Tall Storeys – Chapters 1 & 2 By Sam Palin 6:00 in The Fauld. BLOCK A. Three different suits: one blue, one red, one grey. All matching. Three different gaits: one stiff, one vexed, one lanky. All marching. Air around this trio was heavy, parting corridors of junkies and drunkards, drawing stares through hotboxed flats' windows. The man in grey held out a phone with bony fingers, tapping his nail on the screen at a map's pinpoint. "This ain't the building, boss," Grey whistled through his misshapen proboscis face, "We got like free more bridges and four more lifts 'till we get there." Seeing any of one these alone would be enough to make any shroomer piss themselves, but with three of them storming through apartment blocks - outside of their territory - word was getting round. The blue suit turned to reply, glaring into shrimplike eyes, "You better stop chatting, mosquito mouth. I get it, we got the wrong flat. I've called White, yeah. He'll get his Febrezers to deal with the bodies. Now just shut up and get us the flat before I bugspray you again, yeah."
Red suit forced out a snort of amusement at the insults, as if she was anyone to talk. This mammoth figure was a cook, made blatant by the grill mark scar across half of her face from a drug-fuelled brawl. She sweats petrol, too. Literally. The pores between her angry muscles can secrete a flammable hydrocarbon, and her gang are the only ones that