Friday night is slowly drawing towards the “Witching Hour” and despite promises, Deacon is still with the Tunnel Webs.
“If you sleep with dogs you’ll wake up with fleas,” his stepsister had cautioned.
“Chill out. So a few of them made mistakes, everyone deserves a second chance.” He had retorted. “They’ve done me no harm.”
“Well don’t come crying to me if you spend a night in the cells.”
Deacon knows she’s right. It is only a matter of time before he is arrested and then…well, he fears where his Stepfather’s wrath will lead. Yet, it’s the high stakes that motivates his rebellion.
Rain drenches him as he staggers across the road into Cuba Mall. Pedestrians avoid eye contact with the Tunnel Webs. They feel intimidated in the same manner when bullies had once tormented him in the playground.
Four other gang members are accompanying him, three fully patched and another prospect, who has recently been subject to a baseless accusation; that he might be an undercover cop. But the Tunnel Web Hierarchy doubts the allegations and has been seeking out the instigator.
They cross the road a second time and continue up Cuba Street in silence. Its been a rough night, full of disastrous drug deals, a massive fight in the pub that did not end well, a close shave with the cops and the unexpected stabbing of their sergeant in arms.
Deacon stops to talk to a thickset Rastafarian, sitting on the window ledge of a closed delicatessen. After exchanging false pleasantries he reaches into the inside pocket of his denim jacket and retrieves a plastic bag. He prizes it open and allows thickset Rastafarian to choose a handful of tin foil packages. A wad of notes exchange hands.
The deal is done and the gang continues on their way.
Prospecting for the Tunnel Webs is addictive, and Deacon cannot get enough of it.