The Box Cutters

"Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance." -Sun Tzu

RUGRAT
He wanted to go home. It was a bad time of the night to be out and he wanted to go home. He had been out before at a time like this. But this time it was different, it was a feeling in his gut and he wanted to go home. As if it wasn't enough of a bad idea, the call he got was even shadier than the meeting spot. It didn't seem like that big of a deal when he thought it over. But it was late, and most of his regulars had already gotten theirs. And if he wasn't high strung enough, he was carrying two ounces taped on his back. That was the demand, he would never carry that much on him if he didn't need it. Sure it was a pain in the ass to run back and forth to his house every time he got a call, but it was better to be a safe drug dealer, than get caught with an excessive handful of illegal substances.
As he approached the neighborhood pool, he could barely make out the lanky figure standing within the gates. 'What the hell's he doing in there?'. He kept walking, the closer he got the more visible the figure ahead of him became. The lighting inside the pool was giving Rugrat's eyes a better view of the man, and he easily saw how much taller the buyer was than him, and how much more physically built he was. It was concerning for Rugrat to realize that this guy could take him any day of the week. It concerned him that he was a complete stranger. And since he was already in a negative state of mind, it concerned him that if this guy really wanted to, he could kill him with almost no trouble at all. Rugrat's only defense was a seven inch tactical knife, tucked behind his belt in a leather sheath that he picked up for just six bucks on Amazon, not including shipping of course.
The man approaches the front gate of the pool area and speaks to him through the bars. "You got what I asked?" He says with a deep tone, not the one he heard on the phone.
"How'd you get my number?" That was already not the right answer, but curiosity was getting the better of him, taking the focus off of why he was even here.
"You got the stuff man?"
"You look me up?"
"What?"
"Track me down? Follow me? Look me up in the yellow pages? Fucking google me?"
"The fuck are you talking about?" The man looked around, he had a beard. that was all Rugrat could make out.
"Look man you got the shit or not? I don't got all fuckin' night."
"You got my money?"
"Let me see the stuff first."
"I got your shit, I wouldn't come all this way and not have it."
"Fine." The bearded man pulls something out of his pocket and judging by the shape, looked like a wad. Rugrat inches towards the man, alert enough to defend himself if shit hit the fan. He extends his hand toward the wad, while the other is behind his back where he keeps the two ounces on his back. But in the midst of the transaction he catches himself reaching for his knife. Quickly correcting himself, he takes the wad and feels around for familiarity on the tips of his fingers, almost immediately finding no such thing. Too loose around the bands, too soft on the sides, top seems ridged almost torn-like, 'Newspaper!' He thought. 'It's a fucking sting!'
Rugrat tosses the wad and reaches for his knife, while shouting "What the fuck is this shi-" but he's cut off mid sentence by an extremely overwhelming force exploding in the center of his back, forcing his entire body to jolt forwards towards the gate. Too close to the bearded man. Had he not been shouting, he might have been able to hear the running footsteps approaching behind him. Had the fear of a sting might have not given him tunnel vision, he would have had time to react to all this. Instead he was taken off guard and overpowered by a running start, it was too late and all he could do now was play his hand, whatever was left of it.
He managed to unsheathe the knife, but it was useless. He still couldn't see the other guy behind him, the bearded man was still behind the bars. His eyes became boggled as he tried to get up, the next thing he saw was the metal gate before him swing towards his face hitting him with such an awesome force he was in another moment swept off his feet onto his back. No words came for the two men, as he realized the knife (his only defense) had vanished from his hand. Now he was unarmed and in a baffled state of shock, all he could feel was a hand from one of the men reaching under his hoodie and shirt to find the two ounce bag, they found it almost instantly, as if someone had told him where he kept it.
His knife was lost. Almost twelve hundred dollars cash, stolen, and about three hundred dollars of green sweetness gone in as little as sixteen seconds. He sat upon the curb thinking only one thing, burying his hands into his already swollen face. 'This was worse than a sting, this was a goddamn setup.'
He sat on the curb for another twenty minutes, still in the grip of shock. Normally he'd see setups like this before they were even thought of. Normally he was so quiet, so discreet, so cautious and sure of himself that things such as these never happened. And whenever they did happen, he made it a sure thing that he wouldn't let himself be beaten by anyone. Stay quiet, stay discreet, stay humble, fight like hell, and don't get caught. Those were normally his rules for the game. And he was normally the best at it. New rule: Don't carry more than you can afford to lose. He thought this to himself and sought to remember it.
The vibrating phone in his pocket shook him out of the trance, another prime example of how he wasn't the victim of a random mugging. they knew what they wanted, they knew exactly who they were fucking with. If not, why leave the phone?
Slide to answer
"Hello?" he spoke.
"Chucky?"
"Hey Leo what's up?"
"It's been such a fucked up night."
"Oh, you're telling me?"
"Wanna meet up an shoot the shit?"
"Where are you?"
"Just left Jackie's place, I can come get you, where you at?"
"In the park by Longhorn Drive, the neighborhood next to mine,"
"I'll be right over."
"I'll wait."

End call.