Pickpocket Chessboard

By Paul Rossi

Hustlers were everywhere in the world looking for the perfect trick to make off with a buck.

It did not matter what pocket they picked, it mattered what they made out of it. But there was one hustler, Steven Jones, who gave birth to flawless tricks that picked the pocket of anyone he came across. He had made money out of the Jacobs, hustling them from the remnants of a blood vendetta, now he was looking at his biggest move ever, making a billion out of playing hide and seek games with the government purse.

He was going to pick the government purse for a billion and the piece of deception to pull that off was written on a piece of paper. Now the question was, was he the right man who could dip his hands into the fox's pocket and pick up the poisonous snake that swallowed the diamond bezel?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sunny Publishers
• Release date: Oct 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781739553616

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

It was a Saturday evening in the city. The sun seemed to have let off a flatulence in the sky and as a result the clouds assumed a scarlet tint, mild gales whistled mild bliss as they circled the mist like a loose flirt. A man rose from his seat behind the desk with a lamp hold and a chessboard, leaving out one last move on the chessboard. It was time for the final mission, the reason he had been on his toes all this while. It took him ten minutes to finish in the shower, then he got in front of the large mirror in his bedroom. In another five minutes he was fully dressed. He walked to the point where he had left the all too crucial ‘briefcase’ containing everything that whistled surprise in the wind. He picked the suitcase up and carried it out of his house. He got in his car and was driving to the destination already, his heart beating with excitement; he had to walk on pins and fucking not prick his bag of nuts in the process before a worm beats a deer on the race to a billion dollars.

Half an hour later he had arrived at his destination, in the outer skirts of town. He got out of the car, he was dressed in a dark tuxedo, matching bow tie and fedora hat with dark sunglasses over his eyes. His name was Steven Jones aka Pockets. He had a diamond deal with the notorious and brutal Jacob cartel, the family of thugs who ruled over the dark of the city with a brutal fist. They had actually been responsible for the murder of his cousin Lucky Darlington. This business transaction was the only way he could get their attention in the world, the only door to everything he had always hoped to get out of staking your aces in the gloom for a bag of pleasantries. He walked into the warehouse where the transaction was set to go down an optimistic man, he checked his watch again; he was half an hour late, fashionable in his mindset because he had planned for the Jacobs to be waiting on his arrival.

He got into the warehouse, his business partners the Jacobs were already on the site waiting for him. He walked to the extensively long table that was located at the corner of the warehouse, the Jacobs were already at one end. He stopped at the other end and after a minute’s pause he opened his mouth to announce that he was ready for the transaction. Then he went on to ask them if they had come with the money, taking off his sunshades to show that he was serious about that bit. The leader of the Jacob family, a hunk of a man called Rex Brown, in a scarlet colour suit and a fucking cane in his hands, spoke up.

We have the fucking money, now I hope you came with the diamonds? No fucking jokes allowed in here till this is over or someone dies the fuck in here. Rex finished.

Pockets spoke up, urging them on, asking them to maintain their distance at the other end of the long table on which the transaction was set to go down. Then with hushed lips he signalled them to fucking show him what they had in their briefcase. They pushed the briefcase over to the point where he was posted, sliding it along the table. He caught the briefcase, his mind finally at ease, and popped it open. The cash was lined in the briefcase in hundred-dollar denominations perfectly stacked.

The man in the scarlet coat, the leader of the Jacobs, called out, That is fifty million in cash, now time to see the fucking diamonds.

Pockets finally placed his briefcase on the table, this was the fucking moment for him since this whole thing started. He had been standing on pins and needles and now was the fucking moment to show this devil-born sucker that he was one hell of a businessman. He reciprocated their gesture and slid the briefcase he had been carrying all day along the fucking table till it got to the point of the table where his business partners were posted. The briefcase got to them. Now he had theirs in his hands for the first time of the day, he was thinking he had finally laid his hands on the money. One more move to checkmate. The money he had been plotting for all day and all night, thinking up the most invincible moves on the surface of the planet to fucking trap the box under his arms. Now it was time to leave, the final bit of the plan. But first he had to walk out without any argument. He had to give the Jacobs time to get a glimpse at what lay in the briefcase he had brought. This was going to be really interesting.

Slowly he started to inch away from the table with the box of money clutched to his chest.

The briefcase can’t fucking open, it has to have an unlock code on the fucking dial lock to it. What is the fucking number combination that opens the briefcase? Rex the leader of the Jacobs family screamed from the other end of the table out of frustration.

66432104 on the dials! Steven screamed back, knowing he had just let off the combination that fucking settled all the grudges and grievances but most importantly settled the business transaction. The leader of the mob turned his attention to the fucking briefcase with all his men gathered round him. Immediately, Steven turned around and bolted for the doors. The briefcase Steven brought with him was a bomb device and opening the briefcase activated the fucking bomb and it blew up in a jiffy. Steven was already on his way out of the warehouse when the place went up in flames,

Checkmate on the chapel of bishops! Pockets whispered.

The thrust from the explosion propelled him across the room and dumped his ass just outside the warehouse. He had the briefcase full of money clutched to his chest and at least he was alive, but meanwhile he was sure that the Jacob gang, including their leader, had been reduced to fucking particles. The bomb trap had exploded on their asses, by now they were dead as a fucking duster and all he did was put poison on cheese and serve it to the troublesome rat, like putting two and two together.

Slowly he rose from the floor where he had been propelled to by the impact of the explosion. He slapped the dirt off his suit, clutched to his chest was a suitcase filled with money, fifty million to be precise. He parted his hair and then placed his hat on it and with his head held high he fucking resumed the walk back to his car. That was how Steven Jones made fifty million out of playing the Jacobs to the blues of the fucking meandering fox. Now out of the whole episode he had walked away with fifty million whistling the dispute that lay in raising wolves with pigs. Some people just did not have the brain to depict the move, well he had been working on the moves now for ages, making sure that when he put the option on the table that they would be too carried away with it to even suspect anything about his move – one of those invincible chess moves – neither did the fool have any disputes about it, till it fucking took all of their lives, all six of them; now he was in the clear, his killer package was not even suspected by the wise fucking guys, he could play his fucking aces and get out of it alive with fifty fucking million tucked to his chest. Now tell me where anyone in this fucking world ran into that sort of money even on a good day.

He drove off from the fucking destination with a smile on his face, satisifed he had not only made fifty million out of playing fox games at the window, but that he had fucking revenged his cousin’s death too. All that in one fucking package. ‘It was really worth the while’ he thought as he drove along the highway on his way back home, now he was fucking done with the missions that took him years to put together, a mission that killed two birds with one stone and as a result he had the money to buy his first mansion, his first super car and then start the first steps on the millionaire platform. This was victory, something that had been denied him for a long time in his fucking life, but he had finally fucking got there. Well for all he knew right now it was time to celebrate, he had to get himself together as soon as he had got home and paid this money into his account at the bank, then he could sit back to the implications of victory. Only this was just the beginning, he now knew the secrets of success – you had to blow things up with the hard work at the bottom and then the flame from it burnt the ashes of success, that was how far you had to go. Right now he was going to put that on everything he fucking did, everything he was engaged in even if it did not stick to him, he was ready to take on more opportunities, ride more nights, chant more war songs and take it right to the core and not fall out in his plans or off his horse. If that could be put together in one package then he could be sure he would pull off another hundred million from the dummy in the fucking stars.

Steven finally rode into the city where he lived. His first thought was to take the money to the bank and fucking pay it into his account. He took the turns on the major road that took him to the bank location, driving in silence apart from intermittent whistling of a jolly song. It was easy for the mission he embarked on to go wrong, but he had done his diligence and made sure that it did not fucking come off with flaws, hence he had successfully exchanged the bomb-trap briefcase for the money in the box and walked out of it alive considering he was dealing with a gang as notorious as the Jacobs. They fucking killed rats, they killed lions, they double-crossed morons, they fucking robbed the wise and the poor as well, they had no fucking manners, they had no fucking respect, instead people had all the respect in the world for them because they were the most brutal monsters alive. They had not believed someone could double-cross them, so he had taken a handful of them in one swipe, like he had to make the turtle hatch the goose eggs and take off with the outcome. Well he came with every trick in the book, sure that if he fucking missed anything he had another option that fitted real fine.

Steven finally parked in front of the bank. He got out of the car with the briefcase and decided to leave his hat in the car. He shut the car door behind him and walked all the way to the bank doors, stepping into the premises, a whistle under his breath, it was a victory song from the hive of the killer bee. He walked all the way to the counter and dropped his briefcase on it. He focused on the lady behind the partition glass and spoke up.

I have come to pay some money into my account, Steven said.

Alright sir, can I have your account number please?

In less than thirty minutes he was through with the transaction and he had just paid fifty million into his account. The money was now in the bank. Every operation so far was a fucking success, he had fucking made fifty million and it was time to party. He thought about hitting the casino and having a drink at the bar, but he thought against it, he had to go home, sit down and think about what he had just done, think about tomorrow and what else he was going to do. As far as he knew, as long as witnesses were concerned, no one came out of the warehouse where six of the Jacobs had been killed in a bomb blast. He got in his car, reversed from his parking spot and joined the traffic; this time he was heading home, nothing mattered any more. Now that he had made money, nothing was going to bother him anymore, at least for a very long time. His intuition and instincts were right this time, his head was ready and his mind was steady, he could take on any scenario in the world to have his fucking goals accomplished. He took a bend, keeping steady on the steering. All his feelings were loose, celebrating, gyrating, they just could not stop buzzing. In the back of his mind he knew this was good for lifting the spirits only now that he had gone from nothing to a millionaire with the flick of the fingers, what in the world does he do next? Does he just sit down and fucking feel comfortable with the money he had made, or does he keep chasing substance, see if he can squeeze something out of the instance to fucking strike gold? He was definitely on his way, however you looked at it. Steven knew if there were chances to take he was a lucky cat with a fucking option in the kitty. If nothing else he fucking put his life on the line for what he fucking believed in. The game was won, the minute he spotted a chance he was going to make it into an option and then hit it in the head with a nail and hammer. Nothing was fucking going behind his back without coming across his wide-eyed scrutiny, he was going to copy every mystery into his graph books and plot the fucking outcome, he was going to come alive at every offer and scrabble up what fitted best into his goddamn coat. it was a long-time oath of his; as far as he stood in the precinct with a coat to stuff a decoy in he was ready to face any situation and steal the heart out its fucking torso. He was sure of himself this deal with the Jacobs only went to show that he had been right all the while. Now he had his eyes on something else, the lotto ticket he fucking got, if the number fucking matched then it turned out he was the winner of the jackpot. That would be his way out of hell, right in the middle of heaven, he would give anything to get there, right now he was taking infant fucking steps. If he hardened the core a little bit and put a flame to it, he might end up being the fucking president. It was a two-way thing, one way you fucking won another way you lost your ass in the dry.

Steven had always known where he fucking belonged, it wasn’t a difficult choice to make because even as a kid you chose if you wanted to be a king or if you wanted to be a slave. He never looked at the next option in his life, he had always chosen to be king, but it was different in the world, no one did it for you, you had to do it yourself, you had to build your own throne, your own crown, your own believers, everything was a solo fucking effort. That was the reason why by now he already knew where to go, what to attack, moves to be made, transactions that fucking intrigued even the slowest businessman in the world. But as for the Jacobs it had been a long time coming. They were responsible for the murder of his cousin Lucky. It was pathetic, he really could not let that go, so he went to the tables and started scheming. The question was how was he going to find a way to penetrate the Jacobs for his fucking vengeance. He fucking cracked his head for years in his little house behind the large desk in one of his rooms. He kept thinking all the time, how would he fucking knock the Jacobs out the fucking courts in one big move that caught everything midway in the air even without any evidence. He bent down with his head in his arms for hours before he finally came to the conclusion, he was going to make them a business offer, they could not suspect business that would fetch them millions in the wind, so he went for it. He put his plans against the possibilities and schemed till he pulled something out the bag, something that could kill two birds with one stone, something that would fetch him money as well as get him his revenge on the notorious gang against the killing of his cousin. That was when he fucking made the move after he had fucking found out what to do and invested his money in building an explosive briefcase. He approached the gang and fucking asked them if they were interested in buying diamonds worth two hundred million for only fifty million. He had the merchandise and he sent them pictures of real diamonds saying he had just got it on a lucky snatch and he wanted to sell them for less than half the price because he wanted the money badly. The Jacobs fell for his incredulous story because they knew no one would ever mess with them and so vengeance had been served but at a price. The outcome, fifty million that he had just paid into his fucking account, now it was time to play worse than little Jack ever did.

CHAPTER 2

Julius Jeffrey, also known as the Whistle, was a pocket thief, a petty criminal that operated on the street amidst the crumbs or wherever the sun shined. He was very crafty and cryptic, he could make moves that go unnoticed in a blink of an eye, he was a slick little thief, a crook, he had been doing it ever since he was seventeen but he got his real break by the time he was twenty-seven. He stole a bag out of a luggage trolley in the airport, he went back home with it thinking there was money in it or even valuables, maybe jewellery, electronics, something he could sell for quick money. But it was not the case, instead he discovered a map and some instructions behind it that led to some lost treasure known as the ‘Goat head’. Immediately he knew that if he was a thief, chances like this were the adventure of a fucking crook’s life, he took his time to learn the map closely and then he went for the fucking piece after he had thought hard about it and prepared even harder.

On his first mission he did not discover the treasure, he missed it but he simply kept trying. He tried it ten more times and on the eleventh time he fucking nailed it; he found the treasure in a metal safe in the attic of a massive derelict building called Crow Eye. The building had been illusive, it had been the big puzzle, he would not know the mission was that easy till he finally found the building tucked away somewhere in the maps. The outcome was that he finally laid his hand on the treasure, a thousand-year-old relic worth a fucking fortune. He worked on it even harder till he came by an Arabian buyer who paid him twenty million for the piece. Well he was as low as a fucking purse snatcher, only he fingered people’s pockets for valuables on the open street to their fucking ignorance. He made money because people were ignorant, unaware of his slippery fucking fingers, at least he made a nasty living out of that but he did not believe it would take him that far, not for one fucking day. He thought it was just a habit that helped him live from hand to mouth literally, but it had taken him to a place he never thought he would get to. To him, living the dream was not for survivors like him at the bottom, who only hoped that the next meal would somehow land on the table and that would be that; living rich and wealthy was a myth to him, it could never come true, it was one of those episodes that only lived in wonderland and the way to wonderland, well, it was filled with all types of misfortune, impediment and hindrances. Plus it could never really be traced to an end, the way to wonderland till he fucking picked a pocket and laid his hands on the map. He thought wonderland was impossible because there was no way to it, it was all an illusion, till out of his habit he just came across the maps to wonderland. It was impossible, he would never believe it even in his dreams, he fucking made it! He beat the giant setback, where his beliefs could not even reach, he had never thought of making it any day before he discovered the treasure, he had thought somehow he would make it from a petty thief to a petty gambler and that would be as far as he could go. He never believed in living in mansions worth millions, he never believed in having all the exotic things in life, what the hell would that make him? He only believed in hustling pockets in the down low, where everything you got was petty and it could only take you as far as another night. Then one day he wakes up in a five-million-dollar mansion and could not fucking believe the finger expedition that took him to the right purse. Now what the fuck was he going to do with all that money?

He took a long time to figure that out. He wasn’t banking on becoming that rich like a monster, have enough to feed a fucking family and a big party, it was not really the path for him, he could not believe it. Since he lost his family in a fire accident he had not believed that he could survive on his own. It was very difficult in the bottom where he existed with nothing. If he had any beliefs in life at the time it was to make his next meal, even his goals in life did not go as far as being a millionaire, he only had one goal and that was survival and the next would be to pick the next pocket that went by the fucking streets. Now he had done well; matter of fact, he had done excellently to get in a place he never deserved, some place he never even hoped for or even dreamed of turned out to be heaven, but for a hustler who heaven was alien to, who did not believe he would even make it or bother his head, he had made it and life was different now. He now had found everlasting joy for far too many nights to come. He had everything he wanted and for the first time he felt like he was powerful, but then his habit still lived inside and since he could make it with this habit, someone else could! Now all he had to do was hire that man, a pawn, a lowlife from the bottom and put him in a position to pick the city’s fucking pocket, pick him millions out of uncertainty and close reality, make him money, because now that he found out he could make money it was now a fucking obsession of his, a big fucking obsession. Plus he had to keep playing his chances, but right now he was too big to stand on street corners waiting for a fucking opportunity to dip his hands into people’s fucking pockets. He had to find someone to do it for him, that someone had to be petty like he used to be but he had to be lucky too because that was the only means he knew he could make money from. He had done it before so making money from dipping into pockets was not a mystery. It could be done, but this time someone else should take all the risk.

Julius had decided to hire a pickpocket from the streets, someone who would fucking make up for the opportunity he was missing out there in the mist, someone who had the ultimate trick, the swift fucking move that eluded discovery, the fucking chance taker, the thief, the pettier the better. If he was filthy and crafty and he was from the crumb, he would fit well into the picture because he would be willing to take any chance, petty or mammoth, and that mind would never miss treasure if he was set in the same vicinity. He would go into taking last chances and land Julius his master something in the fucking end. His head could not reason above the level of a petty thief, one who once made it and that thief was him, meaning it could be done, and if he believed it could be done, then the next feasible move would be finding someone who could fucking do it and he did not care if he had to stripe a bob cat fucking nude to fucking do it right away. Since then, Julius had his eyes open on the streets, he even hired agents to sort out the swiftest thief on the streets for him. He did not care if the man who had the record had his ass in jail or was a free man; all he needed was to find the fucking fellow who could perform magic with his finger and stand the chance of crossing paths with treasure worth a fortune, and better yet disappear with the fucking chance while he was at it. That was what he was basing his theory on, and if it stood a chance he just was hoping on one, one chance, one opportunity and the crook could slip out with the fucking headline the moment he had a chance to come in contact with it. This was his resolution and he had been working on it for a very long time. It was exhausting, thieves were missing in the mist, their oath was never to be caught at all, so if he had to catch a glimpse of his man he had to be lucky because the kind of thief he was hoping to find was the kind that was beyond being caught. He had used his awareness and his financial comfort to hunt for his man, but it looked like the harder he tried the more difficult it fucking got. The thieves he had found were petty ones, shoplifters not professionals, not what he wanted at all; they were not intricate, they could not fucking make it, his aims were just too high, he could not settle for less because less would not make it. Julius had tried all he could to find his twin on the street, he had men working for him searching the rustic for stories of illusive men like that, but he could not lay his hands on what he wanted for the first time since he had made it rich. It was a blinding fucking effort but he would not stop either, he wanted money, he wanted fucking success and the only way he could make it was through the finger that mingled everywhere because the treasure was hidden somewhere. It just needed the right fingers to fucking pick it up. But it looked like this would not happen for him so he had to fucking look at other ways of making money out of open opportunities.

He thought he should delve into the painting market, buy paintings and fucking make money from the profit of selling them at auction. He could make his way up the ladder little by little but the only thing he believed in still got to him. It ripped his heart out that he could not place someone out there that took fucking chances and brought them home to him, in the fucking open looking for a fucking purse that houses the valuables maybe make him take a bigger risk, go for the fucking industries, where the big money lies, steal opportunities that lead to documents that were worth millions and then his mind could come back to rest, satisfied that he had doubled his fortune and that he was fucking successful as far as life was concerned because if you didn’t have a taste of the high life you would not know what making it in the dimwitted world was worth. If you did not make it you were still blind as far as life was concerned because you had not made it to the door yet; that power lay behind to discover what you could do with your fucking prowess and your cravings. It could be worthwhile, you might bring certain dead things to life with the money you had in that pocket, that was why it was his will to pick every pocket of that fucking money no matter how mysterious it turned out to be. He wanted a taste of everybody’s power right there in the middle of his plate for him to feed on. Now that he had made it to the stool of power and influence he was not going to stop for any reason, he was going to take it to the very top so that he could gain satisfaction out of his numerous cravings. It was a strong will now that he made it, he even wanted it more; goes to show you how much a man had to get to find satisfaction. Success was very necessary in the world, it separated two kinds of men – the struggling man and the established fellow. Now he was established out of maintaining his habit really and if he could not find someone to keep up the work he had to do something else – invest but he did not really like the idea, it was too tedious and complicated, it would take him an age to settle into that, but he liked the better things of life, like luxury, interesting things, expensive things and the lot, things not everybody could reach. Making money had changed him a lot, it had changed his beliefs, his approach to life, everything, it had made him think of making more money, to get more pleasant things for himself, to keep the flashy fucking effect that pulled him ahead of most folks, that took him away from his nightmare which was life on the street. It was much better when you made it, when you ran into that unbelievable amount of money that you just did not fucking deserve, when you ran into success, the goal that was almost impossible to fucking achieve. Unlike most people, he did not think of all that, he did not even set his aims to achieve wealth, he just went ahead and did what he had to do to survive but then in the middle of all that he ran into success. Wealth was fucking success, at least to the man at the bottom. Now he could cherish the life, now he had wishes that he wanted to achieve, not like before when he did not have any aim in life. He just moved about looking for an opportunity to eat, not wishing for anything big because his enlightenment did not get up to there, he was on the low and surviving under there was a real big task. You had to grind your teeth and even when he stole it would normally not be enough to even last him a day. How ironic because it turned out that he finally stole something that made him money to last him a lifetime. Now he had to use that money to grab at power, that meant one thing – make more money so you had far more power than anyone could reach.

He had a very big dream, wild too, but first he had to set about achieving it. The opportunities were lying out there somehow, but how the hell could he lay his hand on what he wanted? He could invest money on a business venture, but the question was, is that realistic to him? Will that solve all the problems he wanted solving and most importantly would it give birth to more money, more than he had ever laid his hands on? He did not believe a business venture would answer all those questions, but he believed in one opportunity, just one fucking blind ass opportunity and he would have laid the golden eggs out of the bottom of his dangling nuts, in a fucking oversized bag. He believed in this more than he believed in any business venture he could lay his hands on. He wanted the opportunity to make another fucking round of millions, not wait on his toes for his chickens to fucking hatch an egg, that would take a frustratingly long time. He wanted the one-time opportunity; it was the thing that turned his chicken eggs into goose eggs in the first place, that should repeat itself in the near future, not the wait and patience that a business venture fucking deserved.

CHAPTER 3

Rose Mills got up from bed with a start. She checked the clock immediately and rose from her lying position. It was a little bit past four in the morning; she should at least have one or two hours more sleep before she’d be up for the morning. She cuddled the sheets about her while she picked her mind for something to do. It did not look like she would be able to go back to sleep, at least for now, and she hated wandering about with nothing to do. She sat up in bed clutching at her pillow; she had already reached the little table by the side of her bed and picked up the packet of Camel cigarettes as well as a lighter. She put the stick of cigarette between her lips and set light to it. The cigarette lit up immediately and Rose inhaled deeply, drawing in a lung full of smoke. She puffed the smoke to the roof and adjusted herself in her bed. It was time to make out what her next round of moves would be. She really had to get ahead of things as far as survival was concerned; right now her job as a receptionist in a law firm would not fucking keep her on her feet, she had to fucking make moves, she had to dig into the world for a means to make it out of the bottom. If anything could fucking put her in the position to make a lot of money from the chessboard to reality, she had to take it while it fucking lasted. It was dead deep in her soul the will to make it out of the crumbs; she loved the pride of success and the effect it had on the conceit, she loved bragging about what she could be up to and what she had, it made her stand out from the crowd and gave her a sense of satisfaction that she was heads and shoulders above everybody else in sight. But what she needed the most it turned out would not come easy to her. It was a huge ask and she was frustrated already but she would always keep an open heart. If things started working out right and she finally had an oppurtunity for the big things, she was going to snatch it right away like a great hunger living in the depths of her soul. To this point it was real, she lived in the fucking shadow and any minute now she would fucking spring up from all her setbacks and that would be the beginning of a new story.

Rose puffed her cigarette toward the ceiling. She was optimistic the day was going to be bright as far as she knew; it was too early to tell but she had the feeling that everything would work out one day.

It might take a lot of patience and a lot of persistence but in the end I would sing a song of victory right out of this mouth, Rose whispered. She put the cigarette butt to her lips and sucked in a lung full of smoke once more. She shot the bedroom clock a curious look; the time was moving past 4am, it would take another one and half hours for her to be fully on her feet. Right now she was just posted on her bed trying to put the week together, probably the month. She had appointments but she needed to fix new ones, she was looking for something she could indulge in that would disburse a lot of cash right into her hand. Her mind wandered but she was not coming up with anything about how to pick a pocket and lift a fortune. Maybe she would just keep up with her daily routines, fix everything that needed fixing and then just step back. For a single lady in the unpredictable world she was doing good; she had a car, she had a house and she fucking had a job, what else did she fucking need but to come out of the bottom? That was a great nag on the back of her throat, she hated being stepped over and in her current life a lot of people had to step over her to walk, in her daily life, her office life and sometimes even in her private life. It had got to the point that she thought it sucked but without any other option she thought she did not have anything to do but wait for things to change. Maybe one day on her way to running an errand she would run into a connection, some sideshow, ideally something she could milk a million out of. But then laying a hand on a fucking million in her world meant you were impossible, even the big boys, the managers, the accountants, all the people she worked under were not millionaires. You needed a special flare in you to be able to make it to the millionaire status – that was charisma she did not have yet, something she was willing to buy or maybe steal off the fucking tables in any game, but it would take a hard time in this life before someone like her or even anyone out there ran into the kind of money she had on her mind.

She finished the cigarette on her bed and put it out in the ashtray. She grabbed another one from the packet and checked the time on the wall clock. It was twenty minutes past five in the morning, she should be out of the house by 7.30 am, that was her daily routine but today she was ahead of things. She could be fucking planning the future early enough before she got the opportunity to engage in something else. Rose finally lit up another cigarette and puffed the smoke toward the air of the roof, her mind still wondering where the hell she could lay her hand on a fortune so that she finally got what she needed what a wealth situation could give birth to. If she found the opportunity she was going to jump on it in a heartbeat, but by now she was supposed to have come up with something, at least a good plan to get herself right where she wanted to be in the scheme of things. A better life would be everything, it would mean her world was not going to cave in like it always pretended to do, it meant she had a promise in life and she would not be caught up dealing with scarce resources. She would eventually have more than enough so everything in her world could be accommodated and then taken care of. She would not have to work her mind to a way of thinking of how ends could possibly meet from what she’s got. With wealth she