The Standalones

Chapter Seventeen

Ken Preston

14 June 2024

Silhouette of a rock band against a spotlight and the words The Standalones

Ratzo scurried between men punching each other, and out of The Dog and Whistle’s back door. He leaned against the brick wall, panting. Tonight’s plan had been so simple; just get in there and steal the money back from those stupid kids and their stupid band, and make everything right with Frankie. He’d even brought that girl’s travel bag with him so that he could swap it, and then maybe take a moment to watch her confusion when she realised she’d got her stuff back but lost the money.

That would have been sweet.

But that wasn’t how it had gone down. The fight breaking out had been a brilliant diversion for Ratzo, but it had also made it difficult for him to get to the drum kit and the holdall. Seemed like every idiot in the building wanted to give him a good kicking as soon as they saw him, and Ratzo had found himself pushed and shoved all over the place.

Then, when he finally got to the stage, he had found the bass drum empty. The holdall had gone.

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