept his anticipation secret. As he waited for the imminent raid, he fingered his police badge quietly in his pocket.