The Seven Day Gangster

Chapter 1

I shut my book and stood up. Not again.

Glancing briefly at my silver Rolex, I smoothed back my dark hair and straightened my recently ironed cardigan.

"I'm only saying this once, lady. Hand over the purse and your fancy little watch now."

I was relieved there was only one guy this time. Groups were pretty rare, especially at this time of the day. And over the years, I had grown wiser as to travelling the streets at night.

Anyways, individual men were easier to handle in any case.

Using my best cutesy voice, I looked innocently down at my watch.

"But it was a birthday gift from my great-aunt." I searched the man's dark brown eyes and saw no pitying look whatsoever.

"I don't give a shit, woman. Just hand them over." Damn, so my hit towards sentimentality had been crushed.

I looked nervously down at my purple converse, wondering when they had gotten so dirty.

"Or what?"

I think the man was shocked at my sudden and brazen outburst, because he widened his eyes and was silent for a few seconds.

"Or what? Or what? Your seriously asking me that girl?" The man glared scornfully at me.

"Well, at this point you're probably thinking of physically overpowering me and then stealing my stuff," I replied, trying to reason with him. "But let me tell you that your approach really won't work. I'm a black belt karate master, two time world champion and featured several times in magazines and tv shows for my abilities. And if we were to get into some sort of physical fight, I assure you that I will end up on top. In fact, I can swear I will."

If the man was intimidated, he hid it rather well. Still, having a girl my size and age respond like that with him did shock him into silence once again. After a few moments, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a Colt revolver he had probably picked off of someone else.

I almost whistled; it was a nice gun, no doubt about that. But I preferred it to be hidden away in his pocket.

"Who said I was looking to wrestle a pretty little thing like yourself when there are different ways of getting the job done?" The man smiled. Yep, I most definitely preferred it hidden away.

His smile was terrifying.

I gulped and involuntarily stepped backwards. Okay, this was most certainly not heading in the right direction.

"You probably don't want to be doing that." I cleared my throat; I had been too soft.

"You probably don't want to be doing that," I repeated a little louder, my voice clear in the morning air.

The man stared at me for a second, then threw his head backwards, letting a loud laugh out and showing me his teeth which at most, seemed only slight acquaintances with his toothbrush.

"Oh darling, that's funny. And why not?" His eyes lit with amusement.

I stared directly at him. Greasy, brown hair, late-20s. Unshaved, probably with a perpetual 5'o clock shadow. A lower class, high school dropout in any case with some type of street smarts.

But then again, everyone else who chose to live around here was street smart to a certain extent.

"For two reasons in particular," I said, glancing casually at my nails which were painted a deep maroon. "One, because of the SR-25 sniper rifle pointed directly at the back of your head. One snap of my fingers, and the only one laughing here will be me."