discontinued - Smooth Criminal

Chapter 1

Keith took a long drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke that escaped his smooth, plump lips curl up towards the grey sky. Somewhere, a long way away from his world, a clock struck eleven. He silently counted the clangs, staring down at the grimy ground. The alleyway that Keith was currently stood in wasn't ideal - trash spilled out of metal cans and the soiled bricks left dark marks on Keith's jacket that wouldn't be coming out anytime soon. Rats and cats skulked around the piles of trash, and sirens wailed from all directions nearby. Keith hated it - but it got the job done.

As he fingered a small wrap in his pocket, he cast his gaze towards the alleyway's entrance, deep violet eyes narrowing as a hunched, shady figure approached him. He looked around him nervously before skittering over to Keith, face twitching and wide-eyed. Keith scowled, disgusted by his customers. He threw his smouldering cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his heavy boot. Brandishing the wrap, he watched as the other man eyed it up eagerly. Keith began to toy with it, twirling it between his slender fingers. He slid his other hand out of his pocket and beckoned with it.

"Money first." Keith's voice was surprisingly smooth for a heavy smoker; it was like honey. The second fumbled around for a moment, before dropping a wad of bank notes into Keith's outstretched palm. He hesitated for a second and then held out the wrap, which the second man impatiently grabbed with dirty, calloused fingers. He turned on his heel and made his way out of the darkened alley, looking like he was trying to be conspicuous.

Keith sighed and shook his head, pulling a disgusted face as he wiped the hand that had come into contact with the others on his jeans. He withdrew it and began to run a finger over the bank notes, counting them. He looked tired and lackadaisical, not feeling any sort of happiness or pleasure over the amount of money he had just earned; instead a sick feeling settled in his stomach. He lit another cigarette, cradling it between his fingers like it was a pearl necklace, or his last grip on reality.

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Lowering the heavy binoculars from his striking blue eyes, Lance reached for his radio and let out a low chuckle. He'd never been this close, and now, after many months burning the midnight oil, victory was so close that he could almost touch it.He clicked the small button on the side of the black box and moved it towards his mouth. Rooftop surveillance was always fun. The wind in his hair, the views of Brooklyn - Lance lived for it.

"Guess what, Pidge? I got Mullet. It's almost like he wanted to be seen, chilling in a dump like this." He placed the radio back onto the tiles and picked up the binoculars again, peering through them intensely while a voice came through the radio.

"Lance, you promised to stop giving the suspects stupid nicknames. Just tell us when we can go in." a female spoke, sounding uninterested. Maybe she was bored of her job, or it might have been Lance's utter idiocy.

"Ugh, fine but know this: the elusive Keith Kogane, wanted drug dealer at 20 years old and my biggest rival ("Don't forget certified badass," added Pidge), has a mullet. And yeah, I know that people like them - no idea why - but Lancey-Lance knows best, and I say 'nuh-uh, mullets are terr-"

"LANCE!" multiple voices chorused, clearly agitated and annoyed.

"Jeez, okay... 1, 2, 3... go, go, go!" Lance instantaneously attached his radio to his belt and dropped his binoculars, scrambling for his pistol as officers below him stormed the alleyway. He let out a cry as Keith turned swiftly on his heel and vaulted a fence, easily putting distance between himself and the pursuing officers - Lance's greatest fear at that moment. Lance leapt from the rooftop and to a small balcony on the wall of the alleyway, before dropping himself the same side of the fence as his arch-rival. He sprinted after Keith, staying hot on his trail.