Junior Mafia
Lovely summer's afternoon, wandering along a busy street in a heat-filled stupor, when a charming young gentleman and his equally pleasant chum take the time to engage me in some light fingered pilfering, using that old standby, the knife.

After I'd duly handed over the £7 or so of shrapnel weighing down my pocket, I was quite taken aback to hear that this wasn't sufficient for the combined needs of, most likely, two rocks of finest crack'd cocaine.

"Where are the fucken notes?"
"My dear fellow, I simply have no need of such high levels of currency. See for yourself." And with a deft flourish I open my wallet and demonstrate my lack of 'fucken notes'.

"Are those cash cards?" as he points at my cash cards.
"No."
"Oh, alright." I gave a visible start and cocked an eye-brow at the unexpected success of my ruse.

They then subject me to some sort of pat-down and upon feeling my phone in my pocket ask what it is. Buoyed by my previous success, I venture forth with another untruth.

"'Tis merely a pen."
"Oh, OK. Now don't tell anyone about this, because we're the Junior Mafia round here and we'll break your kneecaps."

Unless it's after 9pm, from whence they must be accompanied by an appropriate Mafia adult.
(baltax, Sat 17 Jun 2006, 11:13, Reply)