Mr Brown walked carefully through the estate, his stride betraying his nervousness, his furtive glances left and right virtually shouting out that here was a man who didn't want to be where he was, and was in quite a hurry to be somewhere else. He had read in a book, or maybe on his computer, that the way to walk properly these days was to hold your head high, as if there was an invisible piece of string attached to your nose, keeping it slightly elevated. He found that hard, so would inevitably settle for a bit of a slouch. He had also read that to appear confident your knuckles should face forwards, but he always felt like a gorilla when he'd tried it, so his hands just flopped by his side however they wanted. He looked to his left, and saw that the sun was not far from dropping over the horizon. There was no one else around, but he lengthened his stride nonetheless.

A few minutes later, he saw a small boy on the path ahead of him. His instincts tried to get him to cross the road, but his pride outmaneuvered them, pointing out that it was, after all, just a boy, maybe ten or eleven years old. The boy was lounging against a lamppost, watching Mr Brown as he approached. Their eyes met, as eyes will do, and the boy held up a cigarette.
“Got a light, mate?” he asked, arrogance in his eyes, his voice not yet broken.
“Um, sorry,” fumbled Mr Brown. “I, um, I don't smoke.”
With that he walked on past the boy, eager to put distance between them.
“Come on, mate,” said the boy, following him. “Don't be a cunt.”
Mr Brown was horrified to hear such language from one so young, so horrified he actually broke one of his cardinal rules and stopped in his tracks.
“You really shouldn't use language like that,” he admonished without any real force. “What would your mother say?”
“What do you fucking care?” spat the boy. “If you ain't got a light, what're you doing talking to me? You some sort of paedo or sommat? Is that it?” He was grinning evilly now, and Mr Brown suddenly had the desire to leave the little turd to his swearing and smoking, as long as he himself was nowhere near it.
“Don't be silly,” he muttered, and with that strode on, determined not to give the boy the satisfaction of seeing him look back. To his immense relief, there was no furtive footsteps or offensive remarks, and he continued on his way across the estate. The boy seemed to have wandered off to find other prey, or even just gone home for his tea. Mr Brown was looking forward to his own tea, with the promise of a pork-joint from Mrs Brown hastening his footsteps.

About five minutes later he felt a sense of dread. There was no one else to be seen, but for some reason he felt his entire body shiver, felt his hands tense up like claws so that he nearly dropped his briefcase. He stopped for a second and rubbed a hand over his eyes before polishing his spectacles and pushing them back on to his nose. When he looked up afterwards he could not help a sharp intake of breath as he saw the same boy from before walking towards him. This time, however, he was not alone, accompanied as he was by a brute of a man with a shaven head and far too many tattoos as far as Mr Brown was concerned. They were coming from the direction he wished to go in, and for a second he wondered how the boy could have got ahead of him so, before remembering that there had been a bike propped up near him when they had previously met. He sighed as they reached him, knowing just what was coming and dreading it.
“Oi!” said the man, quite needlessly. He poked Mr Brown in the chest quite roughly.
“What seems to be the problem?” said Mr Brown, as politely as he could manage. Try as he might, he couldn't keep his voice from shaking.
“What seems to be the problem,” mimicked the man cruelly, making Mr Brown seem much more effete than he actually was. “The problem is that my little boy here says you're a paedo, mate.” The last word was accompanied by a snarl and no small amount of spittle.
“Th-that's just silly,” Mr Brown spluttered. “I can assure you I am no such thing.”
“Then how come you was grooming him earlier, eh? That's what he says.” Mr Brown wondered if this mindless thug knew what grooming was, even if in just a personal sense. From the smell of him, probably not, he concluded.
“I'm afraid he's mistaken,” he said, as calmly as he could manage. “I'm a happily married man.”
“You're afraid, are you?” growled the man. “Well, you fuckin' should be. We don't like your sort round 'ere, fuckin' perverts. We teach people like you a lesson when we find 'em, don't we son?”
Mr Brown looked at the boy, whose eyes were lit up like his one used to be on Christmas mornings. No train set here, no new books, just the promise of seeing his father beat an innocent man half to death.
“This is ridiculous,” he tried to say, but the man had grabbed hold of him and was dragging him towards a nearby alley. It was the sort of alley that may as well have a sign above it, saying “Abandon hope all ye who enter here”, and Mr Brown could smell urine. Once inside, the man slammed him against the wall, causing him to drop his briefcase.
“You really don't need to do this,” Mr Brown said, finally looking the man in the eyes. They didn't give him much hope that this could be avoided, so devoid of compassion were they. He looked again at the boy, but all he saw there was that same excitement. “I really would advise against this.” he tried again.
“Or what?” sniggered the man, stepping back to gaze upon his humiliated captive.
“Or this,” said Mr Brown, pulling the gun out of his inside pocket. It had a silencer on, so the only sound was “phut, phut”, as he emptied a single bullet into each of their foreheads. Dead centre, he was proud to note as the bodies collapsed. He replaced the gun, picked up his briefcase and sighed. He didn't like it, but as far as he was concerned he had no choice. He looked at his watch and decided he'd have to hurry a bit or his joint would be overcooked. Without a backward glance he stepped over the bodies and went on his way.

A moral? Everyone seems to want a moral, but what moral can you have when two lives are taken, including one so young and full of promise? Maybe it's be careful who you choose to abuse, maybe it's something about inner and outer appearances, and maybe it's just, Don't Fuck With Mr Brown.

You decide.

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