Flash Fiction: Going Nowhere

“Boss, you think – ”

“Shh!  Not so bleedin’ loud, ya damn fool!”

“Sorry, boss.”

“I don’t wantcha t’be sorry, I wantcha t’be quiet.  I’m tryin’ t’focus.”

“…I don’t hear anything, boss.  Maybe they’re gone?”

“Well, o’course ye don’t hear nothin’.  Tha’s just what they be wantin’ ye t’think.  But they can’t be foolin’ me, oh no.  The nose knows, y’know.  I ain’t called Jimmy th’ Smeller all o’er this bleedin’ city f’r nothin’.”

“I thought that was just ’cause of – ”

“No, ‘t’ain’t.”

“But that one time the barmaid – ”

“Tha’s a dirty lie, an’ I’ll be thankin’ ye not t’ be repeatin’ it again.”

“But I can – ”

“Arch’bald Wynne Montgom’ry, so help me God if ye be finishin’ tha’ sentence I will kick yer fat arse right ou’ that door an’ let ye be gettin’ nicked while I run f’r th’ hills.”

“But… but… boss, I didn’t… I didn’t mean…”

“Ah, Christ…  Lad, c’mon, stop cryin’, will ye?  I di’n’t mean nothin’ by it.  I were jus’ joshin’ ye, right?  C’mon, hush up, we can’t have ’em hearin’ ye.  There ye go, tha’s better.  Look, ‘m’sorry, ‘kay?  Y’gonna be a’right?”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m okay, boss.  Sorry about that.”

“Nay, y’got nothin’ t’pologize for.  I know ye’re sens’tive ’bout… y’know.  I shouldn’a gone hittin’ ye o’er th’ head wit’ it.”

“Huh?”

“What ye mean, ‘huh?'”

“Sensitive about what, boss?”

“Ye’re… y’know…”

“No…”

“Y’know… yer… stature.”

“You think I’m upset because you called me fat?”

“Wha…  Ye’re not?”

“You really think that’s…  I can’t believe this, boss!”

“Shh!  Archie, can we per’aps sort this out ano’er time?  Th’ bleedin’ law’s right ou’side waitin’ t’nick us f’r what we got!”

“And you said you’d let them get me!”

“Wha…  Archie, no…  No, no, no.  I di’n’t mean that, I’d ne’er let that happen.  Ye’re like a brother t’me, Archie.  Ne’er.”

“R-really, boss?”

“O’ course.”

“Thanks, boss.  Does, um… does that mean I can have a bigger cut of the loot?”

“No.”