“You could pick them up a dozen crates at a time, the way they want everyone to buy them but truth is that it’s a far better deal to buy two sets of six.”  Thomas Blue said with a smile, offering up his clipboard.  Webber wouldn’t take him at his word, of course, he never did.  He’d need to check the numbers for himself, probably run them twice.  He’d saved the old man over $1500 this past year alone and yet he persisted in reviewing his work again and again.

Webber made a noise deep in his throat.  “I suppose this means you’re still hoping I’ll give you that raise you’ve been yapping on about?”

“My kid needs braces on his teeth.  The only way I’m going to afford something like that, Sir, is a raise.”  He was hopeful.  The old man hadn’t brought it up, not once, since he mentioned it two months ago.

“I’m sorry Tom…”  He handed Blue back his clipboard.  “I just can’t see how it’s possible.  Things are hard everywhere.  To be honest, we’re damn lucky we haven’t had to shut down this whole department.”

Webber at least gave him a sympathetic look before adding, “But good work on these numbers.  This is going to save us a ton!”  With that the old man wandered off leaving Thomas to contemplate how the hell he was going to come up with all the cash to fix his kid’s mouth.

Blue left the old warehouse on the docks to a cloudy sky, threatening rain. His spirits were down, he'd never lie to himself about that. He sauntered down the busy dock, hanging a left back onto the street. He gave a frustrated kick to a shriveled can he encountered, seeing it tumble away after the impact. 

"Webber," he mumbled. Blue gave an internal groan.

The sound of music caught Blue's ears. A little open-door club had a band performing in it. It took Blue back to his childhood. One particular memory he had that was so bittersweet. He briefly fell into a walking day dream...

A radio echoed from the kitchen. The scent of blueberry pie hung out the windows, in tandem with the pleasant music. Blue was sitting on the front steps of his house, watching the other children play. It was a nice day out, the birds were chirping brightly and the sun coated the horizon, drooping in the late-day warmth. Blue had just had a bad grade on a test, though. His mom told him he wasn't allowed to play with the other kids, he was grounded. 

Two of the kids he knew, but not in a good way, noticed he was sitting dejectedly in front of the porch. They came over and started taunting him, "Blue's got the blues! Blue's got the blues! What's wrong, Blue? Nothing better to do but sit on your behind all day?" Blue didn't respond. After another moment, the children decided they had better things to do and ran off. He vowed never to get a bad grade on his math test ever again.

Blue snapped back to the present day when he realized he had walked absent-mindedly home. Reaching the front door, he blinked twice, looking at what was on the door. 

"An eviction notice?!"

The notice came away easily in his hand but he was too embarrassed to go inside.  Eight months they’d lived there and here they were again about to get punted out of the next house. He sat on the doorstep for a few minutes contemplating his shitshow of life then looked at his watch. His wife would be expecting him. The kids would surely be ready to talk about their days but he didn’t have the enthusiasm to feign interest just now.  With a click of his heels on the path he walked back to the pavement and headed back the way he had come. 

The shops passed by as Blue stared into space.  The butcher’s, the baker’s and the candle stick maker’s...all recipients of Blue’s expertise were soon ignored like the homeless guys downtown. The homeless guys...the down and outs with their cards begging to support their families. Was this the life he was headed towards?

”Blue!”

A voice called out from across the street. Blue kept his chin down, his determination to avoid human contact could have ploughed a furrow in solid stone. Blue wasn’t aware of the honking of horns as footsteps bore down on him.

“Thomas Blue!  Thomas!”  

The voice appeared in his ear and there was a tap on his shoulder. Blue turned in surprise to find a portly gentleman, red of face and slightly out of breath facing him.

“I knew it was you Thomas. It’s me, Matthew Spark.  From Gilligan Street. We were in the same primary school class. “

”Oh. Yeah. Sparky. Uhhhh...how’s it going?  What are you doing with yourself?”  Blue shook his hand, the words instinctively coming out. He didn’t have any interest in what Sparky was up to. Not unless Sparky was about to hand him ten grand just for being Blue. 

“Selling bits and bobs Thomas” he smiled, holding up a big case. “You remember, my dad had the hardware store?  Well business was slow after the chisel incident my brother had. Remember?  So we started going door to door to businesses instead of waiting for people to come to us.  We’re doing well. Just about to move to Ashdown Heights, me and the missus. What about you?  You here visiting?”

Blue had no desire to get into specifics and started rambling about his job, how great he was at it. He neglected to mention that while he was great with other people’s money, the irony was he couldn’t control the spending of him and his wife. 

"Say, it's actually rather a coincidence meeting you with that skill set.  Might be of use.."  Spark began as he looked for passerby as he continued, lowering his voice.

"See, got a bit of an issue with the tax man. Too successful, I think. Complains that too much of our business is done in cash.  Complains about receipts.  Wants to do an audit on the whole thing."

Spark's voice almost hushed to a whisper as he showed Blue a brand new Colt 1911 tucked in his pantaloons.

"And our definition of going to businesses to sell hardware encompasses many things that are best kept in private enterprise."

The sense of excitement, fear and opportunity hit Blue like a punch in the face as he felt his blood rushing.  With years wasted at his current pace, a part of him felt like he had nothing to lose.

"I can.. assist you with that."  Blue replied as he watched for Spark's reaction.  

"Numbers can be massaged. Moved around. They can also be put on someone else's tab, if you know where to look.  I can make you quite friendly to an audit."

Spark smiled as Blue continued.

"I can make entire shipping containers disappear on the books, if it needs to.  Write them as total losses for insurance purposes so you can double dip if you're feeling frisky."

Spark pondered for a moment.  "Hmm.  And you work at that old warehouse by the docks?"

Blue nodded in the affirmative.

"And Webber's so eager for new business that he'll take whatever he gets at this point.  This can be an arrangement I think we can both be happy with.  But for this to work, I'm going to have to make a few of those numbers go my way.  Got a family to feed and a roof to keep under their heads."

Spark smiled as he produced a wad of bills from his jacket.

"I think we can work something out." 

Blue smacked the wedge of dollar bills against the back of his hand. This random interruption to his day had soon grown to become the start of his future. His space-dazed wander had grown to become a strut as he returned back to fix all the wrong of his mundane life. It was simple, he'd get a big, juicy loan out from one of them 'sharks and he'd soon be creaming enough off the top that he could handle that issue later.

Joyfully arriving at his destination, Blue looks down at the business card and back up at the apartments he'd found himself under. Ninth floor, he began to ascend the mountain of stairs and found himself in front of a dingy-looking door. Blissfully lost in the thoughts of his perfect future to come, he wrapped his knuckles on the door. A large man answered.

"Yeah?" He was monotone.
"Good evening Sir, I have your card here. About the money?" Blue grinned.
The man quickly dragged him into dark entrance and slammed the door behind them, "SHHH!"

Blue squeaked as his back thudded against the wall, causing an echo throughout the near-empty house.

"There's ears everywhere, kid. For fuck sake, use your brain." He slaps his hand around Blue's head, his face shrivelling in panic. "Get in there," the lump shoved him through a doorway. As his head rolled around his tightened shoulders, he took in his surroundings, the single crack of light coming through the blacked window lit up what little there was to see. Some dust, old newspapers and last night's dirty clothes still left on the floor.

"Listen kid, I'm a busy man. What do you need? I either need to make a deal with ya or wack ya.. So make up your fucking mind and let me get back to jacking off."

A puzzled look grew across Blue's face, but his confusion carried him through, "Money. I wanna borrow some money. For 2 months." He stood a bit firmer and added, ".. Sir."

This wasn't the first loan he'd made. He'd soon outgrown the the banks restrictions, gambling was more loss than it was earn these days - especially since he picked up that big debt to Pauly Paul last week at poker. He shrugged off all of the concerns with the reminder of his future to come. Finally, some comfort in the knowledge that he would soon be able to fix his debts and make full payment of his kids braces. Taking the bag from Sir's firm grip, he smiles up at him and gives the case a little wave, "2 months, Stand. You got it. You da man, Stan!" He chuckles nervously, edging his way back towards the door. Stan grunts before speaking,

"Just remember, you fuck... That chisel incident that one guy had? That weren't no accident. Make sure you bring me back my fucking money or I'll break you into pieces." He stopped, raising his thumb and finger in a circle in the air before finishing, "Capiche?"

Confused again, Blue gulped and simply nodded for fear of what might happen if he dare make too much noise. He slipped out the door and back into the bustling streets of Philadelphia, completely unaware of the deal he'd just made.

The sun was already down and as Blue's steps echoed through the quickly emptying streets he felt a nervous chill creep up his spine. Walking around after dark was a bad idea at best of times and exceedingly stupid one considering the money stashed in his inside pocket. With The Great Depression still in full swing, throngs of people were struggling to put food on the table. There were no jobs, the stores were running out of stuff to sell and the streets were getting more and more dangerous, infested with gangs of youngsters that were banding together in a desperate effort to survive in a world and society that was indifferent and unconcerned with their fate. May be it was about time he finally got a gun Blue thought to himself, one just like the one that Sparky had shown him today. He should ask him when he sees him next, perhaps he could assist him with...

His thoughts were cut short as something slammed into his head. The hit came from the back, vicious and sudden, and made him drop on his knees. Before Blue had chance to realize what is happening a second one followed, completely dropping him on the ground. Incomprehensible pain and a swarm of lights filled his mind and as he was slipping out of consciousnesses he felt something quickly rummaging thought his pockets. 

A sound of water dripping somewhere near him. A cat meowing and hissing to his right. And pain, lots and lots of pain. As he came to his senses Blue slowly sat up trying to figure out what has just happened. What the hell was that? As he gingerly probed his head trying to estimate how bad it was he came to the conclusion that he was just mugged and that's when it came to him. The bag! Did they take the bag! His fingers instinctively reached into his pocket and grasped desperately at the emptiness inside, trying to find the money that were no longer there.

The realization hit him harder that the physical blows that he had just endured. I am fucked, Blue thought to himself, I am absolutely properly fucked. What now? He couldn't go back to Stan and try to explain what has happened, he surely would kill him. Or perhaps try and find Sparky, may be his old acquaintance might be able to help. With neither option looking good Blue curled into a ball and tried to figure out what he should do next.

As Blue lay there curled into a ball and he started to lose hope. The hit to his head had him in and out of consciousness. Old memories of his stepdad invaded his brain as he lay there. "You'll never amount to anything, boy! You're just as useless as your father, you deserve to die just like he did!" Blue clinched his hand into a fist and slammed it to the ground. "NO!" He yelled, with no one around to hear him. Just then he stood up with vigor and strolled over to the nearest park, he scanned the area and found exactly what he needed. He ran up to the man and his family on their bikes and flashed a piece of paper in the man's face and put it back in his coat pocket, "I'm an undercover cop, I need your bike, now!" The man looked scared, and confused and quickly gave up his bike. Blue hopped on it and rode into the direction he saw the figure go towards before he faded out of consciousness and lost the bag.

As the thoughts of his abusive stepdad still repeated in his head, he peddled faster. "There's that mother fucker right there!" He thought to himself when he saw a man in a hooded sweater carrying the very bag that was taken from his hands. Adrenaline flowed through his veins as he closed in on the man. Blue was out of breath, but he did his best to make his voice heard. "That's my bag, you prick!" Blue yelled. The man quickly looked back and seen who was chasing him and took off running and hopped over a fence into someone's back yard. Blue ditched the bike and hopped the fence after the man. 

They ran through backyard after backyard, but with a battered head and out of breath from peddling, Blue kept up with him and noticed a look of worry on the man's face as he closed in on him. Blue was almost in arms reach and dove at the man's feet to try and tackle him to the floor but had no luck. The man quickly jumped over another fence out into the streets and down a back alley. Blue hopped the fence behind him, but as he turned the corner into the back alley, the man was nowhere to be found. "Fuck! Where did he go?" Blue wasn't going to give up after chasing him this far, so he slowly walked into the back alley. Blue mutters under his breath, "Fuck, this was a mistake.."

”I assure you, there has been NO mistake." the man behind Blue growled into his ear as he pressed the cold steel of a .45 deeper into the crown of his skull. The money, I'm sorry... It was the money!" Blue cried back in a humiliating attempt at saving his own life. The man let out a sigh as if he was going to let Blue go. Blue put his hands up as if he was going to surrender, and slowly stood up and turned to the man. The man's eyes widened after Blue's foot punted his crotch. The gun fell to the floor as he grabbed his junk. With no hesitation, Blue picked the gun up and shoved it in the man's nostril. "You fucked with the wrong mother fucker today."

Birds in the trees flew away as a loud clap was heard throughout the city streets. Blue took the bag and strolled back over to his bike and hopped on it to finish the delivery, as Blue had some braces he needed to buy.

JUST FOR FUN - HERE'S THE OTHER WAYS IT COULD HAVE ENDED.

BONUS ENDINGS!

Blue took a deep sigh and took in his situation. 20 years left, at best. Mediocre life. Dead end job. Dead end life if he didn't get that damn bag back. Blue didn't have a plan, but Blue knew he needed protection.  Blue went back to the docks and procured the .45 pistol that Webber had kept for emergencies. While Blue was hardly the type to tote guns, he familiarized himself with the pistol and made sure that a full clip was inserted in.

As he made his way out of the warehouse, who Blue only recognized as "Sir" slammed the metal wall next to Blue with his hand as a beaten, bloodied and disheveled head soon followed.

"Fucking slimy thief." Sir growled as he looked in exasperation at Blue.

"Why the fuck are just standing there with your dick in your hand?  Get this bastard inside."

Blue opened the door unflinchingly as a flush of warmth hit his face as the hair on his back stood up.  He was just a fucking accountant, he thought.  What did he get himself into?

Sir dragged the unnamed man through the warehouse before turning to Blue.
"Knew you were soft. Fresh deer in the headlights eyes, you had. Thought it was best to keep an eye on you and MY money."

Sir eyed Blue up and down before noticing the pistol Blue had acquired.

"Well what's that then?"

Blue stammered.

"I.. I.. needed to protect myself.  I wanted to get that bag bac-"

"No fucking point to that."Sir replied, holding the bag in view of both the robber and Blue.

"But you've still failed in your task. You're wet behind the ears. So let's see if you're ready for the next level. You put that gun to his head there, and you pull the trigger on this thieving piece of shit, and we forget this little mistake ever happened. Otherwise I might have to take matters into my own hands."

Blue briefly pondered what matters there left to take care of after this robber and froze as he felt the weight of the gun on his arm. He thought of his family, wondering if he could take his chances to try and escape his and his family's life. Or he could strike out a new deal with a new life - with money to spare.

Blue felt a rumbling in his stomach as he looked the robber in the eye. The feeling of nausea imminent, Blue gripped the gun and walked closer to the robber, who began to plead with his life.

"This is a mistake! You weren't the target! I'm just trying to put food on the table, man!" the robber stammered as he began to involuntarily relieve himself in his jeans.

Blue gripped the pistol as the nausea intensified, a sickening feeling hitting the pit of his stomach.

"I.. am sorry."

Blue sighed in resignation as he pressed the gun towards the robber's skull.  

"..but I assure you, there has been no mistake."

"The money, I'm sorry.. it was the money! I was just trying to put food on the tab-"

BANG.

The jolt of the recoil sent Blue backwards as the robber's head bounced backwards before slumping to the ground, with Sir watching quietly.  The gun dropped out of Blue's hands as he was paralyzed with shock at what he had just done and how his actions had led him up to this point.
A hearty pat on the shoulder from Sir jolted him back to the present.

"Good work, mate."

Sir zipped open the bag as he found a fifty dollar bill, walking up to the dead robber as he gave him a hearty kick in the ribs.  

"Proper arsehole."

He leaned down and jammed the bill down his mouth before looking back at Blue, throwing the bag at him.

"Good work."

Blue caught the bag and stood there in shock as he watched a pool of blood form underneath the robber.

"Now then, what the fuck are you looking at? You helping me clean this up, or what? You're in this, now."

Swiping the .45 from Sparky wasn’t as hard as he expected.  Half a case of beer and the guy was out cold.  A gun was power.  A gun could get him what a legit job and even his ‘honest’ attempt at a loan couldn’t.  He’d just take what he needed from some suit wearing bastard who already had more than their fair share.  He’d payback Stan, maybe have some for himself.  Everything would be o.k.

Blue headed down to the area of the city known as Race Street and he began watching people.  These folks here, they dressed real nice.  They drove fancy cars.  One of these guys, or maybe a dame, they’d be his ticket to freedom. 

That’s when he saw him.  He was driving a car that was worth more than Blue’s old home.  His wing-tipped shoes shone like the fucking sun they were polished to such a high shine.  Blue fell in behind him, quickening his pace to gain ground until at last he was near enough to touch the fellow.  Heart pounding in his chest he pulled the gun and pushed it into the other man’s ribs.

“No one needs to get hurt here friend, just turn real calm like into the alleyway.”  Surprisingly the man didn’t even try to look back at him!  Blue’s fear became nervous excitement as the two of them headed into the darkened recesses of the side street. 

“I want your wallet…”  Blue demanded.

The man calmly reached into his pocket, making a point of showing Blue his hands were empty as he calmly pulled it out.  The man’s gold watch glinted in the morning sunlight and Blue shook his gun at the man aggressively.

“The watch too.”

“My grandpa Jack gave that watch to me…”  The man said calmly, as a gun in his face was as common as someone holding a newspaper up for him to read.

“You want me to bury you by him?!?  Look pal, give me the fucking watch!”  Blue snarled, feeling powerful for the first time in his life.  Fuck this guy and his expensive suit and his fancy car and his grandpa’s watch too!  Why should he have all the nice things while he and his family wallowed in poverty?  No.  Blue was done.  Done living that way. 

The man in the suit began to take off his watch and the corner of his lip began to twitch into a smile. 

“What?”  Blue asked.  “What’s so funny?”

The man stopped taking off his watch and instead, tightened the band.  Blue furrowed his brow.  What the fuck was happening here?

“Good Morning Mrs. B.”  The man in the suit said, clearly not looking at him… but past him.  Blue felt a metallic tang rising in the back of his throat.  His stomach rolled as he heard the clicking of heels on the paving stones.  His body began to quiver in time to the slow, steady rhythm of the footfalls.

“Tell her to go away!”  Blue half-shouted, half-begged the man in front of him.

“Godfather Mezzo,” He heard a woman’s voice behind him, mature sounding… the barest hint of an accent. 

“Look… this is a mistake.”  Blue began to cry, knowing he didn’t have it in him to kill a man.  Steal, sure… but not kill!

“I assure you, there has been NO mistake.”  The woman growled into his ear pressing the cold steel of a gun into the crown of his skill.

“The money, I’m sorry… It was the money!”  Blue cried back in a humiliating attempt to save his own life.

“Take care of the trash, Mrs. B.  I’ll see you inside.”

The last thing blue heard was the man in the suit whistling as he walked out of the alleyway.  Later, he would be found by police in his urine soaked pants… a fifty dollar bill stuffed in the back of his throat.

"I guess we can call you black and Blue, then, huh?" said the voice, of the dark-clad individual who lingered. The metallic clink of a round being chambered only made Blue lose his faith in the world even more. Blue started shaking, closing into himself while in his fetal ball, now fallen over on the floor. His fists gripped empty palms, white from the pressure he was applying unconsciously. 

"There must have been a mistake, I just got started! I haven't even done anything yet!" Blue tried to compel the hit man to spare him. 

"I assure you, there has been NO mistake. Nothing personal kid." the man towered above Blue growled into his ear as he pressed the cold steel of the .45 deeper into the Side of Blue's skull, who was lying defenselessly on the ground.

"The money, I'm sorry... It was the money!" Blue cried back in a humiliating attempt to save his life.

Several hours later, Blue was found by police with urine-soaked pants and a 50 dollar bill stuffed firmly into the back of his throat. Blue didn't live. His family? Who really knows. Vengeance motivates many...